“My life is but a weaving between my God and me. I cannot choose the colors, He weaveth steadily. At times 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, will God unroll the canvas and reveal the reason why. The dark threads are as needful in the weaver’s skillful hand, as the threads of gold and silver in the pattern he has planned.” Corrie ten Boom
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