How Special You Really Are

The show first aired January 15, 1974.
Its main character was a young boy we all knew as Opie.
Opie Taylor grew up and became Richie Cunningham before our very eyes.
A cast of characters that we welcomed into our living rooms for ten years.

I was almost fifteen years old when the show first aired.
Just the right age to be smitten.
Intrigued by the sweater-wearing Richie and the leather-wearing Fonzie.
The same leather jacket that is now in the Smithsonian.

Everyone sang the theme song.
Everyone knew Fonzie’s tag line,“(H)eyyyy!” and “Whoa!”
Everyone knew that only Mrs. Cunningham was allowed to call Fonzie by his real name.
She called him, Arthur, affectionately.

I remember the day I asked my mother something I thought she would never agree to do.
I learned that the four main characters of Happy Days were coming to Philadelphia.
Richie, Fonzie, Potsie, and Ralph would be meeting fans at the Eagle.
The bronze Eagle in the main court of Wanamakers, a center city department store.

Meet you at the Eagle, was a famous directive among shoppers.
Say those words, and everyone knew what you meant and where they should go.
But would my mother say yes?
Would she bring me in to Philadelphia on a school day to meet the cast of Happy Days?

To my surprise, she said, yes!
She probably remembered what it was like to be fifteen and smitten.
We took the train into the city and got there just in time.
Velvet ropes wound around the Eagle.

Lines were already forming as we entered the store.
We were dressed up for the occasion, the thing to do when you went into the city.
Being tall, even then, I was able to see above the crowd.
I saw them walk in: Richie, then Fonzie, Potsie and Ralph.

For some reason, the security guards formed two lines by moving the velvet ropes.
A guard took my elbow and guided me towards the right, which put me closer to the front.
I was able to see the four young men I had come to see.
They looked exactly the same, though a bit shorter than I expected.

We discovered that there was a book, a simple “about the television show” book.
My mother decided to grab a copy so that the young men could sign it for me.
We would pay for it at the end of the line.
There I stood, almost fifteen years old, in front of those I watched every week.

Each signed their name.
Each smiled and said the nice things you say when you are meeting hundreds of people.
All except “Ralph” who somehow met eyes with me as I waited in line.
When the book went down the line for each one to sign, he took a bit longer.

I smiled and thanked him, as I thanked the rest.
We paid for the book and got ready to go.
It wasn’t until we got away from the crowds that I opened the book to see the autographs.
There it was: To the girl with the nice smile, and then his name.

I guess I looked surprised or began to blush, or both.
Is there anything wrong? my mother asked.
No, but look what Ralph wrote. (I still called him by his character’s name)
She read the words and simply said He’s right. You DO have a nice smile.

That was all.
We took the train home.
That book was worn out from me opening it so many times.
It sat on my nightstand for a while, then moved to a shelf, and then was forgotten.

Years later, I was going through things before I got married.
I gave away many things I couldn’t possibly move into an apartment.
That book was inadvertently placed in a give away pile.
To the girl with the nice smile, is now in someone else’s possession.

I was thinking about that book the other day for some strange reason.
I often think it would be nice to come across it at a book sale, or on e-bay.
Autographed copy of the Happy Days book.
Little does the person know who has had the book in their possession all these years.

One autograph from one actor made my day at the time it was written.
But another autograph means far more and can never be lost or given away.

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of My hands. (Isaiah 49:15,16)

Our autograph on Jesus’ hands.
Never misplaced.
Never given away.
Never forgotten.

More than being told we have nice smile, we are told that we are His.
We know that we matter.
We know that we are loved.
We know that those same nail-scarred hands have us engraved there as well.

Engraved.
Carved.
Chiseled in.
Permanently visible.

Over time, the autographs in my book would have faded.
Over time, the pages of the book would have yellowed.
Over time, the engraving on Jesus’ hands remains.
Just as strong and just as clear as when it was first placed there.

We are autographed on the palms of Jesus’ hands.
Let that truth really sink in.
Do you know how very special you are to Him?
Do you really know?