Misjudging Max
Dear Max,
I am really sorry. I had it all wrong--I had YOU all wrong, and I feel terrible.
I always just saw you as the funny, strange old man in the clogging group. The other old ladies would get frustrated and impatient with you and your free-style clogging. They whispered things, like how you might be losing it. I didn't know if I should believe them, and I actually thought your free-styling was cool, but you still seemed a little weird, and I always kept my distance.
Yesterday, at the clogging Christmas party, we had all just finished eating, and Hilda announced it was time for a little clogging. But while we were putting on our shoes, she said you had a recitation you wanted to share. I was excited--but not for the right reasons. I asked Elisa to grab her camera and take some video, and snickered with anticipation. I was expecting to be entertained, while secretly mocking you.
But then you recited a poem: "The Touch of the Master's Hand." Right away, I knew this was from a very deep place in your heart. Your voice broke, and your eyes watered at the last sentence... "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."
I don't know your story, Max, but I heard your testimony. You know your Master and how much He loves you, and you haven't forgotten. Thank you for being courageous enough to tell us. I'm sorry I almost missed it.
Your friend,
Andrea
I am really sorry. I had it all wrong--I had YOU all wrong, and I feel terrible.
I always just saw you as the funny, strange old man in the clogging group. The other old ladies would get frustrated and impatient with you and your free-style clogging. They whispered things, like how you might be losing it. I didn't know if I should believe them, and I actually thought your free-styling was cool, but you still seemed a little weird, and I always kept my distance.
Yesterday, at the clogging Christmas party, we had all just finished eating, and Hilda announced it was time for a little clogging. But while we were putting on our shoes, she said you had a recitation you wanted to share. I was excited--but not for the right reasons. I asked Elisa to grab her camera and take some video, and snickered with anticipation. I was expecting to be entertained, while secretly mocking you.
But then you recited a poem: "The Touch of the Master's Hand." Right away, I knew this was from a very deep place in your heart. Your voice broke, and your eyes watered at the last sentence... "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."
I don't know your story, Max, but I heard your testimony. You know your Master and how much He loves you, and you haven't forgotten. Thank you for being courageous enough to tell us. I'm sorry I almost missed it.
Your friend,
Andrea
"The Lord doesn’t see things the way you see them. People judge by outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." - 1 Sam. 16:7 (NLT)
beautiful.
ReplyDeleteWish I could have stayed to hear that. Too bad I was busy crashing parties.
youch. that's a wake up call to my general day-to-day attitude towards too many people. thanks for calling me out.
ReplyDeleteoooh. wow.
ReplyDeleteI really needed to hear that.
ReplyDelete