For personal growth, self-esteem and self-worth are immensely essential.
We may feel very lowly about ourselves, despite all our talents and skills.
Just a little boost, some mentoring, some one kindly showing us a mirror and letting us know who we actually are! Those who are lucky, get such people in their lives. And they suddenly find a surge of energy and enthusiasm and urge to achieve and excel, with confidence level that was never so high.
It is the grace of our mentors: small and great, old and young – who made us believe in ourselves. How can we repay this debt? One, we must remember and thank very often, Secondly, pass on the legacy of mentoring on to some one who come in our touch and help that person realize their self-worth.
Here is a beautiful poem by Myra 'Brooks' Welch, the ‘poet with a singing soul” (originally published by her anonymously in a church magazine but later she was identified as the writer of this much too popular and greatly inspiring piece of work).
There is an interesting background:
She wrote it just in 30 minutes in 1921 after she was greatly touched by listening to a speaker when she was a student. She thought it came from the God and must not have a claim on it as a writer. It sparked like magic and touched many a hearts. When it became popular was read once in an international convention as an anonymously written poem, a man stood up and said that he knew her and it is high time the world also knew her. “She is my mother”, he said.
It tells splendidly what one hardly can say about the golden touch of a master (in shaping our lives, as it were).
Here it is:
The Touch of the Master’s Hand
'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 bidden, 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 gray-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! And who'll make it three?
Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice,
And going, and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand
What changed its worth." Swift came the reply:
"The touch of a master's hand."
આમ અચાનક આપ જ્યાં, મળવા આવ્યા ત્યાંજ
એક ખીલીને 
ઝાડ, તને મારા સોગંદ
