I recently had a small come-to-Jesus experience with myself. It happened as I read an old journal entry from 2012 about relying on the Lord's guidance in my life. The words I wrote a year and a half ago reminded me that I'm not the only one in control of my life. Yes, I am definitely the most in control of anyone else on Earth, especially as I am unmarried, living on my own, and financially independent, but 2012 Kylie reminded the Kylie of today that God is the real person calling the shots down here.
Reading my old journal reminded me that God has a timeline for my life. He can see the whole picture and know exactly what trials and what blessings to give me and when. Just because I may feel ready for something right now doesn't mean that giving that thing to me would be the best idea, and I've caught myself acting stubborn and proud in thinking that I knew better than my Father in Heaven.
I heard a poem this last summer that I spent as an EFY counselor about our lives being like tapestries. We are standing behind the tapestry and seeing all these colorful threads intertwining, and the picture we see is kind of a mess. It's ugly and haphazard, and we struggle to see any rhyme or reason in its patterns. But Heavenly Father is standing on the other side—the ride side—and He knows exactly where each thread is supposed to go to make the beautiful picture that we just can't see yet.
The Tapestry Poem
By Corrie Ten Boom
My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily.
Oft' 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
He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him.
Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily.
Oft' 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
He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him.
So I'm going to practice a little more patience and humility as I remember this poem. I'm going to trust that God sees the whole picture, and I only see a tiny little part of it. Because why would I ever push that security away?
♥Kylie