Silencing the Loom

I have stopped and started this post many times over the past several weeks.  I had gotten to a point where I had gathered a lot of information and had organized many thoughts and was ready to finish it up one morning.  I opened my computer and all was lost.

So I started to write, then I immediately was called to be at the hospital with my dear dear friend who was in a very scary place medically.

I thought I would sit that day and reflect on the title of this post and what it means to "Silence the Loom" but God had more to show me.  He had a place for me to be and His work for me to do.

I understand that looms were the instrument by which fabric was made many years ago. The originally ones, without the "shuttles" were operated by hand and required great strength and an enormous amount of skill and time.  I read some history that indicated that women mostly used the looms as they knit together fabric for all type of needs in the home and possibly for the market. I also read that these looms sometimes required the sheer physical strength of a man to effectively operate.

I thought through this as I reflected on my seeking of late in my life.  I have felt very much in a dry place, so I have been digging deep, my roots have been stressed as they have painfully sought the deep deep water of the Lord that is often so very hard to find in this world.  The painful stress has been embodied by serious illness of friends, death of family, questioning of career, hurt from unkind words, and just real burdens of this world.

As I have reviewed my life, I have heard two words from the Lord, "Cease Striving".  In other words, "Be still"...and while you are at it girl, "Know...that I am God."

I have always driven the loom.  I have strained the fabrics of my life.  I have given my all to many things and to many people.  I have relied on the strength of the Lord throughout my life, but I have done so intermittently.  I have taken that loom and I have run it.  I have diligently followed the specific plan to create each desired tapestry, staying true to the plan and getting the outcomes that one does when you "cross all your I's and dot all your T's".

But in my learning, my listening, my ceasing to strive...

I have heard a silent loom.  That has been hard.  I have been so used to hearing the fabric brush against each thread, I have become accustomed to expected outcomes of living a life "by the instruction manual".  Now this is not bad as my instruction manual is the Bible, but am I stopping the noise to truly rest in His presence and in His message that comes alive in those pages?

I have heard God's voice saying, "Cease striving, I have got this"...and, "What, exactly, are you striving for?"

I have heard a silent loom.  

When the loom is silent, hearing takes on a different meaning.  Hearing isn't dependent on external noise.  

I have heard God whisper as I stepped into my patient's funeral a year ago and read words to her family and friends.  I did not know how to do that.  I was the only speaker.  I heard, "I have chosen you for this, I will carry you."

I have heard faith in the flesh as I looked into the eyes of my dear friend before she went into a very precarious brain procedure and met my fears head on, saying, "I would do all of this over again if it meant that just one soul turned to the Lord, I fully trust him."

I have heard heart cries as another patient's mother, reached out for help in seeking God's plan for her daughter... who cannot talk, cannot express pain, cannot tell her mama what she needs. I heard her quote scripture to me.

I have heard the quiet sobs of my grandfather's children as the promise of eternal life was whispered by the pastor as we sat in front of his American flag covered casket.

I have heard hearts.  I have heard hurts.  I have heard joys.  I have heard fears.  I have heard love.  I have heard things that have to also be felt, not with hands that are busy at the loom, but with hands that are open to the moving of the Spirit.

I have heard silence as I sat on my couch, my eyes and hands raised to the sky, saying, God, I want what you want for my life.  I want you to use me. Please guide me in my life's work to do your work.

That silence is hard for me.  I am in a place of open arms with a silenced loom.  I am trying to still my hands, to stop texting, emailing, striving.  I am learning the art of rest, rest in the moment, one little second at a time.  One little smile, one little hug, one little giggle at a time.  I am learning to listen to one conversation at a time and this is hard with three small children, trust me!

I have been seeking clarity in my career.  Having an open posture, I wonder if God has other plans for me. Will I write a book?  Will I use my gifts in a different way?  Will I continue on as a nurse practitioner?  Will I not?  I don't know.  But, while this loom is silent, while the shuttles cease to fly, I will wait in that silence.

His strength is that of a Heavenly Father, he takes over as I cannot weave the fabrics the way he can. I am not strong enough.  I think of what I read about the sheer physical strength it took, even when comparing a woman and a man's strength, to operate the loom and I am humbled.  Silencing the loom for me means letting God weave the fabrics of my life.  After all, I do see the underside of the tapestry, as Corrie Ten Boom references in his beautiful poem.  I see the mess, the knots, the darkness and I doubt the final product.  But God always has his plan in mind, He always has the bird's eye view.  He weaves the dark threads along with those that are silver and gold with the greatest skill and precision.  

He is the master seamstress and I am His tapestry, a beautiful unique weaving of many different threads, all chosen specifically with little me in mind.  There is no reason for me to press the loom, to try to figure it all out, dotting all the i's along the way.  What beauty there is in silence, especially when that silence is so full.  

My life is just a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaves so skillfully.

Sometimes 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 explain the reasons why-

The dark threads are as needful,
In The Weaver’s skillful hands
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.