The following poem is my all-time favorite. As you read it, try visualizing all the little children and teenagers who are living in foster care that feel lost, hopeless and worthless. There is generally a reason why they are not living with their biological parents. In a lot of cases these precious children are placed into the foster care system because their parents physically or sexually abused them. There are also a high percentage of children living in foster care because their parents are substance abusers and are neglecting them by not providing food or a clean living environment. In both of these cases, it is the parents fault! It is sad to see these children pay the price for their parent’s thoughtless actions.
Parents are responsible for shaping their kid’s life. Period! We Must End The Cycle!
When parents give up on these innocent children, children often give up too. The child gives up on themselves, has low self-esteem, lacks confidence and trust, and is all too commonly afraid of giving love unconditionally, burdened as he or she is with questions concerning their own self-worth. I know. I’ve been there! I was abandoned into the foster care system for thirteen years. I lost everything in my life and learned how to turn nothing into something.
No matter what we have been through, we still have value. This poem reminds us how valuable we really are, and how we sometimes sell ourselves short or let others determine our self-worth.
If we let others determine who we are, and then don’t live up to those false standards or expectations, we become depressed, falling into a slump which drains the life from us. People are the most valuable thing on this Earth. It’s not your house, your car or how much money you have in your savings. The worth of a soul cannot be determined by material possessions. Let’s face it, you can’t have a U-Haul trailer on the back of your hearse when you are about to meet your maker. Remember your uniqueness!
I love how this poem puts everything into perspective.
“The Touch of the Master’s Hand” By 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 he 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 all the loose strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet as the caroling angels sing.
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 don’t quite understand…
What changed its worth.”
Swift came the reply;
“THE TOUCH OF THE MASTERS HAND.”
“Now many a man with his life out of tune,
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.”
