If only parenting came with an Instruction Booklet...

Alas all kids are different but the love of a parent should remain the same - unconditional, ready to forgive, ready to understand and discipline not out of anger but out of love.

As a child, I used to visualise my mother as an evil step mother who was pretending to be my mother. I guess you might say that we never really got off on the right foot.
But I did love her very much and I still do... Itz just that no matter what I did to try to please her, it would backfire.

My first mother's day gift to her - a cheap plastic Carnation (eh Primary 1 what else can you afford with the meagre allowance?? lol) that I had saved up to buy for her, was met with disdain. "Why you waste money? You think this flower is you buy one meh? I paid for it. Next time don't waste money to buy this kind of thing." So for her birthday, I learned my lesson. I made her a card... this time I was rebuked for wasting time and not putting in effort in my studies.

I wrote her poems but she told me I wrote rubbish.

I tried to tell her jokes to make her smile or laugh... she said she had no time for me.

We never really had bad memories only... there was once when we made craftwork together. I was much younger then. She brought me for my organ lessons and she would teach me how to make bubbles.

Then, one day, she changed... and some alien came and took over her body and has stayed eversince.

But sometimes, a glimpse of my mother of the past would appear.

One day, she came and cried in my room. She told me that she had received a mean email from a superior. I read it and thought it was just a comment... nothing mean to it. I took out the hate mails I received from the popular girls... letters that showed her how I had been ostracised for 11 years in that damn convent school just because I did not like the same pop songs, I did not carry the branded things they coveted... for not being pretty or witty like they thought they were. And she kept quiet. She felt so sorry that I had to go through what I had. Why had I not told her she asked... because I did not want to add to her worries was my reply. For that brief moment, my mother felt like my mother, my sister... a friend.

That is my last joyful memory of her. Today, she is still angry and hurtful... she tells me I am fat and that it is a miracle anyone likes me. She tells me I am useless and that I am a lousy mother. She tells me many things... that I am not a good girlfriend to my other half (who told me that my mother was talking rot and that he loves me and that i am a wonderful gf to him). She tells me I am sinful and that my grandmother died because of my sins (I thought that Jesus did that... gran died of Colon Cancer.)

Why all this ranting and raving?

Because now that I am a mother I know it is not easy to be one.

I struggle with the worry of how to mould this young child into someone with promise, with joy and love and hope... and more importantly, Faith... in his heart.
I struggle everyday with worries of how I can ever afford for his living when he grows up... for his studies...
I struggle with the knowledge that one day, this child who adores me will one day hug me less and find it awkward to pepper my face with little kisses like he does now.
I struggle with the fear that he will one day wonder about his real dad again...
I struggle with the fear of how I should explain the birds and the bees to him...
I struggle with the fear that one day... I might be like my mother... a hard, angry person.
I struggle with the worry that illness or harm might fall upon him...

And I put all those fears in a little box, label them SILLY WORRIES and give them to the Lord.

I know that HE will take all of these curmpled little dreams and fears, wash them white as snow in his blood and iron them straight and right for me.

And now, I can enjoy the sunshine my son has brought into my life. The laughter and joy. Every hug and kiss, every night watching him sleep is worth the price of the journey of motherhood.

My key to trying to be a good parent?

"Fathers (I think it pts out to parents in general lah... I think my mum took it too literally that mothers were not included in this advice from the Bible), do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord."

And that is what I will try to do every single day. And if I am not a perfect mother? Well at least, my family will share the same perfect Father who makes it all right again by virtue of His grace

What can we do with our worry?

I found this website to be very helpful. It is on what we can do with worry: http://www.rbc.org/ds/q0711/

As humans, it is our nature to worry.

We worry about not our job security, bills to pay, our kids and how they are turning out... we worry about our relationships we have with the people around us. Has there ever been a time where you did not worry?

We worry if sweeping the floor on Chinese New Year will bring us bad luck... we worry if breaking a mirror accidentally means 13 years of bad luck... we worry about cats jumping over coffins during funerals or if walking underneath a ladder as kids doom us to be short... if pointing at the moon will cause a cut on our tongues...

We worry ALL the time about things that affect our lives and about what other people say.

But the thing we should be REALLY focus on, we don't.

