The Green Crayon
The color green
The green crayon was her favorite, because green was her favorite color. The green crayon hung out in her crayola box, nestled among the other crayons, all of them pretty. But green was her favorite.
Mary was not her favorite classmate. She was okay, but she was not a favorite of anyone. Mary was not happy. Perhaps it was because she was poor. Maybe it was because her home was not happy. Could it be it was because she smelled. Everyone knew she smelled, especially the ones who sat closest to her desk or played with her on the playground. The other classmates knew it, too.
One day, Mary asked to borrow her crayons. She didn’t want to loan them to her, but she knew she should. So she did. Mary smiled at her when she handed the box to her.
Later, the box of crayons came back. And one of the crayons – the green crayon – was broken.
I’m never loaning my crayons to you again, the girl vowed silently. For the green crayon, the best crayon, the favorite crayon was broken! It didn’t fit into the box anymore with the other crayons. She couldn’t slide it in between the other crayons, sleek and shiny, because it was broken. Now the green crayon was a broken misfit.
broken things like the green crayon
What happened to Mary? Does anyone know? What happened to the green crayon? Does anybody – now – care?
Fifty years later, she remembers the crayon and the girl. She remembers her selfishness at the broken crayon. The girl remembers that what is “mine” is not really ours. Most importantly, she remembers that people are more important than things. That what happens inside a person’s heart matters more than what she looks – and smells like – on the outside.
Green is still her favorite color. And broken people? They are her favorite, too. That’s why you’ll find her holding Bible studies for women at the nearby correctional center. It’s why you’ll find her loving on young and old alike at church. Perhaps that’s why she’s such a great encourager for folks in her many circles.
Sometimes God takes the brokenness of our lives and uses it to shape us into something vibrant and colorful. That green, broken crayon has long been gone, but the lesson learned remains.
A note from Gert: the girl with the favorite green crayon shared this experience in our Sunday school class one morning. Permission is granted to share this story here without using her name.
