"My life is but a weaving between my Lord and me. I cannot choose the colors, nor all the pattern see. Sometimes He chooses sorrow and I, in foolish pride, forget He sees the upper and I the underside.
Not till the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly, will He reveal the pattern or tell the reason why. The dark threads are as useful in a weaver's skillful hand, as the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned." (Author unknown)