Scribbled Gray

All my life I loved colors, pastel watercolors, yellow , pink, powder blue and lavender. Then there's the deep rich hues; red, purple, hunter green and midnight blue. I love them. Colors have meaning though I'm not sure what...The one I'm most familiar with is gray...
My acquaintance with gray started in the third grade. I was the only black girl in my class, and one of only three blacks in the class. I had two bestfriends in class, Ann and Angie. We did what eight year old girls do, we giggled and talked about how stupid and smelly little boys are. Especially Charles. Charles always interrupted our girl time to tell me how nice I looked or how much he liked my plaid skirt with the giant pin on the side. Charles was the neatest boy in class, His blond hair was alway cut to perfection and he wore beige pants and crisp white shirts (always). He was also the one we giggled at the most but he didn't seem to mind...he always came back.
One day, we decided to draw each others picture. I drew what I thought was a perfect picture of Angie and Ann. I proudly gave my rendiction. Angie had yellow hair, blue eyes surrounded by the same color blue cat-eyed glasses. I captured Ann's page-boy haircut and brown hair as best I could with my limited color options. I thought they were masterpieces!
Judging by the frown on her face, Ann did not!

Angie drew a picture of me with the two ponytails and the bright orange ribbons I wore that day. I thought they were all perfect. Apparently, Ann did not! She snatched the picture Angie drew of me and scribble my face gray, and said " this is the color you are". I stared for what seemed hours at the charcoal gray as hot, salty tears ran down my cheeks and seeped into the corners of my mouth. I was different! I was gray! And they laughed!
I did what any self-respecting eight year old, who was unprepared to face the evil of a falling society), would do I grabbed a pink crayon and tried to color them different, and I scribbled so hard I broke the crayon. It was too late, my spirit broke long before that crayon. The veil had been lifted, the veil of innocence that protected me from a world where you are judged more by the color of your skin then the content of your heart. A world where little girls are scribbled gray and pink.

I don't remember being friends with Ann and Angie after that. I mostly kept to myself. I did, however, get a new school companion, a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach that attacked me every morning before school, and stayed with me the rest of the day. I resigned to my new identity. I was gray and I didn't fit.
That summer while at vacation Bible camp, I met a lowly carpenter that didn't fit either. We fit together perfectly, it took years for me to realize it, and a whole lot of colors. My portrait was gray.

I went on to other schools, schools where everyone was black like me, I wasn't accepted there either. I got new colors "yellow and red", and slapped once because I was "yellow and thought I was pretty". It's hard to think you're pretty when you are gray.
For years my world was gray, but that carpenter that fit so well didn't see it. He saw beauty in the midst of all the grayness. He saw all the colors of the rainbow. He rended the veil, and he loves me.

I no longer see gray, my life is now full of a kaleidoscope of beautiful colors and people. I see Jesus in the soft brown of Jody's eyes where there is love unmeasurable and when needed a stern rebuke. In the twinkle of Stella eyes and the beauty of her arthritic, gnarled hands that always reach for mine. In the gracefulness of Ann's walk that reminds me of a beautiful swan; did she ever feel like an ugly duckling? Was she ever scribbled pink or gray? In the light of Robbin's smile, she can always light up the room. In the humbleness of Joanne's spirit, in the joy of Connie's giggle. In all the beautiful people I worship and fellowship with. Yes, I see Jesus and a multitude of colors. I see the color of love.