the rest of the story

I forgot to post the rest of the story about the poem and handkerchief. After they said the poem, they turned the handkerchief over and there was a beautiful picture on the other side.

poem

This is a poem that Corried ten Boom used to tell. A friend of ours went to the ten Boom house in Holland this is what she said.

Anyway, at the end of the tour through the house, we were told this beautiful poem that Corrie ten Boom used to tell. An embroidered cloth was held up with the backside of it for us to see. It was all messy looking. The poem went like this:

“My life is like a weaving, between my God and me,
I do not choose the colors, He worketh steadily.
Oft times He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride,
Forget 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 reason why.
The dark threads are as needful in the skillful Weaver’s hand,
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.”
(by Grant Colfax Tullar)