as sweet as the angel sings

today i heard, but again, this poem.  and although it is popular and ive heard it (and love it) many times.  today, it held a special meaning for me.

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

And I thought of my man.  i thought of his slip, and another slip, and i worry if he is going, going, gone. my poor man bruised and battered, and his self worth shot to the ground.
and i thought of myself.  the mess i feel like.  how little and insignificant i am. how much i struggle.  i think of my past sins that have haunted me.  how boy after boy dump me for the mistake i made.  how i felt like no man of God could possibly love me.  and my self worth—shot to the ground.

and i am reminded, in this sweet poem, that God does indeed know ME.
and he loves me wholly and completely even if I am a mess.
and he has glory reserved for ME.
and that He is the Master that is molding me and refining me through these trials.

i have chosen to exercise, to actually use, the atonement of Jesus Christ.  I felt that i had to.  i couldnt see any clear option but that.  but the reality is there are many other options.  other worldly options i could have pursued to cope with my heartache.  but i choose God.
something unchanging.
something that is TRUE and good.
something that has the power to clean me.
something that has the power to literally change me and strengthen me beyond myself.

as i have reflected on this poem, i thought about how the atonement is changing both p. and i in very personal ways.  at the root of our very beings.
and i feel so much closer to p. for this experience.  i feel us growing together.

there have been very sacred and special experiences for me in the temple as i have begun my recovery.
there was a day that i performed sealings with some strangers.
i envisioned p. and i at the alter.
i wondered to God if that scene would ever come to life.
i wondered if i was meant to be his wife.
i imagined our hands clasped at that alter.

and a powerful feeling overcame my heart and mind.  my soul. my body and my spirit.
the question came, why do you hold his hand?

and tears flowed freely down my face.
and my heart burned.  and love covered me.
i knew that Jesus Christ would be binding two imperfect people to one another.
that he and i would be connected and perfected because of Jesus Christ.

never before have i been taught this.
i knew in that moment, that if p. and i chose to be sealed for eternity—we would need, we MUST, be bound together through Jesus Christ.  that we each must individually keep our relationship with God strong.  that we must repent quickly, and always be turned toward him.  that, THAT is how we could be successful and happy together even though we both have our flaws and problems.

and my heart just melted in the temple that day.
that room wasn't big enough to fill with the love that i felt.
p. does not even know about this experience.
i tried, over a fancy dinner, to tell him about it once.
but i choked on my words and i cried. and i found myself not saying it.
perhaps, it was not time.


this poem reminded me that p. is a man of amazing worth.
and he has the potential to be even more amazing as God molds him throughout his life.
i know that the men that are addicted to pornography are not disgusting.
they are not bad men.
they are not dirty.
they are not evil.
they are children of God.
they are desperately needed by God to be priesthood leaders in this world.
they are victim of a disease of the mind and body.
and they need to feel loved.  and they need to feel our testimonies of hope.
they need to feel of their worth again.

part of the 12 steps is to to admit that you, as a loved one of the addicted, can not do the recovery for them, nor force them to do it either.   but one of the greatest things i think we can do is help them to feel of their worth again.  they do not need to be yelled at or made to feel ashamed.  they do not need to be told its wrong.  they do not even need to be forced to understand that they are hurting us.  they need to be loved.  this is the best thing i think we could do.  and it is my goal.  and you think it would be easy.
but it painfully, is not.  but im going to keep on trying.