What He Thinks

"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."

Above is an excerpt from You are Special by Max Lucado.  This book has sat on my son's shelf since he had a shelf.  It was mine from college.  For some reason, he never seemed too interested in it.  [Maybe it was the wooden puppet on the cover?  No offense Max, but it is kinda creepy.] 

Dakota had had a tough night.  Just tired I suppose.  The poor guy's evening from supper on was just one big meltdown.  Mommy was doing her best to not have a meltdown of her own.  I was surprised though when he grabbed this book to read before bed.  In fact, I even set it aside thinking it got tossed on the bed while he was looking for another book.  But there came a quick, "No Mommy!  I want that one!" So I began to read, waiting intently for his response - there was none.  He always makes a comment, always asks at least 5 or 6 questions, but this time - nothing.  

So I prayed over him tonight instead of with him, sensing that he maybe needed some extra TLC.  Again, he was pretty reserved.  No profound moments from the story or our prayer time.  

As I walked down the stairs, tears started to well up in my eyes.  Sigh... it was for me.  Oh, I know that Dakota got something from our time together and was just too tired to sort it out with words, but I could feel my heart ache and soften.  Another sigh... The line, "Because you are mine.  That's why you matter to me."  

I've been letting the lies of the world suck me in - "You're doing a terrible job. Why do you even try? Why aren't you more like her or him? You can't do that.  Why would you even dream of doing something like that?"  And when I start to do that, I start to forget just how precious I am.  The God in heaven who created unimaginable far away planets and each intricate snowflake made me.  And he loves me more than I will ever possibly know.  He wants me to not let those "bad marks" shadow my life because what does matter is what He thinks.