When you worry, do you tell God it's not fair that you are in this position of worry?

I remember I used to worry alot more... I guess I still do but I have begun to realise that the saying is true "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life ?" (Matt 6:27) & this too "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." (Matt 6:34)

The more we worry, the more frustrated we are. The more frustrated we are, we pass that frustration out to other people or we vent it out on them. Everyone gets unhappy.

Unhappiness begets more unhappiness.

That is why there's a chasm between parents and youths today... that is why divorce rates all around the world has gone up... that is why countries go to war.

Unhappiness spreads like a pandemic and snowballs into something beyond our ability to control.

So instead of being unhappy about everything? Why not thank God for whatever blessings you have? Why not thank Him for these trials that show us how much more blessed we are to have our Faith? Why not thank Him for the trials we have because they make us grow in FAITH for He will give us the Victory to overcome them?

Our God is a FAITHFUL God! How blessed we are. He loves us more than he loves sparrows so if he feeds them and clothes the wild flowers that grow by the roadside, how much more will he love us?

Let us always REJOICE in the face of obstacles for we are blessed. Let us not be short-sighted and worry about Tomorrow. About our worldly possessions... about superstition and office politics and all the silly things we tend to worry about with our blinkered eyes.

There before us, lies a greater future... a greater home. This is just a place of transit... a place to learn how wonderful He truly is! Our home is not here... Our home is with Him. And let us live our lives to the best, according to his teachings...

Our job is not to worry about the bread and butter we eat... but the body and blood of our Lord that is a communion unto our souls. To spread the Good News to people so that they too can see beyond today's cares and to walk with lighter souls and a joyful heart!

Let us not drag our feet and look down upon the ground, but keep our eyes on Him and on His wonderous plans for us! Let's live life to His glory and He has plans to PROSPER us so that we can PROSPER others... lets not forget that promise he has made. And although we often go back on our promises to Him, you can be sure that He keeps His promises if we are sorry and willing to walk His Way again.


"Dear Father, I trust in you and your plan for me. Thank you for all the blessings you've given me this day because without your blessings, your help and your Spirit, I would not have been able to overcome this day. I am sorry for the moments I have disappointed you. Thank you for forgiving all my trespasses and please give me the strength to overcome the many trials that still lie before me. Help me always put Christ in the centre of attention in my life and follow His example. I know you have plans to prosper me and I claim victory over all my trials in the most blessed name of my Saviour, Jesus Christ. Help me to bring your Word to other people and to help spread your love, your salvation to them. I have faith in you and I thank you for your grace that has saved me from Death and Sin. Keep watching over me and helping me to grow in your love and in faith. This we pray in Jesus's name. Amen."

Oops have not been journaling my walk with Christ for quite a few weeks... but I have been reading and praising and learning and growing everyday.

Dar sounds down today. I think he got scolded or blamed for something but he cannot see where he went wrong.

IMHO sometimes, this is a Spiritual attack.

Sometimes the devil seeing how resolute your faith in Christ is, your trust in God is, wants to attack that foundation and cause you to call.

Well, zun zun (just coincidentally) Ian's second elder sister wrote this email to me. And I feel strongly that they are reminders to praise the Lord even when the ship goes down and He will save us.

Here's Sylvia's email in full:



Verses like these touch us at different times of our lives. May these serve as a reminder to all of us that God is always with us.

Love always,
Sylvia



BE JOYFUL IN HOPE, PATIENT IN AFFLICTION, FAITHFUL
IN PRAYER.
( ROMANS 12:12 *NIV )

HOPE DOES NOT DISAPPOINT, BECAUSE
THE LOVE OF GOD HAS BEEN POURED OUT IN OUR
HEARTS BY THE HOLY SPIRIT WHO WAS GIVEN US.
( ROMANS 5:5 )

Now when we are afflicted, we have God's promise that;
THE RIGHTEOUS MAN IS RESCUED FROM TROUBLE,
AND IT COMES ON THE WICKED INSTEAD.
( PROVERBS 11:8 ) For it is also written; I WILL NEVER
LEAVE YOU; NEVER WILL I FORSAKE YOU.
( HEBREWS 13:5 )

Therefore; DO NOT BE ANXIOUS ABOUT ANYTHING,
BUT IN EVERYTHING, BY PRAYER AND PETITION,
WITH THANKSGIVING, PRESENT YOUR REQUESTS
TO GOD. ( PHILIPPIANS 4:6 ) After all, it is written;
THE PRAYER OF A RIGHTEOUS MAN IS POWERFUL
AND EFFECTIVE. ( JAMES 5:16 )

Never let disappointments cause you to
lose hope, for God is always with you. Therefore my
friend; REJOICE IN THE LORD ALWAYS. I WILL SAY
AGAIN REJOICE. Amen! ( PHILIPPIANS 4:4 )

Thoughts...

