We’ve put together puzzles this summer. White Mountain Puzzle Company has puzzles full of detail and information. You can buy puzzles on the Civil War, the American presidents, Biblical events, pop culture, the fifties or many other topics you could name. Once you have done a White Mountain puzzle all others feel like they are average, you’ve completed the best! They are more than fun to put together because there is a clear pattern to follow and minute by minute you feel you are accomplishing something that goes toward the bigger picture. Sometimes it’s three o’clock in the afternoon when the puzzle is finished, but more likely it’s three in the morning, as you realize you are unable to sleep until, with a final hurrah and fight to put in the last piece, you get that last section finished.
Occasionally there is that worst of all nightmares – a missing piece. All that work and time only to find the crucial edge piece is missing. Or that piece with the bit of writing on the right, the blue of the sky on the left and a brown building in the middle. The picture is incomplete. There is a piece missing.
There are times when I feel like a puzzle is being put together somewhere else in the world, and I am the missing piece. I have been absconded by some amateur puzzle maker and am being forced to fit into a puzzle in the United States. I look like the piece and I have a similar shape but if you look closely you’ll see that the person putting together the puzzle squished me in, distorting me in the process and with that inadvertently distorting some of the other pieces as well.
On this Wednesday morning I want my piece to be rerouted to the puzzle where I fit, where I can take my place among the other puzzle pieces and feel like I am part of a bigger picture. My sister-in-law would wisely tell me at this point to go back and read my blog posts – “The one on the sovereignty of God” she might suggest “Or how about that one you wrote recently ‘It’s Not Your Story‘”?
Today I want to wallow in my wish to be in a different puzzle, completing another picture. I want my puzzle piece to fit into a puzzle of the Middle East or Pakistan, Istanbul or London. I don’t want to be part of the puzzle of the Boston Common and Washington Street, where the Borders bookstore is closing and I stopped going to my coffee shop because they are so grumpy. I want to stop pretending I feel normal in this puzzle and wiggle my way out, make my way to the puzzle and picture where I belong.
I’ll get over this – I always do. I will realize that accusing God of being an amateur puzzle maker and putting me into a puzzle where I don’t belong is neither mature nor beneficial and that wallowing is primarily for little piggies that don’t know better.
And even as I write those words I am acutely aware of Psalm 139 and the words “All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be”