"The Master's Hand" was written by Myra Brooks Welch. She was called "The poet with the singing soul." Her's was a very musical family. As a young woman, Myra's special love was playing the organ.
"¸íÀåÀÇ ¼Õ±æ"À» ¾´ÀÌ´Â ºÎ·è À£Ä¡´Ù. ±×³à´Â "³ë·¡ÇÏ´Â ¿µÈ¥À» °¡Áø ½ÃÀÎ"À¸·Î ºÒ·ÁÁ³´Ù. ±×³àÀÇ °¡Á·Àº ¾ÆÁÖ À½¾ÇÀûÀÎ °¡Á·ÀÌ¿´´Ù. ¾î¸±¶§ºÎÅÍ ±×³à´Â dz±Ý(¿À¸£°£) Ʋ±â¸¦ ¾ÆÁÖ ÁÁ¾ÆÇß´Ù.
In 1921, she heard a speaker address a group of students. She said she became filled with light, and "Touch of the Master's Hand wrote itself in 30 minutes!" She sent it anonymously to her church news bulletin. She felt it was a gift from God, and didn't need her name on it. It's popularity spread like magic. Finally, several years later, the poem was read at a religious international convention - "author unknown." A young man stood up and said, "I know the author, and it's time the world did too. It was written by my mother, Myra Welch."
1921³â ±×³à´Â ÇÑ Àüµµ»ç°¡ Çлýµé¿¡°Ô ÇÑ ¼³±³¸¦ µé¾ú´Ù. ±×³à´Â ±×¶§ ºûÀ¸·Î Ã游µÇ¾úÀ¸¸ç 30ºÐ³»·Î "¸íÀåÀÇ ¼Õ±æ"ÀÌ ½áÁ³´Ù°í ÇÑ´Ù. ±× ½Ã(ãÌ)¸¦ ±×³à´Â ±³È¸ ÁÖº¸¿¡ ¹Ì¸íÀ¸·Î Åõ°íÇß´Ù. ±× ³à´Â ±× ½Ã(ãÌ)¸¦ Çϳª´ÔÀÌ ÁֽŠ¼±¹°·Î ´À²»±â¿¡ ÀÚ±âÀ̸§À» ½á¿Ã¸®Áö ¾Ê¾Ò´Ù. ±× ½Ã(ãÌ)´Â ¼ø½Ä°£¿¡ ÀαⰡ ¿Ã¶ú´Ù. ¸î³âÈÄ¿¡ µåµð¾î ±× ½Ã(ãÌ)´Â ±¹Á¦ÀûÀÎ ºÎÈïȸ¿¡¼ "ÀúÀÚ ¹Ì¸í" ÀÇ ½Ã(ãÌ)·Î ÀÐ°Ô µÇ¾ú´Ù. ÇÑ ÀþÀºÀÌ°¡ ÀϾ ¸»Çß´Ù. "Á¦°¡ ±× ½Ã(ãÌ)¸¦ ÁöÀºÀ̸¦ ¾Ð´Ï´Ù. ¼¼»óÀÌ ¶ÇÇÑ ±×¸¦ ¾Ë¾Æ¾ßÇÒ ¶§°¡ ¿Ô´Ù°í º¾´Ï´Ù. ±× ½Ã(ãÌ)´Â Á¦ ¾î¸Ó´Ô, ¹Ì¶ó À£Ä¡°¡ ½èÀ¾´Ï´Ù."
Then her name, as well her other beautiful works of poetry became known worldwide. All of her poetry told of the rejoicing she had in God's love.
±×ÈÄ·Î ±×³àÀÇ À̸§Àº ¹°·Ð ±× ³à°¡ ÁöÀº ¾Æ¸§´ÙÀº ¿©·¯ ½Ã(ãÌ)µéÀÌ ¼¼°èÀûÀ¸·Î ¾Ë·ÁÁ³´Ù. ±×³àÀÇ ½Ã(ãÌ)´Â ¸ðµÎ°¡ Çϳª´Ô ¾È¿¡ ±× ³à°¡ Áñ±ä ±â»ÝÀ» ³ª´©´Â °ÍÀ̾ú´Ù.
What the world did not see, was the woman who created these masterpieces: Myra in her wheelchair, battered and scarred from severe arthritis, which had taken away her ability to make music. Instead, her musical soul spoke through her poetry.
