Doc Moore Storyteller - Religious Programs

Doc Moore will continue to work storytelling with schools, civic groups, and after dinner speaking, but is adding ...

Storytelling-in-the-Church

After much thought, Doc Moore has decided to begin a new storytelling venture by responding to the requests of ministers, educational leaders, Sunday School teachers, and church people who see the need for storytelling modeling and training. Doc will be scheduling Storytelling-in-the-Church concerts and workshops to begin in 2006,

Following is a list of story programs that might be useful for your group:

Session I - Friday Evening. A ninety-minute concert of inspirational stories and folktales such as "Miracle in the Morning" and "Old Joe and the Carpenter."

Session II - Saturday Morning (9:00 AM-1:00 PM). A four-hour workshop for adults stressing:

How to:

     (1) locate a Biblical or Inspirational story
     (2) learn a story
     (3) tell a story

Session III - Saturday Evening. A ninety-minute concert based on the general topic "The Hour I First Believed," and using original stories such as "Enough Noise to Raise the Dead" and "A Second Chance."

Session IV - Sunday Morning. A thirty-minute lesson from a Biblical Character in costume.

You may select one or all four sessions for your group. I believe you
will agree, all four sessions would be more meaningful. This may be an opportunity for you to join efforts with other church groups in your
city, if you choose.

Think about scheduling your Storytelling-in-the-Church workshops and concerts immediately for January 2006 or later presentation. I will be looking forward to hearing from you!

Doc
830.899.5678
docmoore@gvtc.com

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Touch of the Master's Hand

Howdy Brothers and Sisters! I say howdy Brothers and Sisters! You remember me. I'm The Reverend Isaiah Whough. I'm a circuit riding preacher Been working up and down that Hallelujah Trail in West Texas since the early 1800's.

Now, if you are a traveling man, traveling light as I do, you're always in need of something useful. And, if you are a preacher, like myself, you long ago learned to accept the life of the hand-me-down.

I was riding into Big Springs back in the winter of '79---that's 1879. It was windy and cold. A heavy blanket of snow covered the ground. I spotted a poster tacked to an old barn on the outskirts of town. "Auction Today! 2:00 P. M., it read.

The time was right and I had a few hours to kill. Never know what you might find. I hitched my horse to a porch post and made my way over to join the small crowd that had gathered. As I walked through the gate, the old auctioneer was holding something high in the air.

'Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer Thought it scarcely worth his while To waste much time on the old violin, But held it up with a smile. "What am I bedden, good folks," he cried, "Who'll start the bidding for me?" "A dollar, a dollar," then, two! Only two? "Two dollars, and who'll make it three? Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice; Going for three. . ." But no, From the room, far back, a grey-haired man Came forward and picked up the bow; Then, wiping the dust from the old violin, And tightening the loose strings, He played a melody pure and sweet As a caroling angel sings.

The music ceased, and the auctioneer, With a voice that was quiet and low, Said: "What am I bid for the old violin?" And he held it up with the bow. "A thousand dollars, and who'll make it two? Two thousand, once; three thousand, twice; And going and gone," said he. The people cheered, but some of them cried, "We do not quiet understand What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply: "The touch of a master's hand."

And many a man with life out of tune, And battered and scarred with sin, Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd, Much like the old violin. A "mess of potage," a glass of wine; A game---and he travels on. He is "going" once, and "going" twice, He's "going" and almost "gone." But the master comes and the foolish crowd Never can quiet understand The worth of a soul and the change that's wrought By the touch of the Master's hand.

It was undoubtedly the Master's hand that guided my pony to the old
barn that afternoon. I tipped my hat to the sky and said a silent
thank-you for a lesson to last a lifetime. Then I untied my mount and
quietly rode out of town. That, my friends, was one of my greatest
experiences on that Hallelujah Trail in West Texas.