YOU ARE SPECIAL"....by Max Lucado....
The Wemmicks were
small wooden people. Each wooden person was carved by a
woodworker named Eli. His workshop
sat on a hill overlooking their village.
Every Wemmick was different. Some
had big noses, others had large eyes. Some
were tall and others were short.
Some wore hats, others wore coats. But all
were made by the same carver and
all lived in the same village.
And all day,
every day, the Wemmicks did the same thing: They gave each
other stickers. Each Wemmick had
a box of golden star stickers, and a box of
gray dot stickers. Up and down
the streets all over the city, people could
be seen sticking stars or dots
on one another.
The pretty ones,
those with smooth wood and fine paint, always got stars.
But if the wood was rough or the
paint chipped, the Wemmicks gave dots. The
talented ones got stars, too. Some
could lift big sticks high above their
heads or jump over tall boxes.
Still others knew big words or could sing
very pretty songs. Everyone gave
them stars. Some Wemmicks had stars all
over them! Every time they
got a star it made them feel so good that they
did something else and got another
star.
Others, though,
could do little. They got dots. Punchinello was one of
these. He tried to jump high like
the others, but he always fell. And when
he fell, the others would gather
around and give him dots. Sometimes when he
fell, it would scar his wood, so
the people could give him more dots. He
would try to explain why he fell
and say something silly, and the Wemmicks
would give him more dots. After
a while he had so many dots that he didn't
want to go outside. He was
afraid he would do something dumb such as forget
his hat or step in the water, and
then people would give him another dot. In
fact, he had so many gray dots
that some people would come up and give him
one without reason. "He deserves
lots of dots," the wooden people would
agree with one another. "He's
not a good wooden person."
After a while
Punchinello believed them. "I'm not a good Wemmick," he would
say. The few times he went outside,
he hung around other Wemmicks who had a
lot of dots. He felt better around
them.
One day he met
a Wemmick who was unlike any he'd ever met. She had no dots
or stars. She was just wooden.
Her name was Lulia. It wasn't that people
didn't try to give her stickers;
it's just that the stickers didn't stick.
Some admired Lulia for having no
dots, so they would run up and give her a star.
But it would fall off. Some would
look down on her for having no stars, so
they would give her a dot. But
it wouldn't stay either.
'That's the
way I want to be,' thought Punchinello. 'I don't want anyone's
marks.' So he asked the stickerless
Wemmick how she did it. "It's easy,"
Lulia replied. "Every day I go
see Eli." "Eli?" "Yes, Eli. The woodcarver. I
sit in the workshop with him."
"Why?" "Why don't you find out for yourself?
Go up the hill. He's there." And
with that the Wemmick with no marks turned
and skipped away.
"But he won't
want to see me!" Punchinello cried out. Lulia didn't hear. So
Punchinello went home. He sat near
a window and watched the wooden people as
they scurried around giving each
other stars and dots. "It's not right," he
muttered to himself. And he resolved
to go see Eli. He walked up the narrow
path to the top of the hill and
stepped into the big shop. His wooden eyes
widened at the size of everything.
The stool was as tall as he was. He had
to stretch on his tiptoes to see
the top of the workbench. A hammer was as
long as his arm.
Punchinello
swallowed hard. "I'm not staying here!" and he turned to leave.
Then he heard his name. "Punchinello?"
The voice was deep and strong...
Punchinello stopped. "Punchinello!
How good to see you. Come and let me have
a look at you." Punchinello turned
slowly and looked at the large bearded
craftsman. "You know my name?"
the little Wemmick asked.
"Of course I
do. I made you." Eli stooped down and picked him up and set him
on the bench. "Hmm," the maker
\ spoke thoughtfully as he inspected the gray
circles. "Looks like you've been
given some bad marks."
"I didn't mean
to, Eli. I really tried hard." "Oh, you don't have to defend
yourself to me, child. I don't
care what the other Wemmicks think." "You
don't?" "No, and you shouldn't
either. Who are they to give stars or dots?
They're Wemmicks just like you.
What they think doesn't matter, Punchinello.
All that matters is what I think.
And I think you are pretty special."
Punchinello laughed. "Me, special?
Why? I can't walk fast. I can't jump. My
paint is peeling. Why do I matter
to you?" Eli looked at Punchinello, put
his hands on those small wooden
shoulders, and spoke very slowly. "Because
you're mine. That's why you matter
to me."
Punchinello
had never had anyone look at him like this-much less his maker.
He didn't know what to say. "Every
day I've been hoping you'd come," Eli
explained. "I came because I met
someone who had no marks."
"I know. She told me about you."
"Why don't the stickers stay on her?"
"Because she has decided that what
I think is more important than what
they think. The stickers only stick
if you let them."
"What?" "The
stickers only stick if they matter to you. The more you trust
my love, the less you care about
the stickers." "I'm not sure understand."
"You will, but it will take time.
You've got a lot of marks. For now, just
come to see me every day and let
me remind you how much I care." Eli lifted
Punchinello off the bench and set
him on the ground.
Remember," Eli
said as the Wemmick walked out the door. "You are special
because I made you. And I don't
make mistakes. "Punchinello didn't stop, but
in his heart he thought, "I think
he really means it."
And when he did, a dot fell to
the ground."
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