In the Hands of a Master
"Learning too soon our limitations, we never learn our powers. " ~Mignon McLaughlin
As your children grow up, it is like seeing them with new eyes everyday. What seemed like babble becomes words once you hear their speech patterns. What seems like an annoying trait becomes one of their most successful talents. What seems like a crazy behavior becomes perfectly clear as a way of expressing thoughts and feelings.
Our oldest used to take apart our small electronics when he was four. I'd find him with the latest telephone or radio and a screw driver, at the table, pulling piece after piece off. I bought more toys, I read more parenting magazines, I tried to figure out what I was doing wrong. It wasn't normal for a child his age to do this. When I bought Lego's, he finally stopped demolishing my things and began working on those blocks. His favorite thing to do was have his dad build whatever intricate item he could and then he would take it apart.
When our oldest went to Kindergarten, he didn't learn like everyone else. He was a good kid and a joy for the teacher to have around, but he wasn't her best student. I remember the first parent teacher conference. When I sat down and looked over our sons work, she started out the conversation by saying, "Well, lets just face it, your son will not cure cancer." This was a highly esteemed teacher and our first experience in the classroom from the parent side. I have replayed those words in my head so many times as I've watched our son grow up. Lately, those words have come to me daily.
Every morning, more and more each day, an incredible man wakes up in the form of our son. The work he does for school, the things that he learns, the ideas that he has all equate to something so much larger than I can wrap my arms around. That pesky trait of wanting to take things apart, has lent itself to someone who is so innately aware of the details it is amazing. His ability to see the little picture in the midst of a whole will someday, I'm sure, benefit us all.
There are always two ways of seeing things. So many times we look at something for what it is not instead of what it may be. That Kindergarten teacher took some internal measuring stick, lined our son up next to it, and chalked him up as "not" something. The teachers today, in our sons life, have done completely the opposite. They've taken our son, given him space to grow, thrown in an incredible mixture of time and talent, and are now watching to see what he will become.
That is what a Master does. The story of the Master's hand has been told in books, and song. A violin is old and worn at an auction when the bidding starts at a dollar. As the crowd looks over the pitiful instrument and old man walks to the front of the room and picks up the violin. He begins to play. The song he plays on that violin is so amazing that the bidding skyrockets. The difference? The touch of the Master's hand.
Each of us is absolutely precious. All it takes is the right measuring stick, the right direction and the focus on what will instead of what won't. As adults, the Master is within us.
As your children grow up, it is like seeing them with new eyes everyday. What seemed like babble becomes words once you hear their speech patterns. What seems like an annoying trait becomes one of their most successful talents. What seems like a crazy behavior becomes perfectly clear as a way of expressing thoughts and feelings.
Our oldest used to take apart our small electronics when he was four. I'd find him with the latest telephone or radio and a screw driver, at the table, pulling piece after piece off. I bought more toys, I read more parenting magazines, I tried to figure out what I was doing wrong. It wasn't normal for a child his age to do this. When I bought Lego's, he finally stopped demolishing my things and began working on those blocks. His favorite thing to do was have his dad build whatever intricate item he could and then he would take it apart.
When our oldest went to Kindergarten, he didn't learn like everyone else. He was a good kid and a joy for the teacher to have around, but he wasn't her best student. I remember the first parent teacher conference. When I sat down and looked over our sons work, she started out the conversation by saying, "Well, lets just face it, your son will not cure cancer." This was a highly esteemed teacher and our first experience in the classroom from the parent side. I have replayed those words in my head so many times as I've watched our son grow up. Lately, those words have come to me daily.
Every morning, more and more each day, an incredible man wakes up in the form of our son. The work he does for school, the things that he learns, the ideas that he has all equate to something so much larger than I can wrap my arms around. That pesky trait of wanting to take things apart, has lent itself to someone who is so innately aware of the details it is amazing. His ability to see the little picture in the midst of a whole will someday, I'm sure, benefit us all.
There are always two ways of seeing things. So many times we look at something for what it is not instead of what it may be. That Kindergarten teacher took some internal measuring stick, lined our son up next to it, and chalked him up as "not" something. The teachers today, in our sons life, have done completely the opposite. They've taken our son, given him space to grow, thrown in an incredible mixture of time and talent, and are now watching to see what he will become.
That is what a Master does. The story of the Master's hand has been told in books, and song. A violin is old and worn at an auction when the bidding starts at a dollar. As the crowd looks over the pitiful instrument and old man walks to the front of the room and picks up the violin. He begins to play. The song he plays on that violin is so amazing that the bidding skyrockets. The difference? The touch of the Master's hand.
Each of us is absolutely precious. All it takes is the right measuring stick, the right direction and the focus on what will instead of what won't. As adults, the Master is within us.
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