[84 words] My life is but a weaving,between my God and me,I do not choose the colors,He worketh steadily. Of times He weaveth sorrow,and I in foolish prideforget He sees the upper,and I the underside. Not till the loom is silent,and the shuttles cease to fly,will God unroll the canvas,and explain the reasons why. The dark threads are as needfulin the skillful weaver’s handas threads of gold and silverin the pattern He has planned. Benjamine Malachi FranklinBroad St. church of ChristScottsboro, AL…
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