You Are Special

I know I just posted, but...
So I've been reading a large amount of children's books lately. I actually love children's books and have a few favorites on my shelf. I've found with a couple of them that the more I read them, the more beautifully and deeply they speak to me. Every time I read, I notice something new. And I also understand hard topics better. For example today this book that I'm about to write out for you struck me with how simply it explains grace and acceptance. I know most of the people who read my blog have kids and have certainly read their share of children's books. But I also know that the books you've read over and over again can seem mundane or simple until something makes you remember just how incredible they are. So I wanted to share a story. It's one that I'm sure many of you have read. The moral of the story is easy to understand in theory- it doesn't matter what people think about you, it just matters what God thinks. Perhaps I've ruined the ending, but I think starting with that ending in mind allows you to appreciate the journey that the book takes you on and the grace that is offered in it. Notice new details. Realize the sad and joyous truths in this book. Let it pour over you. Let's begin:

The Wemmicks were small wooden people. All of the wooden people were carved by a woodworker named Eli. His workshop sat on a hill overlooking their village. Each 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 spent their days 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 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! It made them want to do something else and get 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, his wood got scratched, so the people would give him more dots. Then when he would try to explain why he fell, 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.
"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 Lucia. It wasn't that people didn't try to give her stickers; it's just that the stickers didn't stick. Some of the Wemmicks admired Lucia for having no dots, so they would run up and give her a star. But it would fall off. Others would look down on her for having no stars, so they would giver 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," Lucia 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 who had no stickers turned and skipped away.
"But will he want to see me?" Punchinello cried out. Lucia didn't hear. So Punchinello went home. He sat near a window and watched the wooden people as the scurried around giving each other stars and dots. "It's not right," he muttered to himself. And he decided 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 swelled 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 stopped down and picked him up and set him on the bench. "Hmm," the maker spoke thoughtfully as he looked at the gray dots. "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 you 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," said Punchinello. "I know. She told me about you." "Why don't the stickers stay on her?" The maker spoke softly. "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 their stickers." "I'm not sure I understand."
Eli smiled, "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." Punchinellow 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.

Come ye weary, heavy laden, bruised and broken by the fall. If you tarry til you're better, you will never come at all. I will arise and go to Jesus, He will embrace me in His arms. And in the arms of my dear Savior, oh there are ten thousand charms!

Memories- assorted thoughts that may mean nothing, or may speak to the depths of your soul

It's amazing the way memories work. I have a horrible memory. Ask my best friend Becca. She's always annoyed with me because I don't remember some key moment of our friendship.
Or ask my mom. Every time we talk I forget between one and three things that I wanted to say before I get a chance to say them. She loves it (this is an outright lie). Yet, there are so many random meaningless details of my life that I remember. There are so many things that I want to forget that I can't. There are things that trigger the smallest, most forgotten memory, as well as the memories I keep trying to let go. Sometimes it's a piece of clothing. Sometimes it's a TV show. Sometimes a story line or a location or a coffee mug or another person or a word. In my Crisis and Disaster course I learned that smell is the strongest trigger to bring someone back to their moment of trauma. How crazy is that?! Smell! Anything can trigger a memory.

Yet at the same time, in that moment that the memory is being triggered, we are in the present, making new memories. These don't change the old. Sometimes it feels like the new memory slightly dims the old one. Other times it feels like it brings the old memory flying into your face stronger than ever. But it ties the two together somehow. It's interesting, this idea of being in the present and past at the same time and from there stepping into a new future. It is just another of the balancing acts of life I suppose. So how do we balance it? We don't live in the memories. But we don't block them out. How do we allow them to inform our lives now and guide our future steps?

Some memories are people. Relationships. Past friends. How do you let go of someone you've walked beside? But how do you hold on to every person who has ever been important to you? Many people have impacted me deeply and are no longer a part of my life. How do I honor the memory of our friendship and the blessing they gave me and hold onto them, while still moving forward? Or how do I keep them in my life? How do we balance our multitudes of relationships while valuing each? Ah, this paragraph will be a post on its own one day, so for now I move on.

Memories seem to me to be inconsistent in strength, meaning, and sometimes even the event itself. They ebb and flow with the movement of daily life like a wave. They're here and then gone. They come strongly in response to a trigger one day, but another day the same trigger brings nothing. Some days the memory has a different flavor to it, one I'd never noticed before. There's so much depth to our memories and I often want to dive into that. Yet there's so much depth to our present- the place in which we are currently living- that needs our attention. We cannot benefit from our past at the expense of our present. But how do we bring them together?

I guess this was one big pondering for you all to join in with me. To close I quote one of my favorite books of all time:

You'll get mixed up, of course, 
as you already know. 
You'll get mixed up 
with many strange birds as you go. 
So be sure when you step. 
Step with care and great tact 
and remember that Life's 
a Great Balancing Act. 
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. 
And never mix up your right foot with your left.