Today I realized my life is like a puzzle, a great big, 2000-piece puzzle, like the one that arrived for Christmas (see below). I'm pretty sure the pieces are all there because I opened the box myself, and no one seems to have dumped it while I wasn't looking.
The first challenge my puzzle gave was finding a suitable place for assembly. No tabletops or counter-space would work. I needed a large surface that would not attract the attention of toddlers, and be accessible without being in the way. I finally settled on a 4-foot piece of ply-wood that I could slide under my bed when I wasn't working on it.
By the end of the first day, I had the border assembled and a couple patches of red. I really enjoyed the time quietly sorting and organizing. I listened to "The Three Musketeers" and bounced the baby on my lap when he woke. I began to think "I can really do this!" (in fact, I have to do it now because our little Roomba vacuum isn't allowed in my room until its finished and I can put the pieces safely away).
The next morning, first thing, Jesse (age 5) brought his new remote control car in my room to play with because it works better on the carpet than in the large family room with smooth floors. ("I didn't mean to drive it under the bed!") He and his brother also threw a ball under the bed and had to retrieve it and the cat found its way across the pieces. Needless to say, I spent the first half hour of puzzle time that day just putting back what had been previously assembled. I resolved to spend more time working on it just to reinforce the existing pattern with more pieces.
This morning I realized my frustrations with life can be related to my puzzle experiences. For years I have been trying to fit all the pieces into the framework of available time. I want to organize a clean, efficiently-run home, quality time educating my family and myself, fun recreational activities, attention to my husband, and personal development. Year after year I seem to have the same goals, and just as I see the framework taking shape, something unexpected runs across my board, or new pieces get added. So, I quietly get back to work. Some patterns I have become familiar with so they are more quickly reassembled, other pieces I hold in my hand, searching for the clue to lock it firmly into place, or at least tentatively put it in a likely position. Yet other pieces remain in the box where I may pass them over and over again until I think they might have a chance to fit into the pattern without being knocked on the floor and forgotten.
* Story behind the puzzle*
One of my favorite Christmas gifts showed up unexpectedly on our doorstep. The road to our house had turned into a mess of ruts and mud after a severe snowfall started to melt. It was so bad that Daniel didn't want to try driving anywhere until the road had frozen again the next morning, but Jared and Eric had their final clogging recital and I didn't want to miss it. So, we packed up the kids for an overnight stay at Grandma's house and headed out early enough that we could call the dance teacher if we got stuck and couldn't make it after all. With faith and prayers we made it to the main road and were safely on our way.
The next morning, as planned, I drove home successfully on the frozen road and pulled into the driveway. A package was found on the step. The dog had torn the wrapping, and it looked like he might have stepped on it, but I was thrilled to see a 2000 piece puzzle that I felt somehow was just for me.
I like puzzles, a legacy I received from my Dad, no doubt. However it has been many years since I have been able to enjoy putting a puzzle together. No time, too many little "helpers", worry about missing pieces when someone knocks them on the floor, or wondering whether the puzzle I like still has all its pieces after other people have used it are reasons for not even starting something I like to do. But this was a puzzle that wasn't content to stay in the box.Now I think I know why.