My aunt used to be a Sai Baba worshipper which distressed me plenty. And then, the statue of the hindu elephant "god" appeared in her house before the larger- than-life photograph of Sai Baba. Then one day, she got a medium to come remove Sai Baba whom she had dumped for Buddhism. The elephant god remained though.

I am kinda amused watching her. She came from CHIJ itself so I wonder why she has never thought about turning back to GOD to CHRIST to find salvation, help and peace from the so-called "black magic" that has been thrown upon her by someone.

Instead of seeking the ONLY path of salvation, she has led her family from one idol worship to another and now to a somewhat safer and more middle-of-the-road religion of Buddhism. My younger cousin, the eldest daughter, as a 2 or 3 year old, prayed to Christ when she was by my maternal grandmother's bedside. My grandma was dying from cancer then and my cousin, bless her, who could not speak yet, would kneel before the cross and pray in her baby language.

Yet this same cousin, has grown up hopping from one religion to another... how can this be good for her spiritual growth or her sister's? I wonder if my aunt has ever realised that her search for her religion has only caused more harm than good to her loved ones... but perhaps God in his infinite wisdom and goodness will transform all that into His miracles, bless and use my cousins powerfully when they are older.

I have nothing against Buddhists and I respect them greatly for many are wonderful people. But my personal opinion lies as such- salvation is through Christ and only Christ.

So what is the difference between Buddhism and Christianity? I mean how big can the gulf be right? They are both on the side of goodness...

How wrong can we be... there are differences. Major and glaring ones between both doctrines.

Here is an article I found online:

How does Buddhism differ from Christianity?

1. There Is No God
Void vs. Loving God
(emptiness, apathy, ignorance)

In Buddhist thought, there is no supreme being, no Creator, no omnipotent omnipresent God, no Loving Lord over his creation. Ultimate Reality is an impersonal Void or Emptiness (Sunyata). Only the Void is Permanent.
To a Buddhist, saying that God exists is like saying that the Void exists. Saying that God is loving and desires relationship with us is saying God is Ignorance since all desire comes from ignorance. Saying that God created us and has a purpose for our lives is saying that God is Karma, the cause and effect of our existence. Thus, in Buddhist thought, the concept of God is closest equated to the Void, Ignorance, and Karma.
So who are Buddhists bowing down and praying to in their temples? Remember that Buddhism has adapted and absorbed many other beliefs rooted in animism and ancestral worship.

2. Christ’s Deity Denied
If a Buddhist were asked who Jesus was, responses would likely include: a good man, a prophet, the founder of the Christian religion, a bodhisattva, the younger brother of Buddha. As it is hard for a Buddhist to understand the existence of God, it is inconceivable that Jesus is the incarnate Lord, God in the flesh.

3. Man Is Not A Spiritual Being
Mankind has no soul or permanence. In Buddhist thought, an individual consists of five skandhas or aggregates. These aggregates are disassembled at death and there is no longer a cohesive unit that can be identified as an individual person. People are impermanent and transitory, perpetually facing the problem of how to escape from suffering. All life is meaningless and without purpose. The ultimate hope lies in what is permanent: The Void. Before one can find permanence, one must disappear into the Void, that is, achieve nirvana.

4. Karma Is The Iron Law
Karma vs. Mercy
Buddhists believe that the totality of one’s actions and the results of those actions determine one’s fate in subsequent reincarnations. This is the cosmic Law of Cause and Effect. Karma is the ultimate impersonal, unmerciful judge. Karma is unchangeable, cannot be undone, altered, avoided, or forgiven. What is done is done and cannot be undone, nor can you be forgiven or released from it.

