Pearls of Wisdom

A long time ago, i used to like these short stories that had sort of like a Christian moral behind them.  I had quite a few of them saved in my Outlook Express folders… but lost everything when my hdd crashed.  Yes, yes, i know… for a closet techie like me, i should’ve had everything backed up.  Sigh.  But we all get complacent sometimes.

Anyway, thank God for the Internet & google ‘cos i found my favourite story, “Jenny’s Necklace” again.  I also managed to fish out another story that i liked a lot from my old old website.  (I used the 2nd story about the Wemmicks during an oratorical contest before & i won the contest!  Haha.)

Reproducing both the stories here for your reading pleasure.  ๐Ÿ™‚

——————————————-

Jenny’s Necklace

Jenny was a bright-eyed, pretty five-year-old girl.

One day when she and her mother were checking out at the grocery store, Jenny saw a plastic pearl necklace priced at $2.50.

How she wanted that necklace, and when she asked her mother if she would buy it for her, her mother said, “Well, it is a pretty necklace, but it costs an awful lot of money. I’ll tell you what. I’ll buy you the necklace, and when we get home we can make up a list of chores that you can do to pay for the necklace. And don’t forget that for your birthday Grandma just might give you a whole dollar bill, too. “Okay?”

Jenny agreed, and her mother bought the pearl necklace for her.

Jenny worked on her chores very hard every day, and sure enough, her grandma gave her a brand new dollar bill for her birthday.

Soon Jenny had paid off the pearls.

How Jenny loved those pearls. She wore them everywhere-to kindergarten, bed and when she went out with her mother to run errands.

The only time she didn’t wear them was in the shower. Her mother had told her that they would turn her neck green!

Now Jenny had a very loving daddy. When Jenny went to bed, he would get up from his favorite chair every night and read Jenny her favorite story. One night when he finished the story, he said, “Jenny, do you love me?”

“Oh yes, Daddy, you know I love you,” the little girl said.

“Well, then, give me your pearls.”

“Oh! Daddy, not my pearls!” Jenny said. “But you can have Rosie, my favorite doll. Remember her? You gave her to me last year for my birthday. And you can have her tea party outfit, too. Okay?”

“Oh no, darling, that’s okay.” Her father brushed her cheek with a kiss. “Goodnight, little one.”

A week later, her father once again asked Jenny after her story, “Do you love me?”

“Oh yes, Daddy, you know I love you.”

“Well, then, give me your pearls.”

“Oh, Daddy, not my pearls! But you can have Ribbons, my toy horse. Do you remember her? She’s my favorite. Her hair is so soft, and you can play with it and braid it and everything. You can have Ribbons if you want her, Daddy,” the little girl said to her father.

“No, that’s okay,” her father said and brushed her cheek again with a kiss. “God bless you, little one. Sweet dreams.”

Several days later, when Jenny’s father came in to read her a story, Jenny was sitting on her bed and her lip was trembling. “Here, Daddy,” she said, and held out her hand. She opened it and her beloved pearl necklace was inside. She let it slip into her father’s hand.

With one hand her father held the plastic pearls and with the other he pulled out of his pocket a blue velvet box.

Inside of the box were real, genuine, beautiful pearls. He had had them all along. He was waiting for Jenny to give up the cheap stuff so he could give her the real thing.

So it is with our Heavenly Father. He is waiting for us to give up the cheap things in our lives so he can give us beautiful treasure.

Isn’t God good?

What are you holding on to, the “fake or the real pearls”?

God only wants you to have the best.

————————————————-

 

Small Wooden People

The Wemmicks were small wooden people. Each of the wooden people was carved by a woodworker named Eli. His workshop sat on a hill overlooking their village.

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.

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 could be seen 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 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,” 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.”

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.

0 Responses to “Pearls of Wisdom”


  1. No Comments

Leave a Reply




November 2006
M T W T F S S
 12345
6789101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
27282930  

Archives