Got Crayons?

I learned something new today about offerings to God. I had nothing upbeat or joyful to hand Him, so I offered Him my tears and my brokenness and my sadness instead. I found out that they, too, can be placed at the base of the cross. And He accepts them as if they were precious to Him.
There they sit, like crayoned scribbles on the fridge. Certainly not fancy, but maybe still art; forged onto the page with so much effort, tongue hanging out, gripping the color with all available strength until the shape is squeezed onto the paper. “What are they?” Who knows, but they were drawn from the heart, even if they don't look like much of anything to anyone else. And He loves them and hangs them up with tender magnets, and rejoices over them as if they were acceptance letters into the finest universities in Heaven. And they are.
I don’t want to hang my scribbles anywhere except on God’s refrigerator. No where else do they have the same value. No where else are they received with so much grace and love. And only in His eyes do they become priceless works of art.