Broken Crayons Still Color

The restaurant overlooked the bayside of the peninsula. As the evening sun settled lower in the sky, the water shimmered like sheets of gold. Long rows of pelicans glided just above the surface, each one following the next with effortless grace. It was one of those evenings that seemed too beautiful to hurry through. Yet the view outside wasn’t what held my attention.

My grandson sat beside me at the table. The waitress had handed him one of those children’s activity menus with crayons tucked inside the paper sleeve. They weren’t bright and new. They were broken—each only about an inch and a half long. Their paper wrappers were peeling, their points were worn down, and they had obviously passed through many little hands before his. He never seemed to notice.

As he leaned over the page, carefully deciding where each color should go, he did something I’ve loved watching since he was little. Whenever he’s deeply focused, he gently rests the tip of his tongue against his top lip. It’s one of those tiny signatures that make him uniquely him. With complete contentment, he picked up those broken crayons and began to color. Not once did he ask for better ones. Not once did he complain. Why? Because the broken crayons still colored.

As I watched him, I wondered how often I do just the opposite.

I look at the broken places in my own life and quietly assume God must be looking for someone with fewer cracks. I remember failures I’d rather forget, words I wish I could take back, seasons of grief, disappointments, and dreams that never became reality. Sometimes I become more aware of where life has broken me than where God is still working through me.

But God has never required perfection.

Throughout Scripture, He chose people with cracked stories and weary hearts. Moses doubted. David failed. Peter denied Jesus. Paul carried the memory of persecuting the church. None of them were flawless, yet all of them became instruments in the hands of the Master. Their brokenness didn’t disqualify them. It became the canvas upon which God’s grace was displayed.

Perhaps the cracks in our lives are not evidence that God is finished with us. Perhaps they are simply places where His mercy becomes more visible. The compassion we extend often grows from the pain we’ve endured. The hope we offer is usually born from the hope we’ve needed ourselves.

The Master Artist has never needed perfect crayons to create something beautiful. He simply places broken crayons in willing hands. And they still color.

This morning I woke with my grandson and those little broken crayons still on my mind. The image lingered as I reached for my phone. When I opened Facebook, the very first post I saw was from a friend. It simply read: “Broken crayons still color!” I smiled. To me, it felt like one of those quiet nudges from the Lord—a gentle confirmation to write about broken pieces.

Maybe that’s because we all have them.

Broken dreams.

Broken hearts.

Broken relationships.

Broken plans.

Broken people.

Yet, in the hands of our Creator, broken never means useless.

“A bruised reed He will not break, and a faintly burning wick He will not quench; He will faithfully bring forth justice.” — Isaiah 42:3

The world often throws away what is broken.

Jesus restores it.

And somehow, by His grace, broken crayons… and broken people… still color the world.