5. Sin Has No Consequences
The two systems` concepts of sin stand in stark contrast. To Buddhists sin does not have any consequences before a holy God. It is not defined by doctrine, for to them existence is sin. They think that "desire" or transitory deception is sin. Popularly, sin is killing life in any form. I remember a Thai woman once saying to me, "I have never sinned." It is difficult to help one who does not sense a need. At best, sin is an illusion, though the karmic consequences will accumulate for those who fail to break the endless cycles of reincarnation. The Christian identifies sin as a principle in all humankind, a flaw resulting from the Fall. In practice, sins are violations of God`s character, an affront to Him by missing the mark, and subsequently moral failures. (from Dr. Alex G. Smith)

6. Salvation Through Self, Merit vs. Grace
There is no savior. There is no grace or forgiveness. The Buddha said he could not help anyone; he could only point the way. One must overcome karma by one’s own merit and works.

7. Attain Enlightenment by eliminating ALL desire

In Buddhist thought, there is no difference
between good desire and bad desire. Even to
desire life itself is to not be enlightened.

8. Death, Not Life
To a Buddhist, hope lies in ending the cycle of
suffering and reincarnation. There is no Eternal Life for the Buddhist, no hell, no heaven. Hope lies in achieving nirvana. Hope lies in non-existence..

Also see: http://www.ankerberg.org/Articles/_PDFArchives/apologetics/AP3W1101.pdf

You are Special by Max Lucado

Eli... A story about dots and stickers by Max Lucado ISBN 0891079319

The Wemmicks were small wooden people. These little wooden people were carved by a woodworker named "Eli." Eli's workshop sat on a hill overlooking the Wemmick Village. Every one of the Wemmicks were 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. All day long, 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 dull gray dot stickers. Up and down the streets all over the city, people could be seen sticking gold stars or gray dots onto each other. The pretty ones, those with smooth wood and fine paint, always got shiny gold stars! But if the wood was rough or the paint was chipped, the Wemmicks gave dull gray 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 shiny gold 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. There were many other Wemmicks though that could do very little. They got dull gray dots! There was one little Wemmick and his name was "Punchinello." He tried to jump high like the others, but he always fell. And when he fell, the others would gather 'round and give him dull gray dots. Sometimes when he fell, it would scar his wood, so the people would give him more gray dots. He would try to explain why he fell and, in doing so, he would say something really silly. Then the Wemmicks would give him some more dots!!! After a while, Punchinello 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 more dull gray dots. In fact, he had so many gray dots that some people would come up and just give him one without any reason! "He deserves lots of dots," they would say. The wooden people would agree with one another. "He's not a good wooden person," they would say. After a while Punchinello believed them. "I am not a good Wemmick!" he would say. The few times he went outside, he hung around other Wemmicks who had a lot of gray dots. At least he felt better around them. One day, Punchinello met a Wemmick who was unlike any he'd ever met. She had no dull gray dots and did not have any shiny golden stars either. She was a wooden Wemmick and 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 to her!!! Some admired Lucia 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 they would not stick 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." Punchinello asked,"Eli? Who is Eli?" She replied "Yes, Eli, He is the woodcarver. I sit in His workshop and spend time with Him." He asked Lucia,"Why do you do that?" Lucia told him, "Why don't you find out for yourself? Go up the hill and visit with Him. He's there!" And with that, the sweet little Wemmick named Lucia turned and skipped away. "But He won't want to see me!" Punchinello cried out to her. Lucia didn't hear him, as she was too far away. So Punchinello went home. He sat near a window and watched the wooden people as they scurried around giving each other gold stars and gray dots. "It's just not right," he muttered to himself. Then he resolved to go see Eli after all. Punchinello walked up the narrow path to the top of the hill and stepped into the big Woodcarver Shop. His little wooden eyes widened at the size of everything. The stool was as tall as he was. He had to stretch on his tippy-toes to see the top of the workbench. A hammer was as long as his arm. Punchinello swallowed hard and thought to himself, "I'm not staying here!" and he turned to leave. Then he heard his name. "Punchinello?" said this voice, so deep and strong. Just then Punchinello stopped. The voice said, "Punchinello, oh how good it is of you to come! Let me have a look at you." Punchinello slowly turned around and looked at the large bearded craftsman and said, "Sir, you know my name?" "Of course I do. I made you," Eli said. All of a sudden, Eli stooped down and picked little Punchinello up and set him on the workbench. "Hmmmmm," the Maker spoke thoughtfully as he inspected the gray circles all over him, "Looks like you've been given some bad marks." Punchinello explained, "Oh, Eli, I didn't mean to; really I didn't!!! I really tried hard not to." The Maker said, "Oh, you don't have to defend yourself to me, my child. I don't care what the other Wemmicks think." Punchinello asked, "Really? You don't?" Then Eli said, "No and you shouldn't either. Who are they to give stars or dots? They are Wemmicks just like you. What they think really doesn't matter at all, Punchinello. All that matters is what I think. And I think you are pretty special." Punchinello laughed, "Oh, me special? How can I be special? I can't walk fast. I can't jump. My paint is peeling. I make silly mistakes all the time and I am not a beautiful Wemmick like some of the others. How could I matter to you?" Eli looked at Punchinello and put his hands on those little wooden shoulders of his and spoke very slowly, "Because Punchinello... you are mine. That's why you matter to me." Punchinello had never had anyone look at him like this before or say anything so nice, much less his Maker! He didn't know what to say! "Punchinello, every day I've been waiting and hoping you would come to see me," Eli explained. Punchinello looked up at him and said, "I came because I met a sweet Wemmick girl who had no marks." Eli said, "I know. Lucia told me about you." So Punchinello asked, "Why don't the stickers stay on Lucia?" Eli said, "Because she has decided that what I think is more important than what anyone else thinks. The stickers only stick if you let them." Punchinello looked puzzled and said, "What?" Eli said, "Yes, the stickers only stick if they matter to you. The more you trust My love, the less you will care about those stickers." But Punchinello said, "I'm not sure I really understand what you are saying?" The maker said, "You will, but it will take some time. You've got a lot of marks. So for now, just come to see me every day and let me remind you how much I care about you." Eli lifted Punchinello off the bench and set him on the floor. "Now 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 each time he remembered what Eli told him and each time he went to visit and talk with Eli, one of Punchinello's dots would fall off. They kept falling off and soon they were all gone!!! So like Punchinello, it's important for us to remember that while others may focus on outward appearances, our Creator is only concerned with what's in our heart.<<"Man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks on the heart." (I Samuel 16:7)>> (May all your dots fall to the ground...)

