Death Leaves Big Ripples


Southwest Oklahoma Sunset

Some people, politicians particularly, call the sparsely populated mid-section of the United States the “flyover states” as though we and our pathetic voting bloc aren’t worth bothering with. But all of us who live out here have lives, and hopes, and dreams that are fulfilled or shattered just like people everywhere.

Recently there have been a number of tragic deaths in our area, the latest were two law officers killed in the line of duty–one a sheriff’s deputy, the other a small town policeman. In this country of big sky and small communities, death leaves big ripples.

Many times death is the hardest thing because it is so final, but other tragedies take their toll, too. Just this morning, some newly married friends lost their home to a fire. Many people are sick this time of year. People are struggling to survive the bitterly cold weather. Or, drought. Poverty. Betrayal. Abuse. Persecution. Every minute of every day, the groanings of mankind rise to heaven from all around the world.

So today, I’ll just share one of my favorite poems and hope it comforts anyone who needs it.

The Weaver

My Life is but a weaving
between my Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.

Oft times He weaveth sorrow
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the under side.

Not til 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 needful
In the Weaver’s skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.


Until next time, God bless all y’all and enjoy 4 Him doing a good one, Where There is Faith.