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.