Restored back to former usefulness
The poem below is probably one of my favorite poems. It’s by Myra Brooks Welch and she wrote it around 1921. As I read this poem, it reminds me of my life — especially before salvation. We may all be broken in one way or another. You may not appear to be on the outside really: I was happy, had a family and a job.
Still, there was something missing. But, by the touch from the Master (and with a bit of tuning and dusting) He straightens us right up. We see this in famous works of art, classic cars, and antiques as they are restored and polished to look like new.
I love “old things.” They brings back memories of times past. When I see them restored to their former glory, it gives me joy in knowing that someone took the time to keep it in shape or to do the work to fix it
Craftsman
I’ve watched as expert craftsmen take an old car, wardrobe or painting to restore it. Sometimes, these craftsmen have to strip it down to each individual piece before they can start the process of restoring it.
Sometimes, it goes fast and before you know, it the object is back to working order or its former beauty. Other times, it takes months or even years for the object to restored. If a necessary piece is hard to track down, it only adds to the delay. But with God, He’s the master craftsman and knows exactly what needs done in each situation.
Your usefulness
Just because you might be a “classic” doesn’t meant you’ve lost your usefulness. With God’s restoration in our lives, we’re all useful. Just because you feel there is nothing you can do for God doesn’t mean that’s true. God called you and who He calls He can use.
Consider the types of works needed in the church. Prayer is something we can all do. Picking up trash is another small task we can do for Him. Or, you can be a greeter or encourager. Sometimes, simply being there is enough!
I hope you enjoy this poem!
The Touch of the Master’s Hand
Myra Brooks Welch
‘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 grey-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loosened strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet,
As a 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 the 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 is wrought
By the touch of the Master’s hand.