My life is but a weaving between my God and me,
I do not choose the colours, He worketh steadily.
Ofttimes He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper, and I the underside.Not till the loom is silent, and shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful in the skilful Weaver’s hand
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.
A friend of mine, having just discovered the above poem, posted it on his facebook page, and in the conversation I realised that, although I have found it helpful and used it in sermons and services and tragic funerals, I have never posted it as a resource on this site.
I learnt to weave, and I wove my own stoles. My father was an expert on Persian carpets and Kilims. In some weaving traditions, the weaver begins with a pattern, a plan, but mistakes are inevitable. Things do not go according to plan. The master weaver is one who can incorporate the “mistake” into a new, unique masterpiece. That is another weaving metaphor for God.
I’ve found the poem attributed to Corrie Ten Boom. I’m not sure if that is correct. My friend’s version has an additional stanza:
He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him.
I think the poem is better without that.
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In my many travels I have often sat with weavers all over the world. I am sure that I have photos of weaving like the above image but at present I do not have the extra time to dig one out.
I think that the poem is beautiful and skillfully written.
I’m a bit leery as it opens the door to the folk who come along side a grieving parent, child or spouse who has suffered the death of a loved one and emphatically state that the loss was all part of God’s plan, that God needed the loved one more than they did, that God was behind the death.
YMMV
Totally agree, of course, Br David, about the dreadful pious nonsense that some people say to those suffering. Blessings.
I like to reflect on how a weaving can be metaphor for community, with the different threads representing different people and relationships being part of the pattern of our lives, part of how we express who we are.
Yes, Claudia, I think that’s a cool image. Maranatha!
I had only seen this as quoted by Corrie ten Boom and also doubted that the last four lines were part of the poem (mainly because I’d seen them quoted separately elsewhere). But I’ve just been searching to find the author, and according to this, the complete poem does include those four lines!
https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/34977489/benjamin-malachi-franklin
Husband of Ella Williams.
—————
Known residency: Tallahatchie Co, MS and Mississippi Co, AR
—————-
Life is But a Weaving
My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily.
Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow;
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.
Not ‘til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And reveal the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned
He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him.
Benjamin Malachi Franklin 1882-1965 wrote the poem in the late forties. It was first published in ‘The Memphis Commercial Appeal’ newspaper in 1950, per his grandson Bob Corley.
Thanks, Diane. Blessings.
I knew this poem, or the part starting “Not ’till the loom” at least 60 years ago! It was not written by Corrie, she simply quoted it! I understood it was written by someone whose surname was Haskins, I believe.
It has been a blessing to me in my life as, like Corrie, I personally know the Weaver! He is King of kings and Lord of lords! I am coming 82 and I came to know Jesus as my Lord when I was 12 and in the past 70 years there have been ‘dark threads’ as well as ‘gold and silver’ but I can truthfully say “He knows best”.
God bless you all,
Chris
Please see the note on authorship from the US Library of Congress at http://www.theworshipbook.com/blog/lyrics-whodunnit
How crazy that so many claim authorship (or seem to). We may have to pin “Author Unknown” on it after all!
But if I attributed to anyone, it seems Florence should be the one, because according to your link, the first time it’s in print is under her name.
“Recognizing that poetry was often printed in newspapers, I then turned to the Chronicling America website available at http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov where newspapers from 1836-1922 from across the United States are freely available. If you use the “advanced search” and search on the phrase “my life is but a weaving,” you’ll find the July 27, 1892 Somerset Herald from Somerset, Pennsylvania providing this poem with the author given as Florence May Alt. The poem credited to Alt also appeared in the Shenandoah (Virginia) Herald in 1892.
“I also did the same search in two subscription databases. I have attached a copy of the poem from “The American Farmer” as it appeared in August of 1892 with Alt as the author. The earliest copy I found citing Alt was from the Troy Weekly Times, Volume XXXVI, issue 42, page 6 from May 19, 1892.”
I was taught “The Weaver” in 1972 in a Christian Song Book my first year in college.
It had one last verse:
My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily.
Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow;
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.
Not ‘til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And reveal the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the skillful weaver’s hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned
And when each thread is in its place
and the final plan is known
God will lay his tools to rest
And call his children home
Until then I wont be afraid
Cause the Lord is by my side
He’s the leader of my footsteps
The Master of my life!
Not ‘til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And reveal the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the skillful weaver’s hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
Thanks, Susan. Blessings.