I have been reading a lot in the news recently about the bailout of some of the old, venerable companies in American commerce. They are in trouble, in a way that hasn't been seen in many years, and the thought seems to be that if they fail, it will bring down the American economy even further.
Fair enough. I am not an economist, and I have no idea what will or will not happen if Citibank goes to bankruptcy court. Well, other than a lot of people will be cluttering up landfills with worthless little plastic cards. However, I do have common sense, which tells me when your lowest paid worker is making minimum wage, and your highly compensated CEO makes more in a minute than most workers make in a year, something is out of whack.
To put real numbers on those statistics, the current Federal minimum wage is $6.55 per hour. If you work a 40 hour week for all 52 weeks of the year, that will get you a whopping $13,624 a year before taxes. For those who don't keep up on these things, that is below the Federal poverty threshold for a family of two. If you multiply that amount even by 20, you will still put the salary at $272,480. I think I could probably just about scrape by on that, how about you?
The most fascinating part of this, for me, has been the vociferous justification of their exorbitant compensation by apologists who have little respect for your average American worker. It has become a spectacle, telling the public, in all apparent seriousness, that if these executives don't continue to make obscene amounts of money, they will run away and take a job somewhere else, leaving their companies in the lurch.
Really, now? From where I'm sitting, it looks like their companies are in the lurch already, if not altogether in the soup. I am left wondering where they might go, and who might hire them? These executives have presided over a debacle of rather epic proportions, and what's more, they seem not to realize it, except as it would affect their own personal lives. I would have to question the judgment of any Board of Directors who would hire a failed CEO or CFO from one of these big firms, knowing that they left their previous company high and dry on the brink of disaster.
I would say I was disappointed, but I am not surprised in the least. They haven't been living in the real world for a long time; there is no reason to think they would start now, just because us little people are struggling.
Apparently the esteemed Senator from Missouri, Claire McCaskill, railed on the Senate floor yesterday against CEO's who ran their companies into the ground, then came and asked for taxpayer money to get them out of trouble. It wasn't the money itself that seemed to have offended her, though. It seems the troubling aspect for her came when those same executives turned around and demanded their bonus money for 2008. Only on Wall Street could accounting be so creatively conducted that losing company value would be seen as just cause for reward, and on an extravagant scale. No wonder I think of it as La-La Land.
Apparently, Senator McCaskill wants to put a cap in place on executive compensation for any company that gets bailout money, and she suggested that it be tied to the salary made by the President of the United States. That is an interesting idea, and at least it shows she is trying, so I give her points for that.
But I think I have a better idea, one that will give incentive to everyone, and raise accountability. I believe executive compensation should be tied to the lowest paid employee in the company, and executives shouldn't be allowed to make more than a certain multiple of that amount. If your lowest paid employee is making minimum wage, then perhaps executive compensation should be limited to ten, or even twenty times that. If your CEO wants to make a million dollars, then perhaps your lowest paid workers should be benefiting, too.
And bonuses should be companywide affairs, based on profits, not on dreams. If the CEO gets a bonus of 10 percent of his salary in stock options for a certain level of success, why shouldn't the every day employees have the same rewards? Although the CEO has an important job, and certainly should be paid for his or her vision and leadership, I believe that the rank and file employees who implement that vision deserve to be rewarded, too.
I believe that the era of outrageous compensation, where the executives no longer live in the same world as their employees, and their compensation isn't tied to anything at all, is part of the root problem that has led to the disastrous situation in which we find ourselves today. When the executives are isolated from the working people who actually make the company go, they no longer share a lunch room or a rest room, and keep their offices on a different floor, they lose sight of the purpose of the company, and its function. Their employees become numbers on a spread sheet, instead of real people with lives to manage, and 8,000 is a number to shift from one column to another, instead of jobs held by real people whose families have now been thrown into turmoil.
They also lose sight of what their customers are facing and dealing with every day. I can understand why someone who makes a million dollars a month or more wouldn't comprehend the hardship caused by increased fees or double cycle billing, or being unable to communicate with the customer service person who is obviously on the other side of the world. If you never have to listen to the people whose services you are providing, and your own lifestyle has nothing in common with theirs, you won't know what the customers are looking for, much less how to provide it.
