THE TAPESTRY OF LIFE

"My days pass more swiftly than a weaver's shuttle; they come to an end without hope." (Job 7:6 HCSB)

Despair can wrap its icy hands around your throat and choke out every ounce of hope--or so it seems. Job felt that way.

We might say, "You shouldn't feel that way! There is always hope in God!" Indeed--but wasn't that the issue? He couldn't seem to find God. Job was convinced he had more questions than answers, more problems than solutions, more troubles than comfort, more burdens than strength. It is too easy to sit aloof from someone else's misery, read about it in a book, know in hindsight how it all started and ended, and judge the one who crumpled under the trial. I wonder how I would have handled it. I hope none of us ever have to find out! But we may, to some degree or another. There will always be some--and often many--dark threads in the warp and woof of life's weaving.

Several times, Job uses picturesque phrases to underscore the frailty of humanity and the gravity of mortality. One such description is of the weaver's shuttle. He has seen a weaver at the loom, quickly moving the shuttle back and forth to create a tapestry of woven thread. Such was the fabric of his life--fragile as cloth, fleeting as the shuttle.

Perhaps you feel like Job. You have come to a place in life where there are burdens that have crushed you to the ground. You look up and all you see is a confused mass of tangled threads and you can make no sense of it all.

Underneath the loom, that's the way it is. If we could only see the other side! God is the weaver. His skillful hands hold the shuttle. His mind has conceived the most glorious tapestry. To Him, it all makes sense. When completed, the child of God can rest assured he or she will be a masterpiece put on display in heaven. If we could only see from God's perspective!

I heard an old preacher years ago quote a poem at a funeral of a textile worker, so appropriate for one who had labored at the loom. It captures this concept quite well:


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.

If today dawns bright for you, with birds singing and not a cloud in the sky, be glad! I rejoice with you. The thread is a rich color.

But, if dark clouds hang over you like a funeral shroud and you are wrestling with doubt and depression--finding yourself pinned to the mat and wondering if you are down for the count--maybe these words can bring a whisper of grace to your heart and help you struggle on for another day. I pray for you. The thread is a dark hue.

Woven together, this is the tapestry of life.