Dotted

Sometimes, children’s stories contain more inspiring and true material than grown-up books.  Case in point:  Max Lucado’s book You Are Special, about the Wemmicks — beings made of wood by Eli, the craftsman.  Listen in to a description of the scene in the village:

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. . . .

Some Wemmicks had stars all over them!  Every time they got a star, it made them feel so good! . . .

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, his wood got scratched, so that people would give him more dots.

Then when he would try to explain why he felt, he would 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 for no reason at all.

Yeah, I read this book to my son the other day.  Yeah, I felt it ended up being more for me than for him.

Are you feeling like Punchinello, in a depressingly grown-up, senselessly dotted sense?  Me, too.

Do you have a Father like Eli?  A Father who “doesn’t care what the other Wemmicks think”?  A Father who says I matter because I am His?

Me, too.  (I’m just not sure how or where to go visit Him right now.)