Radiant Tales: "Look, little current bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be . . .

24 September 2012

"Look, little current bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be . . .

". . . and someday, little current bush, when you are laden with fruit, you're gonna say, 'Thank you Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down; for loving me enough to hurt me.' All of us can meet God's high expectations. However great or small our capacity and talent may be, let us pray for his love inspired correction."

-Elder Christofferson.

The parable of the Current Bush.

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AnonymousSeptember 25, 2012 at 5:09 PM
Dear Carrots,
Jason and I read this talk for FHE last night. And watched the Mormon Message Looks like it both made an impression on both you and me.

I love you! You're doing great.

love amber
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Do not pray for tasks equal to your abilities, but pray for abilities to equal your tasks.
Thomas S. Monson

Let the Scriptures be your guide and you will never find yourself traveling the road to nowhere.

Thomas S. Monson

The Touch of the Master's Hand

It was 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

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24 September 2012

"Look, little current bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be . . .

1 comment:

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