¼¼»ó¿¡ ¾Ë·ÁÁöÁö ¾ÊÀº °ÍÀº ÀÌ·¯ÇÑ °ÉÀÛÀ» Áö¾î³½ ±× ¿©ÀÎ ÀÚü¿´´Ù. ¹Ì¶ó´Â À½¾ÇÀ» ´õ ÀÌ»ó ÇÏÁö¸øÇϵµ·Ï ¸¸µç °üÀý¿°À¸·Î °íÅë¹Þ°í »óó¹ÞÀº ¸öÀ» ÈÙü¾î¾È¿¡¼ Áö³»¾ß Çß´Ù. ±×·¨À¸³ª ±×³àÀÇ À½¾ÇÀûÀÎ ¿µÀº ½Ã(ãÌ)ÆíÀ¸·Î Ç¥ÇöµÇ¾ú´Ù.
She took one pencil in each of her badly deformed hands. Using the eraser end, she would slowly type the words, the joy of them outweighing the pain of her efforts. Her words, a joyous expression! of the wonders of life, as seen by a singing soul that was touched by the Master's Hand.
ÇèÇÏ°Ô ºÒ±¸µÈ µÎ¼ÕÀ¸·Î ¿¬ÇÊÀ» Çϳª¾¿ Àâ°í´Â ¿¬ÇÊÀÇ °í¹«°¡ ÀÖ´ÂÂÊÀ» ½á¼ ´Ü¾îµéÀ» ÇÑÀÚ¾¿ ŸÀÚ¿¡ Âï°ï ÇßÀ¸´Ï ±×·¯´Â ±×³àÀÇ °íÅëÀº ´Ü¾îµéÀÌ Ç¥ÇöÇÏ´Â ±â»Ý¿¡ ºñ±³µÉ¼ö°¡ ¾ø¾ú´Ù.
As a friend turned to leave her home, Myra patted the arm of her wheelchair and said, "And I thank God for this!" Imagine being grateful for a wheelchair! But her talent lay undiscovered prior to her wheelchair days. Rather than becoming bitter, she chose to let her handicap make her better, and a wonderful new door opened for her.
ÇÑ Ä£±¸°¡ ¹æ¹®À» ±×Ä¡°í ¶°³¯¶§ ¹Ì¶ó´Â ÈÙü¾î¸¦ ¾î·ç¸¸Áö¸ç ¸»Çϱ⸦ "³» ÀÌ ÈÙü¾î·Î ¾ó¸¶³ª Çϳª´Ô°Ô °¨»çÇÏ´ÂÁö..." ÈÙü¾î·Î °¨»çÇÏ´Ù´Ï! Çϱâ´Â, ÈÙü¾î¿¡¼ »ì°Ô µÇ±â ±îÁö ±×³àÀÇ Àç´ÉÀº ÀáÀçµÈü ¹ß°ßµÇÁö ¾Ê¾Ò±â ¶§¹®ÀÌÁö¿ä. ºñźÀ¸·Î ¾²¸° ÀλýÀ̵Ǵ ´ë½Å ±×³à´Â ±×³àÀÇ Àå¾Ö¸¦ ÀÚ½ÅÀÌ ´õ ³ª¾ÆÁö°Ô ¸¸µå´Â ±¸½Ç·Î »ï±â·Î ÀÛÁ¤ÇßÀ¸´Ï Çؼ ³î¶ó¿î »õ¹®ÀÌ ¿¸°°ÍÀÔÀÌ´Ù.
Her poem, as quoted by Joe Quinn, speaking at the Orange-Olive Friendship Club, Monday Night, March 11, 1974, opened that door for me to that loving embrace with my Higher Power, so that I too could be touched by the Master's Hand, and as I now know that you are too.
±×³àÀÇ ½Ã(ãÌ)´Â ³ª ¶ÇÇÑ 1974³â 3¿ù 11ÀÏ ¿ù¿äÀÏ ¹ã¿¡ ¿À·£Áö ¿Ã¸®ºê Ä£¾Ö Ŭ·´¿¡¼ Á¶ ÄýÀÌ °¿¬Áß ±× ½Ã(ãÌ)¸¦ ³¶¼ÛÇÒ¶§ ¸íÀåÀÇ ¼Õ±æ¿¡ ´ê¾ÆÁö°Ô²û ÇßÀ¸´Ï, ³»¾Ë±â·Î´Â ´ç½Å ¶ÇÇÑ ¸íÀåÀÇ ¼Õ±æ¿¡ Á¢ÇÒ¼ö ÀÖ´ÂÁÙ·Î ¾Ð´Ï´Ù.
In Gratitude,
Love and Peace,
Barefoot
°¨»çÇϸç
»ç¶û°ú Æò¾È,
¸Ç¹ß.