You Are Mine by Max Lucado

You Are Mine

by Max Lucado

ISBN:1581342764 ( available on Amazon... Kinokuniya has it too. Buy this book and You are Special for someone who needs the reminder... the illustrations are so timeless and the story too! Max Lucado is a really good writer.)

Punchinello lived in Wemmicksville. Just like other Wemmicks, he was made of wood. Just like the other Wemmicks, he was carved by Eli, the Wemmick-maker. And just like the other Wemmicks, he sometimes did silly things. Like the time he began collecting boxes and balls.

Things started getting crazy when a Wemmick named Tuck bought a new box. Others had boxes, but Tuck’s was a new box. Tuck loved his new box. He thought it was the best box in the village. It was brightly colored, and he was proud of it—too proud perhaps. He strutted up and down the street, showing off his box. “Have you seen my new box?” he would ask the Wemmicks he passed on the street. “Would you like to touch my new box?” Tuck marched right up to Punchinello: “Don’t you wish you had a new box?” he teased. Punchinello thought Tuck’s box was beautiful, and he began to wish for a box of his own.

Tuck kept showing off his box, thinking he was better than the other Wemmicks just because he had a new box. Nip, another Wemmick, disagreed.“My box is just a good as Tuck’s,” he said, as he showed off his box to Wemmicks on the other side of the street. Nip’s box was not new, but it was bigger and a bit brighter and—a bit more than Tuck could take.

Tuck got very quiet and gave Nip a mad look. Then he had an idea. He stepped into a store and bought a ball.Now he had more things than Nip. He had a box and a ball.

