The camera and the touch of the Master's Hand

Yesterday I was able to do something I've been meaning to do for YEARS!

I took a photography class! About 10 years ago I had a great Olympus camera that was the best of it's kind (for amateurs) at the time. I shot video, had multiple lens and really enjoyed shooting with it. But, I went overboard and in a snowstorm too much water got into it or too cold perhaps and it stopped working. I'm still sad about it. I've been using a cheaper digital camera since that time.

So, I've been waiting to get a really good camera and was leaning toward a Nikon, but Santa Clause brought me a Canon. A pretty nice one in fact. And, I got a free class with it.

 

Oh my word! I learned so much about ISO, aperture, shutter speed, and various focal points. I learned that my camera can actually do what it claims, but in the wrong hands it hasn't been doing much. My hands.

Upon each new piece of information, the camera became more valuable to me. Who knew I had all of these capabilities at MY fingertips! I just needed to learn how to use it, leverage it, maximize it...

It reminded me of a great poem that taught me the worth of souls, the worth of pursuing and sharing talents, and the worth that sometimes we have to bring out in others that they don't yet know about themselves.

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,"

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 with bourbon and gin
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