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| Small Wooden People |
The Wemmicks were small wooden people. Each of
the wooden people 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
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 would 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 I 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.
-- Max Lucado |
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