So as I listened to Claire rant and rail against the highly paid executives, I thought she had the right idea. It is immoral to lead your company into failure, then come hat in hand to demand a bailout from the taxpayers, so that you can first line your own pockets. But I think, instead of tying compensation to an artificial standard, let's tie it to something that will incentivize every employee in the company. I think then, truly, the boat will float, because they will all be in it together.
It will be in everyone's best interests for the company to become more efficient and succeed, and if the CEO wants to make more money, they will have to sell their vision and bring their employees along with them. Employees who believe in the vision will work harder and create better products, which will ultimately increase demand. I think that would stimulate the economy, by putting more real dollars in employee pockets - dollars that would be spent on buying homes, cars, furniture and food.
I am going to write my congressmen today and suggest that they start looking at practical solutions, and my idea will be the first one on my list. I challenge each person to come up with their own ideas, and let's get some fresh new thoughts flowing to the Beltway. We, the people, are a powerful force. We need to hold the feet of every single politician to the fire to do what is right for us, and not what is expedient for their political action committees.
Those millions lining the executive pockets could buy a lot of jobs for the rest of us. Maybe it's time we plug the leaks in the bottom of the boat, instead of simply bailing water to keep those rarified noses dry. They can keep their two dollars, as long as they aren't taking it from my one. But if they want a piece of my pie, they are going to have to sit down at the table and eat it with me. And they had best bring their please and thank you with them.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
I realized last evening that I have now written over 100 posts on this blog space. I have to be honest, I am rather pleased with myself. I doubt that anyone, especially me, thought I would keep it up this long, or be this faithful. I am not one who is exactly known for capitalizing on any of my talents, or for my doggedness in sticking with a task. I am the one who is still getting my Christmas decorations down, and the Halloween placemats are still hanging in the laundry room where I left them to dry.
So, for me to have completed over 100 posts is something of a shock. Although I knew, in the back of my mind, that I have been writing them for awhile now, I didn't bother to pay attention and add them up. So, to see the number, 101 posts, was a big, and rather pleasant, surprise.
Some posts have been good, some posts have been bad, but none have been easy. Some days, it's a struggle to think of anything to talk about at all. Other days, it's a struggle to limit myself from spilling words like a broken pinata. Either way, putting the words down on paper has taken a lot of self-discipline, and I feel very good about it.
One of my goals, back when I started, was to force myself to write on a regular basis, to be a writer, instead of just talking about it. That is one goal I think I am accomplishing. Whether you like it or hate it, if you think I'm a gifted wordsmith or a hack, I am doing it, and learning from the process, about how to write for real.
Part of the process which cannot be overlooked is the offering up of my writing for consumption by others. That is, I have realized, the key point between someone who can legitimately claim to be a writer, versus someone who occasionally puts pen to paper, or fingers to computer keyboard.
By allowing other people to become part of the process, you learn to write differently, more thoughtfully, more thoroughly. Even when offering an opinion, you tend to do it more carefully, more thoughtfully, more sincerely. When you know that someone may disagree, you want to be sure that you know the facts, and will be able to support the opinion you have spouted.
I have been told by a number of people, some sounding remarkably surprised, that I am funny, as if that was unexpected. Humor is part of my coping process. If I can turn something devastating into something devastatingly funny, it helps me to muddle through and maybe even to move forward. Or possibly it is just about acceptance. Humor is a necessary part of life for me. Without an ability to laugh, life would be a bleak thing, indeed.
I have a lot more funny stories stored up, and I look forward to telling some of them in the future. Have you heard the one about the IRS audit? It's hysterical. I'll be sharing that little tidbit just as soon as they are done with me, which at the rate we are moving, is going to be a long wait. But when you have kids, an ex-husband, and six pets, you have an unlimited supply of other material with which to work, so there should be no shortage of amusing tales to come.
The last 101 posts have been a genuine adventure, and I am thankful to be living in an age where being "published" is as simple as starting a blog online. I wonder what Socrates would have said to the idea that any Dick, Jane or Sarah could write to the masses, and even have a chance to be heard?
So, for me to have completed over 100 posts is something of a shock. Although I knew, in the back of my mind, that I have been writing them for awhile now, I didn't bother to pay attention and add them up. So, to see the number, 101 posts, was a big, and rather pleasant, surprise.
