I never expected a box of crayons to teach me much about life.

At the time, I was just a little girl sitting at a school desk that was slightly too big for me, trying to color inside lines that seemed determined to be ignored. I was an odd little girl — a bit of a daydreamer, shy and open all at the same time.

But even now, all these years later, I can still remember the feeling of receiving and opening that brand-new 96-count box of Crayola crayons.

The lid lifted slowly.
The rows were perfect.

And there they were; every shade imaginable lined up like they had somewhere important to be.

Back then, that box felt like possibility.

It also felt a little overwhelming.

Because suddenly life was not just red, blue, and yellow anymore.

Now there was periwinkle, burnt sienna, and a dozen shades of green that all looked exactly the same to me before my morning chocolate milk.

That box was not just school supplies.

That was social status.

You walked into class with that giant box and suddenly you were not just another kid with a spelling test and a runny nose.

You were somebody.

The kids with the 8-pack looked at you with admiration.
The kids with the 24-pack looked at you with suspicion.
And the poor child with three broken crayons in a sandwich bag was probably ready to trade their whole pudding cup for your periwinkle.

I did not know what half those colors were, but I knew they sounded impressive.

And maybe that was the first time I learned that having more colors makes life more beautiful,  but it can also make it harder to know what to do with them.

The older I get, the more I realize people are a lot like that crayon box.

Some folks are bright sunshine yellow.
Some are dependable navy blue.
Some are bold red and never seem to have an inside voice.

And some days, if I am honest, I feel like that odd little beige crayon nobody reaches for unless they suddenly need to color a tree stump.

We naturally like the colors that make sense to us.
The shades that feel familiar.
The people who think like us.
Talk like us.
See life the way we do.

Of course we do.

Those people do not challenge the way we think.
The way we believe.
The way we understand the world.

And if we are honest, there are some colors we are not sure what to do with.

Some people feel too loud.
Some feel too quiet.
Some seem to color outside every line we carefully drew for our lives.

And yet life keeps reminding me of something.

The prettiest pictures were never made with one crayon.

A whole page in blue is nice.
But add a little gold, some orange, a streak of purple, and suddenly you have something worth hanging on the refrigerator.

That is how people work too.

It is the blending that makes the beauty.

No one is just one color.

The people who challenge us.
The people who soften us.
The people who see things from a completely different angle.
The people who show up in shades we would not have chosen ourselves.

Sometimes those are the very people who make the picture whole.

Now if I am being very, very real, my crayon box these days looks a little used.

Some of the crayons are worn down to a nub.
Some are broken clean in half.
Some have lost their paper wrappers.
And some have clearly been through things.

Honestly, some days I feel like one of those crayons myself; a little chipped, a little tired,
and wondering if there is enough left to still make something beautiful.

But broken crayons still color.

And worn-down crayons still have a place in the box.

That may be one of the sweetest truths I have learned.

Because in my crayon box, everybody is welcome.

The bright ones.
The quiet ones.
The broken ones.
The hard-to-understand ones.
The ones who feel like they do not belong anywhere anymore.

I may not always understand your color.

And you may not always understand mine.

But I can still sit beside you.
I can still make room for you.
And I can still meet you exactly where you are.

Not where I wish you were.
Not where others think you should be.
Just where you are.

Maybe we can even share a piece of copy paper and make the picture together.

Because sometimes the masterpiece is not made from all the perfect crayons.

Sometimes it comes from a box full of broken ones that decided to stay together anyway.

Donetta’s Takeaway

Life would probably be simpler if we only had to love the people who look like us, think like us, and color inside the same lines we do.

But simple has never been the same as beautiful.

Sometimes the very people we do not understand at first become the ones who add the most color to our lives.