The Broken Crayon Still Colors

In a small town surrounded by trees and sunshine, there was a school called Maplewood Elementary. In one of the bright classrooms, sunlight poured through the tall windows, dancing across colorful walls filled with drawings and student work.

Miss Elena, the art teacher, was known for her gentle voice, kind eyes, and the way she believed in every child who walked through her door. Today, she had something special planned: a free drawing session where each child could create whatever their heart imagined.

The students buzzed with excitement as Miss Elena handed out fresh sheets of white paper and colorful boxes of crayons.

“Draw anything you like,” she said. “Let your heart guide your hands.”

In the back of the classroom sat a quiet girl named Lila. She was small for her age and hardly ever spoke, but she loved colors. Drawing was the only time she felt brave, like she could show who she really was without saying a word.

Lila opened her crayon box carefully. Inside were bright, untouched crayons — red, yellow, green — but her favorite, the blue one, was broken in half.

Her heart sank.

The blue crayon had always been her favorite. She used it to draw skies, rivers, flowers, and dreams. Holding its broken halves in her hand, she felt disappointed and unsure. Maybe it couldn’t work the same. Maybe it wasn’t worth using.

She raised her hand quietly.

“Miss Elena?” she asked in a soft voice. “This crayon is broken. Can I get a new one?”

Miss Elena walked over and gently knelt beside her. She looked at the two pieces in Lila’s hand and smiled kindly.

“Lila,” she said, “even a broken crayon can still color.”

Lila blinked, unsure how to respond.

“It may look different,” Miss Elena continued, “but it can still do something beautiful. Sometimes, the broken things create the most powerful art.”

Miss Elena didn’t replace the crayon. She simply gave Lila a warm nod and walked on to help another student.

Lila looked back at the crayon. She picked up one half and placed it against the paper.

She hesitated. Then she began to draw.

At first, she traced the curve of a sky. Then a river. Then a girl standing beneath a giant tree, eyes closed, hair blowing in the wind. As she worked, the broken crayon left soft, vibrant strokes across the page.

The more she drew, the more confident she felt.

By the time Miss Elena called for pencils down, Lila’s paper held one of the most beautiful pictures in the room. It was calm, full of emotion and movement. The kind of picture that made you stop and feel something deep inside.

Miss Elena picked up the drawing and held it up for the class to see.

“This,” she said, “was made with a broken crayon.”

The room grew quiet.

She looked around the room. “Sometimes we feel like we’re not good enough. Maybe we’re sad, scared, or different. Maybe something inside us feels broken. But broken doesn’t mean useless. You still have something special to give.”

Lila felt her heart lift. For the first time in a long while, she wasn’t just quiet Lila in the back of the room. She was someone who had created something meaningful.

After class, students came by her desk to tell her how beautiful her drawing was. Some even asked if she could show them how she did it. Lila smiled — not a big, loud smile, but a soft one full of light.

That day, Lila learned something she would carry with her forever:

Broken things still have value. Broken people still have purpose.

And a broken crayon?

It still colors.

Moral of the Story:

You are not defined by your flaws or struggles. What matters is what you choose to do with what you have — even if it’s not perfect. Sometimes, it’s the broken pieces that help us create something more meaningful than we ever imagined.