Fixing Broken Crayons

If you have children you know that it's not time to worry until it's quiet. Most people want quiet. They get annoyed at the barrage of voices echoing through the house. They ask the waiter for a new table for fear of little ones hurling words like bombs that blast through the silence. Bill Cosby even said that he didn't want justice, he wanted quiet. I have to disagree. When the silence comes, they are up to something.

My wife asked me one afternoon, "Where's Sammy?" You see, that silence had come and we had no idea what our very industrious and VERY mischievous son was up to. We hurriedly checked every room of the house. Bedroom - no. Other bedroom - still no. Bathroom - nope (whew!). Other bathroom - uh-uh. Kitchen - no. Laundry room - no, wait! Yes! As we walked into the laundry room we caught - er, found - him walking from the garage into the laundry room and back into the house. Now we had to decipher a five year-old's description of what he was doing.

We lit into him. We just knew he had found something in the garage to destroy. He could have gotten into my tools. He could have gotten into his mom's craft supplies - little fuzzy balls and glue, not good. He could have gotten a book and been reading quietly. HAHAHAHA! No. He was into something and I was going to find it out.

"I'm just fixing crayons."

I knew it! Wait a minute. Did he say that he was fixing broken crayons? I struggled with this. He was supposed to be tearing things off the shelves and playing with power tools. He was supposed to be making a mess. But he said he was fixing crayons. And he is holding a previously broken crayon in one hand and glue in the other. My rambunctious son had been fixing things. I was dumbfounded. I asked him to explain. "I was coloring and my crayon broke. So I fixed it." He glued the broken crayon back together and was headed back to finish coloring his picture.

I was amazed at his little mind. He had figured this out all on his own. He thought his crayon would be as good as new if he glued it back together. He didn't realize that he could only color until he reached the glue. He didn't realize that the crayon wasn't as good as new - it was just temporarily pieced back together. But fixing the crayons made perfect sense to him. And it did to me too. I watched as he scurried off to finish coloring his picture. And I went off to fix some broken crayons of my own.

Don't look at me like that. We all do it. We all try to fix our broken crayons.

There's the lost soul, wandering in search of a way - any way - to some kind of peace, some kind of hope. He tries to console himself in the fact that he's a good person. He tries to appease the gods or God by going to church. He's just a broken crayon.

There's the guilt-ridden husband, trying to mend the marriage he destroyed. And no matter how many books he reads or love dares he completes, she's not buying it. He's a broken crayon.

There's the grieving mother, now sobbing tearless sobs - she has cried so hard for so long. Nothing she does can fill the void left by that little one that she just yesterday held in her lap and kissed goodnight - now goodbye. She's a broken crayon.

Whatever the situation, whatever the circumstance, we are all people trying to fix broken crayons. But it doesn't really work. We don't realize that the glue only temporarily pieces us or our perfect world back together. The glue doesn't make us as good as new. After awhile we become a patchwork cutout of ourselves, with frayed and threadbare seams. For all our trying, we can make nothing of ourselves except a broken crayon.

But there is Someone who is in the business of fixing broken crayons. He does great work and is highly recommended. But just a word of caution - when you bring a crayon to Him you won't get it back. He gives you a brand new one in it's place. He doesn't worry about the frayed and threadbare seams. He makes you new. He makes all things new. He gives peace and hope. He mends broken marriages. He heals broken hearts. He is the potter that makes the old clay over again. As He fixes broken crayons, He takes blind eyes and makes them see. As He fixes broken crayons, He takes lame limbs and makes them walk. He takes vile affection and turns it toward the ones for whom it was originally intended. He takes a dead and lifeless body and breathes life - new life - into it. He doesn't want anything as payment for fixing the crayon. His Son paid for that long ago. He just wants your crayon.