Some posts have been good, some posts have been bad, but none have been easy. Some days, it's a struggle to think of anything to talk about at all. Other days, it's a struggle to limit myself from spilling words like a broken pinata. Either way, putting the words down on paper has taken a lot of self-discipline, and I feel very good about it.
One of my goals, back when I started, was to force myself to write on a regular basis, to be a writer, instead of just talking about it. That is one goal I think I am accomplishing. Whether you like it or hate it, if you think I'm a gifted wordsmith or a hack, I am doing it, and learning from the process, about how to write for real.
Part of the process which cannot be overlooked is the offering up of my writing for consumption by others. That is, I have realized, the key point between someone who can legitimately claim to be a writer, versus someone who occasionally puts pen to paper, or fingers to computer keyboard.
By allowing other people to become part of the process, you learn to write differently, more thoughtfully, more thoroughly. Even when offering an opinion, you tend to do it more carefully, more thoughtfully, more sincerely. When you know that someone may disagree, you want to be sure that you know the facts, and will be able to support the opinion you have spouted.
I have been told by a number of people, some sounding remarkably surprised, that I am funny, as if that was unexpected. Humor is part of my coping process. If I can turn something devastating into something devastatingly funny, it helps me to muddle through and maybe even to move forward. Or possibly it is just about acceptance. Humor is a necessary part of life for me. Without an ability to laugh, life would be a bleak thing, indeed.
I have a lot more funny stories stored up, and I look forward to telling some of them in the future. Have you heard the one about the IRS audit? It's hysterical. I'll be sharing that little tidbit just as soon as they are done with me, which at the rate we are moving, is going to be a long wait. But when you have kids, an ex-husband, and six pets, you have an unlimited supply of other material with which to work, so there should be no shortage of amusing tales to come.
The last 101 posts have been a genuine adventure, and I am thankful to be living in an age where being "published" is as simple as starting a blog online. I wonder what Socrates would have said to the idea that any Dick, Jane or Sarah could write to the masses, and even have a chance to be heard?
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Two steps forward, one step back....
There are two cliches that I find literally intolerable. They are the worst phrases in the language, and those who know me well usually refrain from uttering them around me, knowing it will set off a diatribe of angry verbiage sure to last longer than whatever prompted the foolish pronouncement in the first place.
When someone is silly enough to express them in my presence, I usually have to fight an internal war of words carried on in my head and my soul, and in which there are no winners. They are careless phrases, generally tossed out when at a loss for something more substantial to explain the unexplainable. They are meant to be uplifting, I guess, but instead, they make me mad.
So, in reverse order, here are my top two.
The second worst phrase in the English language is, "It could be worse."
Could it, now? And does it make you feel better to hear that when you have just been run down by the Mack truck of life? Because when you say that to me, what I'm hearing is, "Whatever you are complaining about, hurt by, frustrated over, doesn't really matter to anyone but you, and thus, it doesn't really matter at all."
I will take an example from my own life experience to illustrate what I mean. A few days after my husband walked out on me (and the kids, and believe me, it is a group project,) I got a flat tire on my car. In the rain. My hungry daughter, who needed her dinner, was with me, and she was getting later and later to dance. I couldn't find my AAA card, without which, you cannot call and get the help that you need. (And for which, I might add, you have already paid a handsome price, as well.) It was getting late, it was cold, and we were stranded. This, in short, was A Big Problem.
Now it could, of course, have been worse. As people are so fond of pointing out in these kinds of situations, I could have had cancer (my mom got it two months later.) I could have lost my job (not only check, but checkmate, with the IRS audit, still ongoing, that followed.) I could have been homeless (not yet, but give me a few months.) Well, yes, I see what you mean. I do feel so much better now.
Even if all of those things hadn't happened, it would not have made the fact that I had a flat tire in the rain, no money, and a hungry child who was late to dance, any better. That's what is wrong with that statement, in fact. The idea that someone else may have it worse doesn't diminish the current miserable state of affairs in which you find yourself. Pointing out that there are people in even more desperate straights simply makes me rage against fate even harder. A class action of ill will in the universe is more unfair yet.
The truth is, when it's your life, misery generally does not love company. On the contrary, when I am whining and complaining, what I mostly want from the unfortunate person being forced to listen to me rant and rave is the acknowledgement that sometimes, life just sucks.
