Life is a puzzle that, as ideal, becomes more clear in time and connection of its pieces. Maybe one day it all comes together: we see it full for what it’s meant to be. Maybe (and most likely for our majority) it remains greater and lesser degrees of mess; the proper place and fit and belonging of our pieces never fully discerned, aligned, or perfect-matched—and that is okay.
It is still a gift to try, to live the opportunity to give effort and attention to composing something greater to an intended whole.
It is gift as well to not go it alone, to have others help us in our work as we help them in their own.
Whether we figure it out, or don’t, it is blessing and gift in the time, care, attention, and sharing of puzzle’s experience.
Maybe these blessings mean more than the picture. While the end-view of the puzzle is part of the pleasure, is not its greater enjoyment lived in the mystery, effort, time, and experience of making order of the scattered pieces?
I thought of this in the after of an invitation I accepted.
“Dad, can you help me?” my son asked as he looked over scatter and disarray of puzzle over kitchen table.
I joined him with his mess. Together, we started into the blessings that are sharings of time, care, attention, and experience that come in making order of our broken pieces.