Nip frowned at Tuck’s ball. Nip could do better than that. He bought two balls. With a smile on his face, two balls and a box in his hands, he marched over to Tuck and smirked, “Now I have more than you!” Before he knew it, Tuck was in the store buying another box. Then Nip ran to buy another ball. Then Tuck bought a ball, and Nip bought a box.

Ball. Box. Ball. Box.

Tuck. Nip. Nip. Tuck.

On and on it went.

Someone could have stopped the whole mess right there. In fact, that’s what the mayor tried to do. “You two are being silly,” he said to Nip and Tuck. “Why, who cares who has the most toys?” “You’re just jealous,” they replied, “because you don’t have any.” “Jealous? Of you? Ha!” But within a few moments the mayor was in the store buying an armful of boxes and balls.

Other Wemmicks began to join in. The butcher. The baker. The cabinetmaker. The doctor from up the street and the dentist from down the street. Before long every Wemmick wanted to be the one with the most balls and boxes. Some boxes were big, and some were bright. Some balls were heavy, and some were light. Tall people carried them. Small people carried them. Everybody carried them. And everybody thought the same thought: Good Wemmicks have a lot. Not-so-good Wemmicks have little.

When a Wemmick walked down the center of Wemmicksville with a stack of balls and boxes higher than his head, the people stopped. “Now there goes a good Wemmick,” they would say. But when a Wemmick passed by with only one ball or one box, the others would shake their heads and think, maybe even whisper, “Poor Wemmick. Poor, poor Wemmick.”

Of course, Punchinello didn’t want to be called a poor Wemmick, so he decided to get as many boxes and balls as he could. He searched through his closet and found one little ball. He dug into his pocket and found enough money for one small box.

“I know what I’ll do,” he declared. “I’ll sell my books to get more money to buy more boxes and balls.” So he did. He bought a blue and green box with clouds painted on theside. But still he wanted more. “I’ll work nights to get extra money,” he told himself. So he did, and bought a ball.And since he was working nights, hedidn’t need his bed, so he decided, “I’ll sell my bed.” And he did just that— to buy two more balls.

Soon Punchinello had an armful. But other Wemmicks had more. Some of them had so many boxes and balls, they actually had trouble walking. “It’s hard keeping up with all my balls and boxes,” they would say, acting like they were complaining, but really they were bragging.

Punchinello wanted to be like these Wemmicks, so he sold more stuff, and he worked more hours. His eyes were tired from not getting any sleep. His arms were tired from carrying toys. He couldn’t remember when he last sat down to rest. And, worst of all, his friends couldn’t remember when Punchinello last came to play.

“We haven’t seen you for a long time,” his friend Lucia said to him one day. “Why don’t you come and play again?” asked his buddy Splint. Not everyone cared about boxes and balls. Punchinello’s friends didn’t. But Punchinello cared more about having boxes and balls than he cared about having friends. “I’ve got work to do,” he would tell them. And his friends would sigh.

Punchinello didn’t care. He only cared what the other box-and-ball people thought. And no matter what he did, he couldn’t buy enough things to get their attention. Finally, he had an idea. “I will sell my house,” he decided. “That’s crazy,” cried Lucia. “Where will you live?” asked Splint. Punchinello didn’t know, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was the boxes and balls.

So he sold his house. He bought boxes and boxes and boxes and balls and balls and balls and more balls. He carried so many toys, he couldn’t see where he was going. His stack went way above his head. But he didn’t mind. So what if his arms ached? So what if he kept walking into walls? So what if he had no friends? He had boxes and balls, and when he passed Wemmicks, they would turn and say. “Wow, he must be a good Wemmick.” Punchinello heard them. He couldn’t see them, but he heard them, and he felt good. I’m a good Wemmick, he thought.

But then somebody changed the rules. It was the mayor’s wife. She was very proud of her boxes and balls. She not only had a lot of them, but she also had special kinds of them. She bought them at the fanciest stores with funny names and left the names on the boxes so everyone would see them. She wanted to be the best Wemmick. One day she had an idea. “Not only will I have the most, but I will go the highest.”

So she climbed on top of one of her boxes and shouted, “Look at me, everybody!” Immediately all of the box-and-ball people tried to outdo her. One climbed on a fountain, another on a balcony, and then another onto a roof. It was the mayor who spotted the mountain, however. Behind the village of the Wemmicks was Wemmicks’ Peak. “I’m going to the top of the mountain,” he shouted, hoping to get there first. The race was on to see which Wemmick would have the most and climb the highest.