Naturally, if you want that type of response, you must select your target audience carefully, and be sure to complain to someone who understands and acknowledges that reality. For me, that person is often my cousin, who understands my propensity for having things go awry. Having been divorced herself, and having the same talent for random bad luck happenstance that I have, she wisely never tempts fate by pointing out that it could be worse, a fact that I appreciate on a regular basis when speaking to her.
What we have learned, she and I, is that life is filled with irony. Whenever you make the pronouncement, "It could be worse," the one thing that is almost guaranteed to happen is that it will get worse, just to oblige. And heaven knows, when you have my knack for falling off the horse and breaking the carousel of life, you do not tempt fate any further than you have to.
That little bit of nonsense, however, pales in comparison to my least favorite phrase of all time. Special scorn is reserved for the irritating proverb, "God won't give you more than you can handle." Okay, if that was true, we could eliminate Prozac and psychiatrists, for starters, and I would have saved a lot of money over the years. God allowed Job to suffer, and he was a lot more faithful than me, so there is no reason to think that I am going to fare any better.
One of my favorite pieces of literature is a poem entitled, "The Plan of the Master Weaver." The author is unknown, but surely it is someone who has struggled in life, and found themselves questioning why some people have all the luck, while others would have none at all, if it weren't for the bad luck that seems to visit them on a regular basis. The poem talks about how we on earth only see the unfinished underside of the tapestry of life, while God sees the upper side, so he sees the whole, clear picture. On my side, I have strings, broken threads, colors all mish mash and confused. Sometimes, you can make out the pattern, but more often, it's just a vague outline, or more likely, just a mess.
One of the reasons I love that poem so much is that it doesn't assume we should understand the reason for anything. When everything is in shambles, and you can't see the sense in anything, it doesn't mean you are the problem. It allows for the idea that sometimes everything can go wrong, but life can still turn out all right.
I have always said, "Life's not fair, and then you die." My mother hates it when I say that, but that was the reality I learned when my dad died when I was 12 years old. Life is not fair. That's it. There is no explanation, no deeper meaning. No platitude about my father being in a better place made the slightest bit of sense to me, because it was obvious to me that I was not better off without him, and that was what really mattered. Sometimes life makes no sense at all, and it is futile to try to make reasonable what is not.
So don't kid yourself, God will allow you to be completely overwhelmed by your life. The troubles will pile on, and the grief will not seem unbearable, but be unbearable. There will be times that you will hurt so bad you can't breathe. I have learned over the course of my life that there are moments when you simply cannot be strong, cannot be brave, cannot handle or accept or tolerate the situation in which you find yourself.
What then, do we say to the unfortunate, the overwhelmed, the person who is getting shafted by the vagaries of fate, for no reason other than that they exist? How do we explain the tsunami victims, or the young mother killed by a drunk driver who walks away unscathed? Is there any answer that will help inspire the person for whom God has already allowed too much, and they can't handle any more?
For me, that is where the true friend comes in. My friends of the heart don't ask me to be strong or fair or even happy most of the time. My true friends rage with me, and agree that life is unfair. When I take two steps forward and one step back, my real friends care as much about the step backwards as the steps forward, and they aren't afraid to notice that the pace is somewhat uneven.
Most importantly, those people in my life who genuinely care about me don't try to minimize what is wrong in my life by pointing out that someone else has it even worse. And in acknowledging what is wrong for me, they also allow me to find for myself what is right, what is good, where I have been blessed, where serendipity has entered the picture.
Last week was a long one around here. I found myself, once again, treading water and gasping for air, wishing for a vacation from my life, just for a little while. I spent some moments raging against the vagaries of fate. Even my very own mother, who is normally the eternal optimist, was forced, at one point, to admit that I do have the most ridiculous things happen to me. While it could, undoubtedly, be worse, it was bad enough for me.
And yet, in the midst of my complaints, the realization of what is right slowly worked its way into my consciousness, and I felt somewhat better. There is an old saying, where there is life, there is hope. I think, of all the things that are amazing about the human spirit, it may be that quality which is most precious. Sometimes, out of the worst of times comes the best of ourselves. The enduring hope that tomorrow will be a better day is not just in the movies.
One of the things I would wish to do in life is to use my own tribulations to help other people cope with theirs. When you are experiencing hard times, it is more meaningful to hear from someone who has been through it, that you will not only survive, but be okay. If writing is my talent, then perhaps in writing about my own hard times, I can inspire someone else in theirs.
