Father controls the design
This one is an extract from a book written from one of my favorite authors- Ravi Zacharias. I have a copy of it with me given to me by a good friend. As I read it again it made a lot of sense and a clear perspective of the hand of GOD. Whoever is reading it I pray that GOD will reach out to your heart as he has mine.I have typed down the extract from the book.
In my mind’s eye I see a modest-looking building in the northern city of Varanasi, India. Varanasi is perhaps most famous as the hub of Hinduism,since through it flows the sacred river Ganges. But it also has a deserved reputation for producing the spectacular and breathtaking saris that every bride in northern India wants to wear on her wedding day. Having attended numerous weddings while growing up in Delhi, I well recall admiring these magnificent works of art. The spectacular colors practically explode: reds that seem to be the source from which all other reds emerge;royal blues that look as though they reflect the oceans of the world; brilliant greens that appear to borrow from the finest emeralds and lend their softer side to all the well-manicured lawns of the world; and gold and silver threads that don’t just seem to be gold and silver because they are real gold and silver. All these colors get woven into patterns that one would think came from the perfect mind and the perfect pair of hands. I had always wanted to see how they were made. Who created them, and how did they do it?
I walk into a building and then into a little side room. In typical Indian fashion, the surroundings leave very much to be desired, but the final product is nothing short of a work of art. Essentially, a father and son team makes each sari. The
father sits on a raised platform with huge spools of brilliantly colored threads within his reach. The son sits on the floor in the lotus position (with apparent ease and comfort I can only envy — the first challenge would be to get into that position
and the second to stand up afterwards). The team wears basic and simple clothing. Their fingers move nimbly, their hands never touching any softening lotion. They hunch over their work, and their eyes focus on the pattern emerging with each
move of the shuttle. Before my eyes, though it did not appear so at first, a grand
design appears. The father gathers some threads in his hand, then nods, and the son moves the shuttle from one side to the other. A few more threads, another nod, and again the son responds by moving the shuttle. The process seems almost Sisyphus-like in its repetition, the silence broken only occasionally with a comment or by some visitor who interrupts to ask a question about the end design. The father smiles and tries in broken English to explain the picture he has in his mind, but compared to the magnificence of the final product, it is a mere lisp. I know that if I were to come back a few weeks later — in some instances a few months later — I would see the spools of thread almost empty and a six-yard-long sari, breathtaking in all of its splendor. Throughout the process, the son has had a much easier task.Most likely he has often felt bored. Perhaps his back has ached or his legs have gone to sleep. Perhaps he has wished for some other calling in life — something he might find more stimulating or fulfilling. He has but one task, namely, to move the shuttle as directed by the father’s nod, hoping to learn to think like the father so that he can carry on the business at the appropriate time.
Yet the whole time, the design has remained in the mind of the father as he held the threads. In a few days, this sari will make its way to a shop in Delhi or Bombay or Calcutta. A lovely young lady with her mother will note the saris on display.This one will catch her eye and she will exclaim, “Bohut badiya [how grand]! Khupsurat [what a beautiful face]!” A sari with a beautiful face, because a grand weaver has purposefully designed it. Before long, it will be draped around her, beautifying
the lovely bride.Now if an ordinary weaver can take a collection of colored threads and create a garment to beautify the face, is it not possible that the Grand Weaver has a design in mind for you, a design that will adorn you as he uses your life to fashion you for his purpose, using all the threads within his reach?
Still in Tune
One little stanza of an Isaac Watts’ hymn illustrates God’s majesty,expressed in the unique way he has made each one of us:Our life contains a thousand springs,
and dies if one be gone;strange that a harp of a thousand strings
should keep in tune so long!
Once you begin to see God’s hand in your life, you will know that his workmanship within you and through you was tailor-made, just for you. His design for your life pulls together every thread of your existence into a magnificent work of art.
Every thread matters and has a specific purpose.I pray that as you read these pages, you will see those threads come together and know that God is indeed the Grand Weaver
of your life.
RAVI K. ZACHARIAS
In my mind’s eye I see a modest-looking building in the northern city of Varanasi, India. Varanasi is perhaps most famous as the hub of Hinduism,since through it flows the sacred river Ganges. But it also has a deserved reputation for producing the spectacular and breathtaking saris that every bride in northern India wants to wear on her wedding day. Having attended numerous weddings while growing up in Delhi, I well recall admiring these magnificent works of art. The spectacular colors practically explode: reds that seem to be the source from which all other reds emerge;royal blues that look as though they reflect the oceans of the world; brilliant greens that appear to borrow from the finest emeralds and lend their softer side to all the well-manicured lawns of the world; and gold and silver threads that don’t just seem to be gold and silver because they are real gold and silver. All these colors get woven into patterns that one would think came from the perfect mind and the perfect pair of hands. I had always wanted to see how they were made. Who created them, and how did they do it?
I walk into a building and then into a little side room. In typical Indian fashion, the surroundings leave very much to be desired, but the final product is nothing short of a work of art. Essentially, a father and son team makes each sari. The
father sits on a raised platform with huge spools of brilliantly colored threads within his reach. The son sits on the floor in the lotus position (with apparent ease and comfort I can only envy — the first challenge would be to get into that position
and the second to stand up afterwards). The team wears basic and simple clothing. Their fingers move nimbly, their hands never touching any softening lotion. They hunch over their work, and their eyes focus on the pattern emerging with each
move of the shuttle. Before my eyes, though it did not appear so at first, a grand
design appears. The father gathers some threads in his hand, then nods, and the son moves the shuttle from one side to the other. A few more threads, another nod, and again the son responds by moving the shuttle. The process seems almost Sisyphus-like in its repetition, the silence broken only occasionally with a comment or by some visitor who interrupts to ask a question about the end design. The father smiles and tries in broken English to explain the picture he has in his mind, but compared to the magnificence of the final product, it is a mere lisp. I know that if I were to come back a few weeks later — in some instances a few months later — I would see the spools of thread almost empty and a six-yard-long sari, breathtaking in all of its splendor. Throughout the process, the son has had a much easier task.Most likely he has often felt bored. Perhaps his back has ached or his legs have gone to sleep. Perhaps he has wished for some other calling in life — something he might find more stimulating or fulfilling. He has but one task, namely, to move the shuttle as directed by the father’s nod, hoping to learn to think like the father so that he can carry on the business at the appropriate time.
Yet the whole time, the design has remained in the mind of the father as he held the threads. In a few days, this sari will make its way to a shop in Delhi or Bombay or Calcutta. A lovely young lady with her mother will note the saris on display.This one will catch her eye and she will exclaim, “Bohut badiya [how grand]! Khupsurat [what a beautiful face]!” A sari with a beautiful face, because a grand weaver has purposefully designed it. Before long, it will be draped around her, beautifying
the lovely bride.Now if an ordinary weaver can take a collection of colored threads and create a garment to beautify the face, is it not possible that the Grand Weaver has a design in mind for you, a design that will adorn you as he uses your life to fashion you for his purpose, using all the threads within his reach?
Still in Tune
One little stanza of an Isaac Watts’ hymn illustrates God’s majesty,expressed in the unique way he has made each one of us:Our life contains a thousand springs,
and dies if one be gone;strange that a harp of a thousand strings
should keep in tune so long!
Once you begin to see God’s hand in your life, you will know that his workmanship within you and through you was tailor-made, just for you. His design for your life pulls together every thread of your existence into a magnificent work of art.
Every thread matters and has a specific purpose.I pray that as you read these pages, you will see those threads come together and know that God is indeed the Grand Weaver
of your life.
RAVI K. ZACHARIAS
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