It's basically the story of my life. Trying to paint the

Hear, O children of struggle and triumph, the words of Caleb Plant, a fighter forged in hardship: “It’s basically the story of my life. Trying to paint the prettiest picture I can with the colors I have.” In these words is found the eternal lesson of resilience—that we do not choose the canvas of our birth, nor the palette of our beginnings, yet we are still called to create beauty with what is given. The colors may be limited, the strokes may falter, yet the masterpiece of life is not measured by perfection, but by the courage to keep painting.

The origin of this saying comes from Plant’s own journey. Born into poverty, scarred by tragedy, he was not granted the vibrant palette of privilege or ease. His young daughter’s death carved sorrow deep into his heart, and hardship followed him at every turn. Yet instead of surrendering, he took up the brush of perseverance and shaped a life of determination. In the boxing ring, under the bright lights, every punch thrown was another stroke upon his canvas. His story is proof that even with broken colors, one may yet create radiance.

The ancients too spoke in such metaphors. The Stoics taught that life is not about controlling what is given, but about controlling how we use it. Epictetus, born a slave, crippled in body, declared that though he had little, he would live nobly with what he possessed. So too Plant’s words echo this wisdom: we may not command the colors life hands us, but we command the artistry of our response.

Consider the story of Frida Kahlo, the painter who, though broken in body from a tragic accident, transformed her pain into canvases of haunting beauty. Her colors were anguish, yet she shaped them into enduring art that still inspires generations. Like Caleb Plant, she proved that the beauty of life does not come from the perfection of circumstances, but from the soul’s ability to create meaning from suffering.

The meaning of Plant’s words is thus clear: life is an act of creation. We may envy those with brighter paints, smoother brushes, larger canvases. Yet to dwell on what is missing is to leave the canvas blank. The true artist takes what is at hand—sorrow, loss, struggle, joy, fleeting moments—and makes of it a picture worth beholding. The value of life is not in the ease of its colors but in the boldness of its strokes.

The lesson for us, O listeners, is this: do not wait for perfect conditions to live beautifully. If your colors are few, use them richly. If your canvas is small, paint it with love. If your hands tremble, let them tremble, but keep painting. For life’s worth lies not in comparing your palette to another’s, but in creating the most with what is in your grasp. Even muted shades can form a radiant picture when arranged with courage and care.

Practical actions stand before you: Begin each day by naming the colors you have—your strengths, your opportunities, even your trials. Ask yourself how you might use them, not waste them. Refuse to envy another’s life; instead, focus on painting your own. And when pain enters your palette, blend it with perseverance, so that even sorrow may contribute to your masterpiece.

Thus, remember the words of Caleb Plant: “Trying to paint the prettiest picture I can with the colors I have.” Live this way, and your life will become not only a testimony of survival, but a work of art, inspiring others who hold only broken colors to lift their brushes and paint anew. For the world is not moved by the perfect picture, but by the brave one.