Life is hard, and then you do die, it is true. So you don't need to minimize what is wrong about your life, or anyone else's. But at the same time, you should also encourage and allow the realization to grow that in the middle, sometimes you are blessed to see the vague outline of the tapestry that is your life, and if you look really hard, you will find some random threads of unexpected beauty. It still won't make sense, it still won't be fair, but you may find, like the poem says, that it is the black threads that are the foundation of life, and the silver and gold are just the accents. And perhaps that is the way it is supposed to be.
When someone is silly enough to express them in my presence, I usually have to fight an internal war of words carried on in my head and my soul, and in which there are no winners. They are careless phrases, generally tossed out when at a loss for something more substantial to explain the unexplainable. They are meant to be uplifting, I guess, but instead, they make me mad.
So, in reverse order, here are my top two.
The second worst phrase in the English language is, "It could be worse."
Could it, now? And does it make you feel better to hear that when you have just been run down by the Mack truck of life? Because when you say that to me, what I'm hearing is, "Whatever you are complaining about, hurt by, frustrated over, doesn't really matter to anyone but you, and thus, it doesn't really matter at all."
I will take an example from my own life experience to illustrate what I mean. A few days after my husband walked out on me (and the kids, and believe me, it is a group project,) I got a flat tire on my car. In the rain. My hungry daughter, who needed her dinner, was with me, and she was getting later and later to dance. I couldn't find my AAA card, without which, you cannot call and get the help that you need. (And for which, I might add, you have already paid a handsome price, as well.) It was getting late, it was cold, and we were stranded. This, in short, was A Big Problem.
Now it could, of course, have been worse. As people are so fond of pointing out in these kinds of situations, I could have had cancer (my mom got it two months later.) I could have lost my job (not only check, but checkmate, with the IRS audit, still ongoing, that followed.) I could have been homeless (not yet, but give me a few months.) Well, yes, I see what you mean. I do feel so much better now.
Even if all of those things hadn't happened, it would not have made the fact that I had a flat tire in the rain, no money, and a hungry child who was late to dance, any better. That's what is wrong with that statement, in fact. The idea that someone else may have it worse doesn't diminish the current miserable state of affairs in which you find yourself. Pointing out that there are people in even more desperate straights simply makes me rage against fate even harder. A class action of ill will in the universe is more unfair yet.
The truth is, when it's your life, misery generally does not love company. On the contrary, when I am whining and complaining, what I mostly want from the unfortunate person being forced to listen to me rant and rave is the acknowledgement that sometimes, life just sucks.
Naturally, if you want that type of response, you must select your target audience carefully, and be sure to complain to someone who understands and acknowledges that reality. For me, that person is often my cousin, who understands my propensity for having things go awry. Having been divorced herself, and having the same talent for random bad luck happenstance that I have, she wisely never tempts fate by pointing out that it could be worse, a fact that I appreciate on a regular basis when speaking to her.
What we have learned, she and I, is that life is filled with irony. Whenever you make the pronouncement, "It could be worse," the one thing that is almost guaranteed to happen is that it will get worse, just to oblige. And heaven knows, when you have my knack for falling off the horse and breaking the carousel of life, you do not tempt fate any further than you have to.
That little bit of nonsense, however, pales in comparison to my least favorite phrase of all time. Special scorn is reserved for the irritating proverb, "God won't give you more than you can handle." Okay, if that was true, we could eliminate Prozac and psychiatrists, for starters, and I would have saved a lot of money over the years. God allowed Job to suffer, and he was a lot more faithful than me, so there is no reason to think that I am going to fare any better.
One of my favorite pieces of literature is a poem entitled, "The Plan of the Master Weaver." The author is unknown, but surely it is someone who has struggled in life, and found themselves questioning why some people have all the luck, while others would have none at all, if it weren't for the bad luck that seems to visit them on a regular basis. The poem talks about how we on earth only see the unfinished underside of the tapestry of life, while God sees the upper side, so he sees the whole, clear picture. On my side, I have strings, broken threads, colors all mish mash and confused. Sometimes, you can make out the pattern, but more often, it's just a vague outline, or more likely, just a mess.
One of the reasons I love that poem so much is that it doesn't assume we should understand the reason for anything. When everything is in shambles, and you can't see the sense in anything, it doesn't mean you are the problem. It allows for the idea that sometimes everything can go wrong, but life can still turn out all right.
