Hidden Worth
In a world where our value is all too often measured by the sheer amount of money in one’s bank account, by stock portfolios, luxurious cars, grand mansions, and a multitude of similar material possessions, I find myself on a journey seeking to discover that which genuinely brings me joy and a deep sense of fulfillment. I have come to realize that there is truly so much to appreciate in life that costs little to nothing, yet offers genuine happiness and lasting pleasure. It is in the simple moments, the gentle whispers of nature, the soothing melodies of music, the joy of poetry, a profound and enriching experience that allows us to explore our innermost thoughts and emotions.
Imagery (through photography, drawing, painting) provides a unique avenue for self-expression while connecting with the world around us in meaningful ways The heartfelt connections we cultivate with loved ones is where we ultimately find our true worth and sense of purpose.
This is the reason why I choose to pair photography (visions) and poetry (verse) on this site, as I strive to remind myself and others that truly seeing beauty and value in our lives requires us to actively open our eyes, to listen intently, and to think, simply and honestly, about the world around us and the moments that shape our experiences.
“The Touch of A Master’s Hand” was beautifully penned by the Myra Welch, who initially chose not to put her name to this profound work. She felt, very deeply, that the piece had been imparted to her by her God, a sentiment that adds even greater significance to the message. This notion profoundly illustrates that true value and worth cannot be accurately expressed in mere dollars and cents, emphasizing a richness that transcends material wealth.
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 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.
Sometimes, it requires a keen eye and an open heart to truly recognize what is invaluable in our lives.