Wemmicks loaded with boxes and balls began running up the mountain. It was a crazy, crazy race. Since the wooden people couldn’t see where they were going, they bumped into each other. Since they were exhausted, they fell over their own feet. Since the trail was narrow, some fell down the side of it. But they kept going.

Bringing up the rear was Punchinello. He was having a hard climb, harder than the rest. After all, he’d only been a “good Wemmick” for a short time. He wasn’t used to carrying so many boxes and balls. But he was determined. He kept putting one little wooden foot ahead of the other.And since he couldn’t see, he didn’t know that he had left the trail. All he knew was that—all of a sudden—he was all alone. I must be ahead of everyone else! he thought to himself.

And so he kept climbing up and up and up. I must be very near the top. I’m such a good Wemmick; I’ll be the highest with the most. About that time Punchinello’s foot caught the edge of something. He tried to keep his balance—his toys swayed to the right and then to the left. He leaned back, then forward, but he couldn’t stop. He was going to fall. He didn’t know, however, that he had walked up the trail to Eli’s house. He tripped on the step of the porch and tumbled through the front door of Eli’s workshop. When Punchinello realized where he was, he was embarrassed. For a long time he stayed facedown on the floor, surrounded by his boxes and balls.One of the balls rolled across the floor and stopped at Eli’s workbench. That’swhen the woodcarver turned around. “Punchinello.” Eli’s voice was calm and deep and kind.

The Wemmick still didn’t move. He could feel his wooden face turning red.

“Looks like you’ve been carrying a big load.”

The weary Wemmick climbed to his knees but kept his head low. “These are my boxes and balls,” he said quietly.

“Do you play with the boxes and balls?” asked Eli.

Punchinello shook his head.

“Do you like boxes and balls?”

“I like the way they make me feel.”

“And how do they make you feel?”

“Important,” Punchinello answered, still with a small voice.

“Hmm,” Eli observed, “so you’ve been thinking like the other Wemmicks. You’ve been thinking that the more you have, the better you are, and the happier you’ll be.”

“I suppose so.”

“Come here, Punchinello. I want to show you something.”

Punchinello lifted his wooden head and looked at Eli for the first time. He was relieved to see that the Wemmick maker wasn’t angry. Punchinello followed Eli over to the window.

“Look at them,” Eli said.

Punchinello looked out the window at the swarm of Wemmicks still climbing the mountain. They were tumbling, stumbling, fighting each other, even elbowing each other to get ahead.

“Do they look happy?” Eli asked.

Punchinello just shook his head.

“Do they look important?”

“Not at all,” Punchinello said, noticing the mayor and his wife. The mayor was on the ground, and she was stepping on his back. She had a box on her head, and he had a ball in his mouth.

“Do you think I created Wemmicks to act that way?” asked Eli.

“No.”

Punchinello felt a big hand on his shoulder.

“Do you know how much your boxes and balls cost you?”

“My books and bed. My money and my house.”

“My little friend, they cost you much more than that.”

Punchinello was trying to remember what else he had sold when Eli continued, “They cost you happiness. You haven’t been happy, have you?”

Punchinello paused. “No.”

“They cost you friends. And most of all, they cost you trust. You didn’t trust me to make you happy. You trusted these boxes and balls.”

Punchinello looked at the pile of toys. All of a sudden they didn’t seem so valuable.

“I kind of messed up.”

“That’s okay,” Eli replied. “You’re still special.”

Punchinello ducked his head and smiled.

“You’re special—not because of what you have. You’re special because of who you are. You are mine. I love you. Don’t forget that, little friend.”

“I won’t.” Punchinello smiled. Then he paused and asked, “Eli?”

“Yes.”

“What should I do with these boxes and balls?”

“Perhaps you should give them to someone who really needs them.”

Punchinello turned to leave, but stopped again. “Eli?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t have a place to sleep.”

Eli smiled and offered, “Would you like to sleep here tonight?”

"I sure would. I’m very tired.”

And so that night Punchinello slept on a bed of wood shavings. He slept well. It felt good to be in the house of his maker.