God reminded me of this poem that I have had for years. Throughout the years I have given it to others as a comfort because I feel it speaks volumes to those who are grieving. And now, with my own loss, it seems only fitting that I keep these words close to heart when I am reminded that Dad is no longer with us. If you know someone who could use these comforting words you are more than welcome to copy it for yourself.

The Plan of the Master Weaver

Our lives are but fine weavings

That God and we prepare,

Each life becomes a fabric planned

And fashioned in His care;

We may not always see just how

The weaving’s intertwine,

But we must trust the Master’s hand

And follow his design.

For He can view the pattern

Upon the upper side,

While we must look from underneath

And trust in Him to guide…

Sometimes a strand of sorrow

Is added to His plan,

And though it’s difficult for us,

We still must understand

That it’s He who fills the shuttle

It’s He who knows what’s best,

So we must weave in patience

And leave to him the rest…

Not till the loom is silent

And the shuttles cease to fly

Shall God unroll the canvas

And explain the reason why—

The dark threads are as needed

In the weaver’s skillful hand

As the threads of gold and silver

In the pattern He has planned.

Author Unknown

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