I hope your month of December has been going by happily and I hope your Christmas season will be even better! I came across a really wonderful poem not too long ago that I’d like to share with you all. I love poetry and this poem has a lot of meaning behind it. And the words to this poem have spoken to me very clearly the past few weeks. So this Friday morning, I want to encourage you to remember that your true value is only found in the Hands of our Creator. All our potential, purpose, and meaning is only ever found when we stop putting it in anything else but God.
This has been an eye opening thing for me. I realized that I was putting my security in other people thought of me, but that only left me feeling… well, insecure! So I wrote out a list of all the things that I had held back from God and all the things I had placed my “sense of security” into, then I prayed over them and let each one go. This will be a slow process I know, but it was really this poem and some time spent thinking and praying that got me started. So I hope as you read this poem you’ll find something to hold onto and ponder. If nothing strikes you, remember that you’re valuable and God has something really beautiful for you to do (a beautiful song to be played).
The Touch of the Master’s Hand:
Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
thought it scarcely worth his while to waste much time on the old violin,
but held it up with a smile; “What am I bidden, good folks,” he cried,
“Who’ll start the bidding for me?” “A dollar, a dollar”; then two!” “Only
two? Two dollars, and who’ll make it three? Three dollars, once; three
dollars twice; going for three..” But no, from the room, far back, a
gray-haired man came forward and picked up the bow; Then, wiping the dust
from the old violin, and tightening the loose strings, he played a melody
pure and sweet as caroling angel sings.
The music ceased, and the auctioneer, with a voice that was quiet and low,
said; “What am I bid for the old violin?” And he held it up with the bow.
A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two? Two thousand! And who’ll make
it three? Three thousand, once, three thousand, twice, and going and
gone,” said he. The people cheered, but some of them cried, “We do not
quite understand what changed its worth.” Swift came the reply: “The touch
of a master’s hand.”
And many a man with life out of tune, and battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd, much like the old violin, A
“mess of pottage,” a glass of wine; a game – and he travels on. “He is
going” once, and “going twice, He’s going and almost gone.” But the Master
comes, and the foolish crowd never can quite understand the worth of a soul
and the change that’s wrought by the touch of the Master’s hand.
–Myra ‘Brooks’ Welch