The smell of crayons brings a wave of emotions

taking me back to a time when roller skating on the sidewalk was common

and fast food unheard of.

It could have been any type of day

when my mother would call us to the kitchen.

In the middle of the table would be a rectangular box

and at each place would be a sheet of plain manila paper.

Oh what fun it would be coloring

Making up our own designs – no coloring books.

Just plenty of room for creativity.

Small hands reaching into the crayon box

trying to find just the right color.

Glancing from time to time at another’s sheet but really focusing on our own.

Listening to the voices

enjoying my mother’s presence

and when the activity was done the old crayon box would be put away

for the next time.

Years flew by and with it the times of coloring together faded.

I never even noticed when our last time was. Sigh.

For many years I didn’t see that coloring box.

But then there was a day

when my daughter was very young and we were at Nana’s.

“ Would you like to color?” I heard in the background.

“Just wait right here…I’ll be right back.”

I watched my mom walk down the hall and return in just a few minutes

holding something in her hands.

“Here we are,” I heard her say.

Curiosity tugged and I moved to see what was happening.

There, like days long ago, I saw my daughter at the table

with a red crayon in her small hand

drawing on a piece of paper.

I swallowed the big lump in my throat

when my eyes saw the familiar old crayon box on the table.

So many hands had used the crayons over the years.

Precious hands of ones I always will hold dear in my heart.

Broken crayons, most without a paper,

but still with lots of color in them even forty some years later.

Shining moments as I begin to understand

that the memories of the heart are a treasure to cherish

and enjoy forever.

Yes, I have that old crayon box today

and I have noticed that when I lift the lid

the sweet fragrance of the past mingles with the moments of today.

God has a way of doing that, doesn’t He.

Broken crayons that  still add color to my simple life today.