I know what it's like. I have brought several broken crayons to Him. He took that lost soul and saved it. He took that old thing and made it new. And He didn't stop there. He has taken broken crayon after broken crayon and fixed every single one of them. He took a life that I thought was beyond repair and hopeless and He made it new. Not just livable. Not just endurable. Not just a patchwork. New. Brand new.

He is waiting. And there we stand, with glue in one hand and our broken crayon in the other.

Sticks And Stones

As kids we had some silly put-downs. "I'm rubber, you're glue, whatever you say bounces off of me, and sticks on you!" or "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me." Then there was, "I know you are but what I am I?" and finally, the end-all-beat-all, "Your momma!" When you got into a verbal altercation on the playground in elementary school, most of the time was spent jockeying into position to be able to drop one of those put-downs on the other combatant. If you could time it just right, you could send him home crying. The crowd would cheer. You'd be a hero! But if you waited a split second too long or hurled the jab a little too early - it was over. You were the one crying. You were the one left to play freeze tag by yourself. And the other guy was the hero. Timing back then was the same as timing is now - everything. 

The funny thing about those put-downs is that they never really hurt too badly. Oh sure, you felt like the world was going to end because you ended up being the glue and everybody knew it. But after a good dinner and a good night's sleep, all was right with that world and you had the chance to be the rubber NOT the glue and if you played your cards right, somebody's momma was in big trouble mister. No matter who ended up being the rubber or who ended up being the glue, everything eventually bounced off or rolled off and none of it was any skin off of your nose or back. 

But then something changed. The same deathblow in elementary school wouldn't phase them in middle school or junior high. And you better be practiced up and really creative once you move into high school. And somewhere along the line you had better pick up some thick skin. Otherwise you would be sent home crying. And this time it would linger a while. This time, it mattered whether or not you were the rubber or the glue. 

And then the stakes got even higher as you entered adulthood. Now we're playing for keeps. Now, the one hurling the verbal jabs and the one taking them both end up crying - on the outside or inside, but crying nonetheless. Yes...the stakes ARE higher. And the wounds are deeper. And the healing takes longer. 

And rest assured, the hurt will come. "For unto you it is given in the behalf of Christ, not only to believe on Him, but also to suffer for His sake.." Suffering is as much a part of life as is breathing. It's been said that if you aren't suffering now, either you just were or you soon will be. Suffering comes in all shapes and sizes. It comes from many different fronts. Sometimes the enemy is easily identified. Sometimes the enemy is wearing sheep's clothing. Sometimes the enemy stares back at us as we shave and brush our teeth in the morning. Sometimes you know the reason for the hurt, but sometimes - many times - you have to comfort yourself in the fact that God knows and you may never. 

One thing is constant - hurt hurts. Now, some will tell you that it doesn't hurt - that it's nothing, that it doesn't matter. But it does hurt, it is something, and it does matter. That's why it hurts. And even the hardest heart cracks when hit. Even the one who is seemingly so strong on the outside can be devastated by the hurt. Many of us have a veneer - it may be sarcasm or false strength or stoicism. But that thin film is easily penetrated by the carefully timed jab. And - it - hurts. 

But just as sure as the hurt comes, so does the healing. It may take some time, but it does come. It may take some work, but it does come. It may hurt like methiolade as it does it's work in you. But it does come. There will be times when you doubt. There will be days when the hurt SEEMS deeper. You will think the salve is insufficient for the wound. But there IS a Balm of Gilead. God does catch our tears in a bottle according to the Psalms and He understands. He heals. When that hurtful jab is hurled and connects on the soft tissue of a broken heart He wants us to do what we did when we were kids. He wants us to run home to Him. 

Sticks and stones may break my bones, and names are sure to hurt me. But whether I'm the rubber or the glue, or whether I know you are, but what I am is still in question, and no matter if my momma has been summoned - I have a Father up in Heaven who hears me and sees me and HE is inclined to help me. The Lord will deliver me in the time of trouble. 

And timing is everything. 

ct

My amazing family!

zoo trip

Published with Blogger-droid v1.3.9

Practice picture