Often, the topics of my writing are pragmatic and poignant. But today, I hope you will allow me to be a little mellow and nostalgic. As I get older, certain things — a smell, a song, a phrase, an item, or a “throwback” picture — can stir up a special memory.

At the end of each day, when I get home, I go through my usual close-out routine like a preprogrammed robot. The first thing I do is empty my pockets, putting coins into an old jar on the nightstand beside the bed. That simple act triggered an old recollection — one that drifted through the foggy corridors of my mind. 

I also realize that the longer we try to recall some memories, the more their details fade. Over time, they blur until I begin to wonder if they really happened at all, or if they are remnants of dreams, passing conversations, or scenes from an old movie. Sometimes, a single, ordinary moment — like emptying my pockets — can unlock a flood of vivid details and carry me back in time.

Here's the memory:

I was a first grader at Kenworth Elementary School. Traditionally, the school was holding its annual fall festival. It all took place in the school gymnasium. The day was filled with booth-type games, contests, and the sweet scents of bake-sale treats. Moms baked cupcakes, pies, and cakes, and some of those cakes were even offered as prizes. 

One particular contest caught my attention the moment I entered the gymnasium. In the center of the room, on a small wooden table, sat a large glass jar filled with marbles — and right beside it, the most tantalizing three-layer chocolate cake I had ever seen. My eyes were glued to its thick, glossy icing. 

My trance was broken when a parent asked if I wanted to pay a nickel to guess how many marbles were in the jar. She said I could guess as many times as I wanted, but each guess would cost five cents. She explained that the money would help the school buy playground equipment, and the person who guessed closest to the correct number would win both the marbles and the cake.

“All of that cake — for just one nickel?” I thought. That was more than a worthy cause; it was the deal of a lifetime. I quickly surrendered a portion of my milk money and took my shot. 

After studying the jar — knowing very little difference between twenty-five and one hundred twenty-five — I scribbled down a number, handed in my guess, and paid my nickel.

That afternoon, I could hardly wait to tell my brothers and my mom about my “investment.” I described in great detail how we would soon have enough chocolate cake to last a lifetime. It must have been my confidence or excitement — or both — that caused them to join in celebrating my very first “executive decision” as a first-grader. 

Looking back, my mother tempered her pessimistic prediction of a potentially difficult life lesson. Perhaps my mom thought that five cents spent on a lesson in disappointment would be a nickel well spent. Looking back, she knew — as Proverbs 22:6 reminds us — that training a child, even in the small moments, can become big lessons in a little boy’s heart.

Not so fast with the disappointing lessons:

Around mid-morning the next day, my name blared over the school intercom — every student’s nightmare — asking me to report immediately to the principal’s office. After all, no one ever got called there for good news. 

My stomach sank as I made the slow “walk of shame” from Mrs. Stewart’s classroom to the three-story upper elementary building. Every step I took, I racked my 6-year-old brain, wondering what crime I had committed. When I arrived, a big sixth-grade boy sat nearby, arms folded, tears in his eyes, with a serious expression on his face. My heart raced even faster, “I’m doomed,” I thought as I began looking for a way to escape. 

Then Mr. Bridgeman, the principal, called my name. “It seems we have a bit of a situation here,” he said in his most authoritative voice. I braced for punishment. I was ready to declare my innocence. A less wise student would start confessing to things that the principal could not or would not have known about. So, I held my tongue, as I shook with courage.

Then came the shocking words: “It’s my duty to inform you that you guessed the exact number of marbles in the contest.” 

I won! Both the jar of marbles and the enormous chocolate cake! I won! Soon, I was proudly hauling my treasures back down the hallway, then over to my classroom.

I wasn’t usually one of the popular kids in school, but that day, my good fortune (and lucky guess) had provided a temporary reprise from “cool” kids. My classmates’ eyes were wide with surprise when I walked in carrying a massive jar of marbles and that chocolate cake. Most victims, returning from the principal’s office, would be rubbing their backsides, wiping tears from a face riddled with regret. 

The cake was only outsized by the ear-to-ear grin on my face, which dimmed only slightly when Mrs. Stewart gently suggested that I should share the cake with the class. Mrs. Stewart kindly shared that “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35). That moment stayed with me — because even as a child, I learned how much joy there is in sharing.

That afternoon, I carried the jar and the cake remnants to the car, where Mom was waiting in her usual spot. I wish I had a picture of her face when she saw her six-year-old lugging those two prizes with my book bag dragging behind me by its strap, completely forgotten. 

I think she might have been even more excited than I was. The conversation on the way home was filled with laughter as I told the story repeatedly. I even remember my mom making a phone call to tell Grandma about my good fortune.

The cake did not last long with three boys in the house. We proudly wore chocolate icing mustaches as we devoured it, face-first. As the prize winner, I earned the biggest slice and the honor of licking the plate clean. 

As for the marbles, I do not know what eventually happened to that jar, but for months it sat proudly on a shelf beside my bed. The marbles, however, slowly scattered across the schoolyard and the boundaries of my small world. Some were lost in “world-championship” recess games, others were traded in playground deals, and a few became ammo for homemade slingshots. 

When the marbles were gone, I used that jar for spare change and other “treasures” a little boy collects in his pockets. Every night, I would empty my pockets into it, keeping what mattered most. For years, that jar represented a collection of things that held immense value to me — even if they appeared to be junk to someone else. 

I do not remember how many marbles were in that jar, what number I guessed to win, or even how the cake tasted. But the lessons tied to that moment have stayed with me ever since. 

In hindsight, I realize that a simple jar taught me the value of stewardship — learning to care for what has been entrusted to you, no matter how small. Jesus said in Luke 16:10, “Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much.” From that age, I learned to take care of and appreciate what I have. I still have toys that date back to that era. While my brothers and friends abused their toys, I purposely preserved most of mine. A few have survived, which I have proudly passed on to my son.

To this day, I am still a fan of chocolate cake — who isn’t? I still have a fascination with marbles and cannot resist shaking a jar of them whenever I see one in an antique store, hoping to spot a black agate or a cat-eye. 

Whenever I see a child reluctant to share, I think back to Mrs. Stewart’s wisdom in encouraging me to share that cake, and how special it felt to give something to others. And yes — even now — I still keep a jar nearby to hold “treasures.” Sometimes, its contents get dumped to help one of our kids collect coins for a school project or church contest.

Would I still keep a collection jar if I had never won that contest? Maybe so. But one thing is sure: the lessons and memories from that jar of marbles and that chocolate cake are worth a fortune — or at the very least, more than a nickel.

After all, Matthew 6:21 reminds us, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” And sometimes, those treasures — no matter how small — point us back to the greatest treasure of all. It also reminds us that our treasure can be placed by us. Every person is engaged in a treasure war. It is different from one person to the next. Everyone lives for some kind of treasure. The thing that we treasure will control our hearts. Whatever controls our hearts will control our words and behavior. Dr. Paul Tripp said, “The desire for anything, even a good thing, can become a controlling thing. Our lives will be propelled by or interrupted by that which we treasure.”

Final Thoughts:

That jar reminds me that God often uses small things to teach us big truths — a boy’s lunch to feed thousands, a widow’s mite to show faith, or a mustard seed to illustrate how His Kingdom grows. Our “nickel moments” may seem small at the time, but in God’s hands, they can become lifelong lessons of gratitude, generosity, and grace. 
So, keep your jar nearby — not just for coins and keepsakes, but as a reminder that what we place in God’s hands is always worth far more than a nickel.