Reverend Raymond Osborne, Pastor

Please Note That Most Messages Follow
The Revised Common Lectionary

Do you know how special you are? Listen to me – Do you know how truly special you are?! Do you realize how valuable your life is? If you hear nothing else I have to say this morning hear this – you and I are so special and so exquisitely valuable that God has decided to adopt us as His children!

This week I received an email from Stephanie’s aunt that told about three little boys bragging on their Fathers out on the school yard. The first boy says, "My Dad scribbles a few words on a piece of paper, he calls it a poem, they give him $50."

The second boy says, "That's nothing. My Dad scribbles a few words on a piece of paper, he calls it a song, they give him $100."

The third boy says, "I got you both beat. My Dad scribbles a few words on a piece of paper, he calls it a sermon... and it takes eight people to collect all the money!"

We can join right in on that conversation:

My Father owns all the cattle on all the hillsides throughout the world. In fact, my Father owns the hillsides. My Father gave His only begotten Son and called Him Jesus, sent Him to a cross and I call Him Master, Savior, and Lord.

My Father looked at me with all my faults and all my short comings and decided to adopt me anyway. My Father loves me so much that I cannot even begin to understand it all!

Do you realize how special you are? Do you realize that you are so special that God has chosen you to be His child? Let me allow you to peak into my childhood for a moment.

I remember what it felt like to be part of a pick-up basketball game and always be the last one chosen. I remember what it was like to want to be chosen “captain of the team” and it never happened. I remember lying in bed and crying because my friends never thought I was good enough to be on their teams.

I remember a time when an individual who had taught my sister walked up to me in front of an entire class and asked: “Osborne when you graduate what are you going to do with your life?” I said, “Go to college I hope.” To which this teacher replied, “Hmph. You’ve never been the student your sister was and even if you do find a college stupid enough to accept you, you’ll never make it through the first semester!” Fooled him didn’t I?

But I remember those pains. I was never the best looking, the best athlete, the best scholar, I was always either average or less than average.

(Take Nomes out and place them around the pulpit)

Max Lucado has written a wonderful little story about a group of little wooden people he calls “Wemmicks.” Each of these wooden people were carved by a woodworker named Eli. His workshop sat on a hill overlooking their village. Just like you and I, 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.

Wemmicks basically did the same thing day in and day out; 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, Wemmicks could be seen sticking stars or dots on one another.

The pretty Wemmicks, those with smooth wood and fine paint, always got stars. But if the wood was rough or the paint chipped, then those Wemmicks were given dots. The talented ones would get stars and the untalented ones would get dots. Some were stronger or more athletic than others and they would get gold stars. 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, " he 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. 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.

Do you know how special you are? Do you realize how valuable you are? Thanks be to God FOR He has CREATED us, He LOVES us, and He ACCEPTS us just as we are.

You and I need to stop and understand how special that makes us.

Pray with me: God you are Creator and we thank you. You have decided to love us and accept us just as we are BECAUSE you have created us. Thank you for your Son Jesus for through Him you show us Grace and acceptance. Amen.

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