02/07/11

Mikayla has an old viola that we rent for her. She gets annoyed with it at times because it was not taken care of with the previous owner. She kept saying yesterday that she didn't like it and didn't like to practice it because it wasn't "just right." It made me think of this poem and that I am so thankful God doesn't feel that way about me.


The Touch of the Master's Hand

It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
hardly worth his while
To waste much 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,"

But, No, 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 scarred with sin
Is auctioned cheap to a thankless world
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

After she read this poem, she looked at me with sheepish eyes. I asked her why she thought I had her read the poem. She quietly said it was because even though the viola was old, it could still be played. I asked her what if God saw us like what she had said about the viola. There are many people in this world who are the same as that old violin, yet God says He loves them and always will. I think her reading that poem helped her understand two concepts at once much more than me just saying "Just play!"

I am thankful I have been touched by the Master's Hand.