I have always said, "Life's not fair, and then you die." My mother hates it when I say that, but that was the reality I learned when my dad died when I was 12 years old. Life is not fair. That's it. There is no explanation, no deeper meaning. No platitude about my father being in a better place made the slightest bit of sense to me, because it was obvious to me that I was not better off without him, and that was what really mattered. Sometimes life makes no sense at all, and it is futile to try to make reasonable what is not.
So don't kid yourself, God will allow you to be completely overwhelmed by your life. The troubles will pile on, and the grief will not seem unbearable, but be unbearable. There will be times that you will hurt so bad you can't breathe. I have learned over the course of my life that there are moments when you simply cannot be strong, cannot be brave, cannot handle or accept or tolerate the situation in which you find yourself.
What then, do we say to the unfortunate, the overwhelmed, the person who is getting shafted by the vagaries of fate, for no reason other than that they exist? How do we explain the tsunami victims, or the young mother killed by a drunk driver who walks away unscathed? Is there any answer that will help inspire the person for whom God has already allowed too much, and they can't handle any more?
For me, that is where the true friend comes in. My friends of the heart don't ask me to be strong or fair or even happy most of the time. My true friends rage with me, and agree that life is unfair. When I take two steps forward and one step back, my real friends care as much about the step backwards as the steps forward, and they aren't afraid to notice that the pace is somewhat uneven.
Most importantly, those people in my life who genuinely care about me don't try to minimize what is wrong in my life by pointing out that someone else has it even worse. And in acknowledging what is wrong for me, they also allow me to find for myself what is right, what is good, where I have been blessed, where serendipity has entered the picture.
Last week was a long one around here. I found myself, once again, treading water and gasping for air, wishing for a vacation from my life, just for a little while. I spent some moments raging against the vagaries of fate. Even my very own mother, who is normally the eternal optimist, was forced, at one point, to admit that I do have the most ridiculous things happen to me. While it could, undoubtedly, be worse, it was bad enough for me.
And yet, in the midst of my complaints, the realization of what is right slowly worked its way into my consciousness, and I felt somewhat better. There is an old saying, where there is life, there is hope. I think, of all the things that are amazing about the human spirit, it may be that quality which is most precious. Sometimes, out of the worst of times comes the best of ourselves. The enduring hope that tomorrow will be a better day is not just in the movies.
One of the things I would wish to do in life is to use my own tribulations to help other people cope with theirs. When you are experiencing hard times, it is more meaningful to hear from someone who has been through it, that you will not only survive, but be okay. If writing is my talent, then perhaps in writing about my own hard times, I can inspire someone else in theirs.
Life is hard, and then you do die, it is true. So you don't need to minimize what is wrong about your life, or anyone else's. But at the same time, you should also encourage and allow the realization to grow that in the middle, sometimes you are blessed to see the vague outline of the tapestry that is your life, and if you look really hard, you will find some random threads of unexpected beauty. It still won't make sense, it still won't be fair, but you may find, like the poem says, that it is the black threads that are the foundation of life, and the silver and gold are just the accents. And perhaps that is the way it is supposed to be.
The Plan of the Master Weaver
Our lives are but fine weavings
That God and we prepare,
Each life becomes a fabric planned
And fashioned in His care.
We may not always see just how
The weavings intertwine,
But we must trust the Master's hand
And follow His design,
For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side,
While we must look from underneath
And trust in Him to guide...
Sometimes a strand of sorrow
Is added to His plan,
And though it's difficult for us,
We still must understand
That it's He who fills the shuttle,
It's He who knows what's best,
So we must weave in patience
And leave to Him the rest...
Not till 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 needed
In the Weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
---Author Unknown
Our lives are but fine weavings
That God and we prepare,
Each life becomes a fabric planned
And fashioned in His care.
We may not always see just how
The weavings intertwine,
But we must trust the Master's hand
And follow His design,
For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side,
While we must look from underneath
And trust in Him to guide...
Sometimes a strand of sorrow
Is added to His plan,
And though it's difficult for us,
We still must understand
That it's He who fills the shuttle,
It's He who knows what's best,
So we must weave in patience
And leave to Him the rest...
Not till 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 needed
In the Weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
---Author Unknown
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