Crayons have felt significant for as long as I can remember. As a kid, the sheer delight of getting the 64-count box with the sharpener or going to a restaurant that encouraged coloring on the paper tablecloth was equal to winning the lottery. And to be honest, not much has changed; though winning the lottery would be nice.

Do you ever think about the journey of a crayon? A crayon can come in a paper pack of 3, or a box of 32, even a tub of 240! Some are popular, others barely get noticed. They get sharpened, broken; their labels torn. It sounds exhausting. But what if it’s the opposite? What if a crayon’s life is considered well-lived when it’s been worn down to a little nub. They’ve made the world more colorful; been a comfort on hard days; perhaps some have been the communicators of sadness. What a privilege to be the picked crayon(s) for someone needing to express themselves. When there are no words, draw. When anxiety creeps up, color. Crayons are approachable. No manual required. They make anything possible. An elephant wearing a top hat and surfing? No problem! Pink storm clouds that rain grapes— Why not? They are the cultivators of imagination and the keepers of emotion. We hold onto a crayon with intention. If crayons could talk, the stories they could tell. And isn’t it sad to think about the ones that don’t get used but once or twice. Though they may be comfortable and safe from harm, they miss out on great adventures and absurdities. Crayons are simple and yet they can draw the entire world. I think that bluetiful. So be a good steward and use every color. Let the crayons live!