365 Days of Growing Together
Hi WR2W, I would like to share a poem with you entitled, “The Touch of the Master’s Hand” by Myra Brooks Welch. This story tells of an old, beaten up violin that was the last item to be auctioned by the auctioneer because he felt it was worthless and a waste of his time. The auctioneer started the price real cheap; only for $1 and the highest price the bid got up to was $3. But then something happened, an old gray-haired man picked up the old violin, wiped the dust from it; cleaning it up, tightened the strings, and went to work playing a pure and sweet melody. After hearing the melody, the auctioneer then recognized its value and increased the price. You see it was not about the physical state of the violin, but about whose hand it was given over too. Before, it was in the hands of someone who did not know its value and did not have the power to give it value but when it got into the hands of someone who knew its potential and gave it value through the quality of his touch, no longer was the old violin’s value questioned; matter of fact, it was increased.
How many of us have been treated like this old violin or know someone who has been treated like this old violin until we or they experience “The Touch of the Master’s Hand” and the sound of our life begins to play a sweet and beautiful melody that only God can orchestrate and then our value is recognized by the very ones who underbid on our worth? It is so important that we do not take the approach of the auctioneer nor the bidders because we too can be deceived by a look instead of being able to appreciate the beauty of the gift the person, place, or thing holds. I encourage each of us to read this poem in its entirety and thank God for Jesus as we reflect on the gift of “The Touch of the Master’s Hand”. I love each of you, be blessed, be encouraged, and be true!
I’ve Been Touched
The Old Violin
The Touch of the Master’s Hand
‘Twas battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
but he held it up with a smile.
“What am I bid, good people”, he cried,
“Who starts the bidding for me?”
“One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?”
“Two dollars, who makes it three?”
“Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three,”
From the room far back a gray bearded man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet
As sweet as the angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said “What now am I bid for this old violin?”
As he held it aloft with its’ bow.
“One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?”
“Two thousand, Who makes it three?”
“Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone”, said he.
The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
“We just don’t understand.”
“What changed its’ worth?”
Swift came the reply.
“The Touch of the Masters Hand.”
“And many a man with life out of tune
All battered and bruised with hardship
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin
A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is 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 is wrought
By the Touch of the Masters’ Hand.
– Myra Brooks Welch