Broken Crayons Still Color

A thing I needed to hear this semester.

A thing I needed to hear in elementary school, in junior high, in high school. And now, in college.

Broken crayons still color.

I read it somewhere on Facebook (Look, Facebook has its merits) today, and I was baffled by how beautifully simple– and true– it was.  And now I keep thinking about it, hours later, and I’m still amazed.  Maybe it’s just been that kind of day/week/semester, but it just keeps muddling around my mind like a mantra.  And it’s beautiful, and the truth in the words is comforting.

Broken crayons– and broken people– can still function.  They can still serve a purpose.  They still have value… They’re still just as bright, just as beautiful, just as useful, helpful, worthy of love.  Do you love your crayons? I love my crayons.

Because maybe John Green is wrong– maybe we can be irreparably broken, but why the hell should that mean that we’re hopeless?

Maybe my grade in German this semester is going to suck. Maybe your significant other left you. Maybe you lost a loved one recently. Maybe you lost your job, your pet, your home, the approval of someone you care about deeply.  And of course, those things are liable to break a person. My GPA is rather important to me.  The fact that it’s not going to be the best this semester is breaking me.  I’m a grade snob.  I don’t fail.  I don’t do C’s, for the love of goodness.  That doesn’t mean I’m worthless, valueless, hopeless.  It means shit hit the fan this semester. It means let’s try to never get bronchitis and sleep all the time ever again.  Because that throws everything off. But it doesn’t mean that I’m worthless.  I am a beautiful, albeit broken, crayon, and I still color.

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Yo dawgs, say words here. Ya know, if you want.

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