A Box of Broken Crayons

I love art. I love looking at it, creating it, and just being surrounded by it in any form. In fact, this week I wondered more than I have in years about my decision not to pursue art as a career, because I missed it so much. I got to do a lot of painting and I absolutely loved it.

Tonight, however, I went to the school I will be student teaching at, for their welcome back meeting, and was instantly reminded why I wanted to be a teacher. Working with kids, it’s all the things I love about art. It’s seeing beauty, especially beauty in hidden places. It’s seeing something others would overlook and seeing a story, a poem, a focus to a masterpiece. Its appreciating things created; captured beauty or even truth. More than anything it’s the hope. It’s the belief in a dream, or idea. It’s the conviction that there is more than what is seen, and that if you look deep enough you may find it. The same beauty that leaves me breathless in front of a masterpiece; the same passion I get consumed with when I see my paintbrush transform my canvas. It’s the same beauty and passion I get when I see my students. When I walk into a worn down school and look at all the children so many overlook. The ones only a few, if any, dream big futures for. I see them, and I instantly come alive.

Maybe it’s the way my Father has been raising me. The way He’s been telling me not to fear the pain, or fall for the lie that a broken thing is just that. The way He’s been telling me that He makes beautiful things, and if I want we can do some art together. How He calls me His masterpiece, and invites me to come and watch Him restore some of His other masterpieces. Maybe it’s because of that that I get excited when I see people and places others sometimes avoid.

I still remember something my kindergarten teacher told me. She was explaining that it was okay if our crayons broke; how she actually likes broken crayons better. Growing up an artistic perfectionist this stuck with me, because it sounded so outrageous. Broken crayons are not okay. I like my crayons tall and perfect. Or  should I say did. Now I understand where she is coming from. Broken ones are the best.  You can rip off the paper and rub them to get cool textures. And sometimes when they break, you get an even sharper edge that is perfect for coloring in the small detail spots. Broken crayons can be used in some pretty extraordinary ways. I think the same is true of people. There are a lot of people that look perfect, and they do some pretty noble things, and they sure look great in a box of crayons. But life isn’t that neat.

Being a mixed media artist, I have left my perfectionist ways behind. My art space quickly becomes a mess, and I never quite know what I am doing until I’m done. I have more ideas than I can use, far too many hopes, and the chaos of it all is what energizes me. I think that’s what I love about this school and others like it. The meeting was less than ideal. It was noisy and disruptive, with makeshift personal fans to cool us off. The academic stats were low, and there were more problems than achievements. But the principal was proud. She was hard and loving. She was authentic and transparent. She was an artist with a box of broken crayons, and she was loving it.

I have no clue what this year will hold, but the same passion I get when I begin a painting is quickly filling me now. I’m not sure what my masterpiece will look like yet, but as has been the case when I’m painting with my Father, I know it will be magnificent!