Lady Weave

Nurtured by Grace by Shiloh Sophia McCloud

There is a weave of love and instruction

You have placed upon my life.

Your Son said His yoke was easy and His

burden was light.

Light as in ‘light and heavy’

Or light as in rays of spiritual light?

What is your yoke like? Like light.
I shall try to explain it like this:


Your lady weave

is the color of new milk and bright gold.

It is soft like the fur of a new born bunny

and it is strong like a million strands

of silk washed with rain a million times.


I experience it

first like a veil hovering

about 3 feet over my head.

I catch glimpses of it as I am running

From thing to thing.

Praying hurriedly between things.

What’s that?

Whoosh. It is gone.

I know it is woven of grace and beauty.


Then one day, a long time after I have

called on you

and yet not so long at all,

I notice the veil is just

.THERE. Floating.

Shimmering like a great bird

glistening in the sun.

A silken cloud.

bits of sky blue filter through the weave.

The veil is at once everywhere present

and invisible at the same time.


From time to time I see it

feel it   know it  desire it   am grateful for it

Your lady weave is illusive

and as real as light is real in the morning

and sometimes, it feels like it is gone

and I feel alone and I wonder,

did I do something to take it away?

Then I remember I am beyond the place

where love is conditional for me.

Thank God.


Writing this is like trying to capture a cloud.

And it makes me think of that writing, Footprints.

Where the woman is looking back on her life

who in her memory is walking along

seeing two sets of footprints in the sand

and feeling Jesus is with her.

Then during the hardest times,

She sees only one set of footprints

and she asks Jesus why she was left alone
during those hardest of times.

Jesus replies that it was at those times

that He carried her.


I think of that story now –

and I think about your veil

and the times I don’t see it. Feel it. Know it.

It is then you have placed it on my shoulders.


From coming into this dimension,

the lady weave turns crimson,

the color you wear in our paintings of you,

and you place it upon my shoulders.

The red threads of your lady weave

wrap me in warmth. In love. In hope.

In humanity and divinity.

And I think of you often,

weaving the veil of the temple

with a red thread in hand

when the Angel came with tidings:

HAIL. Highly favored one.

How surprised you must have been!


Lady, when I write to you,

I need a language I do not know

and images I have never seen.

My poet’s heart and artist’s eye

are a particle of dust when I wish

them to be a symphony in your honor.

Being a Mother though –

and knowing how good mothers are,

since I have one on earth too

you accept my offerings as more

lovely than they are

and send me the spirit of peace.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

I am nutured by grace.