The last night Karen was to spend in the home, she surprised the houseparents by asking if she could lead the evening devotions.  She had already had her child, placed the child in adoption, and had stayed on for about six weeks.  Her graduation from high school was the next day, and then her aunt and uncle would pick her up.  She was going to live with them.  Since her parents divorced five years ago, she had been shifted from house to house.  Her aunt and uncle were Christians, and the social worker at the home helped them plan for her to come and be part of their family.

She had arrived six moths ago, pregnant and withdrawn.  Her life, once characterized by rejection and rebellion, was now committed to the Lord.  Her baby, spared from abortion, had been placed for adoption.  She would be starting community college in the fall near her aunt and uncle’s home.  This would be the most stability she has had in years.  The houseparents held back tears as she shared from memory the poem “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 gray-haired man
came forward and picked up the bow;
then, wiping the dust from the old violin,
and tightening the loose 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 a 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’s wrought
by the touch of the Master’s hand.”

–Myra Brooks Welch

 Karen, through tear-filled eyes, turned and said to the Houseparents, “You have been the Master’s hand in my life.”

 Moments like this can never be taken from us.  Karen was one of the young women who lived with Jim and Anne Pierson at the House of His Creation.  Even though more than 30 years have passed, they are still in touch with her.