Heirloom

The City of Bradford was once the centre of the worlds woollen trade and as a lad it was quiet common to see Flatbed Lorries carrying great bales of wool for delivery to the various mills in and around the town

I would watch the workers winching these bales up and into great yawning doors in the mill side.

The air would be filled with the smell of lanolin

The sound of the looms in the weaving sheds was horrendous and the workers would mouth words to each other and so became good at lip reading.

Most firms wove sheeps wool others alpaca and some mohair from goat but whatever hair was used the end product off those looms was the best cloth in the world.

The Tapestry Poem by Corrie Ten Boom 

My life is but a weaving 

Between my God and me. 
I cannot choose the colors 
He weaveth steadily. 
Oft' times 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 reveal 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 
He knows, He loves, He cares; 
Nothing this truth can dim. 
He gives the very best to those 
Who leave the choice to Him.

                    ---

Ephesians 3:6

This mystery is that through the gospel the Gentiles are heirs together with Israel, members together of one body, and sharers together in the promise in Christ Jesus.

Titus 3:7
so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life.
                    ---
I’ll leave the weaving to Him

He weaves Heirs on His loom….