This was given to me, by one of my clients who was suffering with terminal cancer. She and I both knew that she was going to pass over. My job was to help her accept her passing and to live in each moment as joyously as she could.
She had always said to me, that she wanted orange and yellow daisies at her funeral.
On the day that she passed, as I was walking across the car park at work, there, on the ground, lay a yellow daisy. I knew it was from her.
The Divine Weaver
MAN’S life is laid in a loom of time
To a pattern he does not see.
While the Weaver works and the shuttles fly
Till the end of eternity.
Some shuttles are filled with silver thread,
And some with threads of gold:
While often but the darker hue
Is all that they may hold.
But the weaver watches with skilful eye
Each shuttle fly to and fro,
And sees the pattern so deftly wrought
As the loom works sure and slow.
God surely planned that pattern
Each thread – the dark and the fair-
Was chosen by his master skill
And placed in the web with care.
He only knows the beauty
And guides the shuttles which hold
The threads so unattractive
As well as the threads of gold.
Not till the loom is silent.
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the pattern
And explain the reason why
The dark threads are as needful
In the weavers skilful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern he had planned.