My life is but a weaving

Between my Lord and me.

I cannot choose the colors;

He worketh steadily.

Oftimes 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.

Shall God unroll the canvas

And explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful

In the Weaver's skillful hand,

As the threads of gold and silver

As children bring their broken toys

With tears for us to mend,

I brought my broken dreams to God,

Because He is my friend.

But then instead of leaving Him

In peace to work alone,

I hung around and tried to help

With ways that were my own.

At last I snatched them back again

And cried, "How could you be so slow?"

"My child" He said, "What could I do?

I got up early one morning

And rushed right into the day;

I had so much to accomplish

That I didn't have time to pray.

Problems just tumbled about me,

And heavier came each task.

"Why doesn't God help me?" I wondered.

He answered, "You didn't ask."

But the day toiled on, gray and bleak;

I wondered why God didn't show me.

He said, "But you didn't seek."

I used all my keys at the lock.

God gently and lovingly chided,

"My child, you didn't knock."

I woke up early this morning,

And paused before entering the day;

I had so much to accomplish

That I had to take time to pray.

God hath not promised

Skies always blue,

Flower-strewn pathways,

All our lives through.

God hath not promised

Sun without rain,

Peace without pain.

But God hath promised

Strength for the day,

Rest for the laborer,

Light on the way,

Grace for the trial,

Help from above,

Unfailing sympathy,

Undying love.

HAPPINESS is something

We create in our mind.

It's not something you search for

And so seldom find—

It's just waking up

And beginning the day

By counting our blessings

And kneeling to pray—

It's giving up thoughts

That breed discontent

And accepting what comes

As a "gift heaven-sent"—

It's giving up wishing

For things we have not

And making the best of

Whatever we've got—

It's knowing that life

Is determined for us,

And pursuing our tasks

Without fret fume or fuss—

For it's by completing

What God gives us to do

That we find real contentment

And happiness, too.

Helen Steiner Rice