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The Weaver

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My life is but a weaving

Between my Lord and me.

I cannot choose the colors

He works so steadily.

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Oft' times He weaves in sorrow

And I, in foolish pride,

Forget He sees the upper

And I, the underside.

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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.

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Not till the loom is silent

And shuttles cease to fly,

Will God unroll the canvas

And explain the reason why.

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And we know that all that happens to us is working for our good if we love God and are fitting into his plans.

ù°¨®Ñ8:28

 

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Who then can ever keep Christ's love from us? When we have trouble or calamity, when we are hunted down or destroyed, is it because he doesn't love us anymore? And if we are hungry, or penniless, or in danger, or threatened with death, has God deserted us?

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No, ¡Koverwhelming victory is ours through Christ who loved us enough to die for us.

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ù°¨®Ñ8:35, 37-39

For I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from his love. Death can't, and life can't. The angels won't, and all the powers of hell itself cannot keep God's love away. Our fears for today, our worries about tomorrow, or where we are - high above the sky, or in the deepest ocean - nothing will ever be able to separate us from the love of God demonstrated by our Lord Jesus Christ when he died for us.

 

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