The previous post was really long, but I felt I just HAD to post it.

It feels good to be worshipping god. After listening to christian songs in the church for 5+ hours, you cannot help but feel that it's something you never get tired of. Even if the songs are still ringing in your head and you want to sleep but you can't since you keep 'hearing' the songs.

Anyway.

Spent the five hours in church doing handicraft with the teens for the youth rally. Although handicraft and origami are not a man's job, we still managed to do a rather good job. Heh. Worked like slaves. But still God's "slaves".

Anyone whom I have been hanging out with would know that I'm learning to play the bass guitar in church to serve. It's really great, I'm excited, don't get me wrong. But lessons have been going at a snail's pace; I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever be good enough to serve in Feb. I don't think it's good enough to just practice on the EADG strings on a folk guitar, I need experience.

On the other hand, when I'm progressing with my guitar playing pretty quickly, starting on barre chords after 2 months to me is really good. I feel that I also want to serve with the guitar. That's where the problem lies. The bassists look to me and junwei to play the bass in the future. My cell mates look to us to play the bass too. But I'm just not learning fast enough. The pressure is creeping in. I'm finding that playing the guitar is more feasible. Yet I still want to play the bass.

Rambling in Dillemia. Time to pray.

Over.

Now Listening to: Train
By: Ordinary

Punchinello

Couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about what enhan said during the second night. Felt I had the duty to share this story with other people, if not I would let myself and God down. Read it carefully and you may find the real meaning behind.

The story of Punchinello

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, " 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.


Who are we all living for? What are we living for?

Jast came back from church camp. Best camp I've ever attended, because I had a great time with my fellow brothers and sisters in christ. I don't know where to start, since I hate to write a 12413 word "compo" detailing every single detail of the camp. I think I'll just have to write write write.

But I'm damn tired now. Even after 6 hours of afternoon sleep.

Bye.