My ViewYesterday, when I woke up, I was fretting.  I had a mental picture of myself weaving . . . without a loom.  I had the warp threads in one hand and the weft in the other, desperately trying to hold them all while with one eye I looked over my shoulder at the mess I had made of the tapestry behind me, the picture obscured by knots and snarls, loops sticking up where I hadn’t pulled the thread through completely, and holes where I had dropped the threads altogether.

“O God”, I cried out, “I can’t hold all this.  I am dropping threads all over and I don’t even know what the picture is supposed to look like.” 

And He gently said to me, “You’re not the weaver . . .  Put them down.  Take this thread.  Put it in that hole.  Pull it all the way through.”

“But,” I said, dropping the thread as I turned to look at the mess behind me, “what about that?  You can’t even tell what the picture is.”

And He patiently turned me and handed me the thread again,

“This thread.”

“That hole.”

“Don’t worry about what’s behind.  Let me take care of that.  Maybe I’ll take you back to fix some of those threads.  But maybe, after we’ve woven a little more, you’ll realize that the picture is not as obscured as you thought.  And maybe I’m fond of that “mess” because it is part of you and it’s making you into the person I’ve meant you to be all along.”

O God, what freedom to serve you, the Sovereign Lord of the universe who loves me as a daughter, delights in me.  There are no words to thank you for all you’ve done for me.

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