[Key Word: PAIN]
Well it was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer felt it was hardly worth his while,
To waste much time on the old violin but he held it up with a smile,
Well it sure ain’t much but its all we got left I guess we aught to sell it to,
Oh, now who’ll start the bid on this old violin?
Just one more and well be through.
The crown fell silent as the bidding began. It was nothing abnormal. ‘Twas simply a lazy Friday afternoon with birds singing outside the windows, and crickets chirping merrily. A spring day, full of new life and rest.
The old man in the back had already bought a couple nick-knacks to add to his failing shop and had fallen asleep. His head rested on the wall, and his hands stayed peacefully on his gilded cane.
His nephew sat beside him, impatient and annoyed. His afternoon had been wasted, and he was none too pleased- Especially as the hard wooden bench was cashing his back pain. Seeing the poor auctioneer stumble through the explanation of the old oddities bored the young man to death, and stared exasperatedly at one of the final items.
And then he cried one give me one dollar,
Who’ll make it two only two dollars who’ll make it three,
Three dollars twice now that’s a good price,
Now who’s gonna bid for me?
Raise up your hand now don’t wait any longer the auctions about to end,
Who’s got four Just one dollar more to bid on this old violin?
No one moved. It seemed to the young man that no one breathed either. The old broken piece of junk looked like something his younger brothers would turn into a bonfire.
He glanced at his uncle, wishing he could wake him up to leave, but alas he was worried that he might signal the auctioneer and thus waste four dollars.
The air grew sticky and humid as the calling drew on. It seemed the nephew as though it would never end, when suddenly a stir in beside him brought him to his senses.
His aged uncle looked at the violin, and in one smooth motion rose from he back of the room. All the young man could do was watch.
Well the air was hot and the people stood around as the sun was setting low,
From the back of the crowd a gray haired man,
Came forward and picked up the bow,
He wiped the dust from the old violin then he tightened up the strings,
Then he played out a melody pure and sweet, sweeter than the Angels sing,
And then the music stopped and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low he said now what am I bid,
For this old violin and he held it up with a bow.
The man sat in shock as his uncle limped his way back to him. A quiet joy covered the older man’s face, and though he didn’t smile, the younger one knew he was at peace.
Something he’d been longing for his whole life. He had it all- Stable job, lovely wife, beautiful children. He had everything but simple happiness.
Yet his nearly broke and widowed uncle seemed to have it all.
And then he cried out one give me one thousand,
Who’ll make it two only two thousand who’ll make it three,
Three thousand twice you know that’s a good price,
Common who’s gonna to bid for me?
And the people cried out what made the change we don’t understand,
Then the auctioneer stopped and he said with a smile,
It was the touch of the Masters hand.
“My boy,” the old man leaned over to him as the auctioneer glanced at the man in the front. “If a simple human such as I, can create a bearable noise out of such an old ad beautiful instrument- How much more can the Creator and Master of the universe do with his most blessed creations?”
All italics quoted verbatim from The Touch Of The Master’s Hand. (Linked song by Wayne Watson)