Count The Cost!
In Mar 11, 2003, I wrote the following post on this blog.
It applies again, 2010, to some things in my life and my families life as well.
Count The Cost!
Certain phrases of life become normal in the ‘NOW’ world.
How much does it cost? That costs too much! How expensive is it?
What did you pay for that? Whatz it gonna cost yu?
I can not tell you how many times in my own life I’ve used these words in reference to......money.
But have you ever had anyone ask you about ’the cost’ of......
achieving a dream...
giving up a dream....
loving someone...
giving up someone you love....
having ‘things‘....
doing without....
Commitment to family....
No commitment to anyone....
going to war.....
not going to war....
This list could go on and on......my point is that we are more often concerned about costs ie; financial.....
than the actual cost, life wise, of the things that money can not buy.
We pay with our life.....for what we believe in.....
Years are spent.....just as money is spent!
ARE THEY SPENT WISELY?
What does a ‘good’ life cost?
What does one ‘pay’ for a ‘bad’ life?
We ‘pay’ for either one.....with our life’s blood....so to speak!
This thinking brings to my mind a beautiful poem by Helen Steiner Rice that tells the story of the ‘Cost’ of life in a very significant way.
The Story of Albrecht Durer....1471-1528....Durer is known in Europe as one of the supreme masters of woodcut and copper engravings as well as paintings. He was born in Nurenberg, Germany and when the U.S. Army sent our family to Nurenberg many years ago the “Albrecht Durer House” was a main tourist visit for our guests.
In 1512, Durer became court painter to Emperor Maximillian. Durer, also, traveled extensively and brought many innovative ideas into his works of art. He produced a ‘now famous’ painting which we all have seen at some time or another called....The Praying Hands.
There is a ‘little known fact’ about the origin of this work.
This fact is told in Helen Steiner Rice’s Poem...Called simply....
THE PRAYING HANDS....
As you read this poem...Perhaps you’d like to know
That this story really happened....Many centuries ago.
When two talented young artists....Were struggling hard to earn
Just enough to live on....So both of them might learn.
How to be great artists....And leave behind a name
That many centuries later....Would still retain its fame.
But in their dire necessity....For warmth of food and fire
One of the artists sacrificed...his dream and heart’s desire....
So he might earn a living...and provide enough to eat
‘Til both of them were back again....Securely on their feet.
But months and years of grueling toil.....Destroyed the craftsman’s touch,
And scarred and stiffened were the hands....That held promise of so much
He could no longer hold a brush....The way he used to do
And the dream he once had cherished....No longer could come true....
So, uncomplainingly, he lived....With his friend who had succeeded
Who now could purchase all the things....They once had so much needed.
But the famous ALBRECHT DURER...The friend we’re speaking of,
Was always conscious that he owed...A debt of thanks and love...
To one who sacrificed his skill...So that Durer might succeed,
But how can anyone repay....Such a sacrificial deed?
But when he saw these hands in prayer....He decided he would paint
A picture for the world to see....Of this “unheralded saint”.....
So down through countless ages...And in many, many lands...
All could see the beauty....In these toilworn PRAYING HANDS.
And seeing they would recognize...That behind FAME and SUCCESS
Someone sacrificed a dream.....For another’s....Happiness.
In order merely to keep food on the table for this big family, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighbourhood.
Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of Albrecht Durer the Elder's children had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the Academy.
After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, also by labouring in the mines.
They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg.
Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.
When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honoured position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfil his ambition. His closing words were, "And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you."
All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, "No ...no ...no ...no."
Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look ... look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother ... for me it is too late."
More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver point sketches, water-colours, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office.
One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply "Hands," but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love "The Praying Hands."
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