Punchinello

I wasn’t feeling so into it.

Shadows fell over my soul like the lights coming down in the auditorium.

A self-proclaimed approval junkie, service whore and control freak, pregnancy and all its limitations and needs have not been easy for me. My sense of self-worth had taken a beating over the past few months that would liken itself to a climactic scene in any of the Rocky movies.

Our row was filled with an odd mixture of caring adults, too-cool teenagers, an overly excitable 5^th grader and our pastor’s son – who looked slightly bewildered by the whole thing.

“You are Special” heralded the fifteen-foot-tall book at center stage. Don’t cry, I mentally coached myself. Chaperones don’t cry.

The ballet began. A whirl of colors and sounds, organza and puppets filled first the stage and then our own hearts with a sense of wonder and excitement. Even the too-cool teens were sucked in as the story unfolded.

Each puppet was different, hand carved by their Maker, but they stuck gold stars or ugly grey dots on one another, based on performance.

Some of the puppets flew across the stage in great leaps and bounds and twisting flips that would make Mary-Lou Retton green. Others stumbled over their own ballet shoes by intention.

Our eyes grew wide as the story came to its crux. The clumsiest, ugliest, most unwanted of all the puppets went to talk to the Maker.

The puppet bemoaned his existence, but the Maker waded through the muck of his self- doubt and embraced him, explaining, “You are special, because you’re mine. I made you and for that, and no other reason, do you matter to me.”

I watched the children, so many of who don’t hear that they are made in God’s image and loved dearly by Him, except at Bible Club, once a week. Their faces glowed as the realization that this Maker was a picture of the same God we talk about all the time. Their faces were a testament to the realization, at least for that moment, how special they are to Him.

It’s true, the Spirit whispered, and a tear dropped from my eye.

The pride and joy of my life, my collection of stars and dots, was revealed in that moment for what it truly is: ropes of lies I have believed and told myself, tying them over and over again, my whole life.

As we exited the auditorium, the kids were all giggles, but I was silent.

I heard the Maker’s voice again. “You matter because I made you. You are mine. Nothing else matters.”

A grey dot fell out of my back pocket.