Anyway, I kept laughing because my dogs kept sniffing and sniffing at the puzzle pieces. I tell you, they eye each piece up for a snack. What is it about bite-size pieces of paper? I have six pieces missing in my bird puzzle that I just finished - there were eight missing until I (and by "I", I mean my mom) found two semi-chewed up pieces under the couch. Those dogs. I was so mad at them for, like, a week. I've moved on now, and I decided to puzzle-glue my puzzle anyway. I'm gonna frame it even though it has holes. I think it gives it character. See:
Of course you have to look hard in the picture. Go figure.
You can tell in real life. Trust me. You can tell.
You see, I have had the opportunity to work on many a puzzle in the last couple of months, and I have learned a lot about myself in the process. I have learned about how quickly I give up on something. When the going got tough in the midst of that puzzle, I start getting really frustrated, and talking negatively. "Oh my gosh. Did they make this piece right? Ugh. This is so stupid, I can't believe I'm wasting my time on this. Why won't you guys help me with this dumb thing?! DOGS! Get AWAY!" Then I would find a piece, and it urged me forward. It's ridiculous, but I'm pretty sure I do that in real life too. I also learning that I'm really not okay with something being open-ended. I thought I was, but I wanted to finish the puzzle immediately. In my mind that thing was going to take me five hours, tops. Well. That bird puzzle? It took me a good 25 hours to complete. There was no rushing it. And I worked really hard to protect it. It's a picture on top of paper for goodness sakes! But I had a goal in mind, and I was going to get that puppy done. Until my puppy ate one.
Then I was mad.
It turned everything upside down! I was mad because I had invested so much time into something, and in one little chomp, my expectations about what the puzzle was going to look like were ruined. I couldn't find the piece, first of all, and I spend a lot of time looking and looking for it. It wasn't there! So I kept going, and sure enough, it had magically disappeared. To make matters worse, there wasn't even any nutritional value for the dog! My choices were either to stop working on it or keep on going in the hopes of finishing.
This is an illustration for my life. Not just in the breaking of my legs part, but the breaking of my expectations. I have talked a little bit about the pain I've endured (which is so minute compared to so many other people) within the last year, specifically with teaching. But only a little bit because I'm still processing it, amazingly enough. And I have nothing to complain about. I wouldn't change a thing. Seriously. I have an overwhelming amount to be thankful for, and I try to express that to God. I start to get frustrated when I lose sight of the big picture, when I lose focus on Who I'm living for. I had/have expectations for my life, and I didn't realize how much pressure I had put on myself for so long. The puzzle showed me! I want to to finish fast. To not get frustrated. To not fail. To do well, and to do well the first time. To have a beautiful finished project. Notice any similarities between a certain puzzle and a certain you know who?
My life is so full of missing little gaps, and chewed up pieces. I've tried so hard to fit them together, look for different patterns, move pieces around that were pushing others out. As I work, I stand back and look at the big picture. So much of it is incomplete, and for some reason, that irks me. But you know what? It causes me to look into the face of my Father. And to stand back, and just be still. Be in awe. It's so hard for me to find the beauty in a puzzle with so many missing pieces.
What I'm most thankful for is that God is so gentle with me.
He is such a loving dad.
He knows what I need before I even take inventory.
Jesus says in Matthew 11:29: "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."
The God that sees the intricate design of each snowflake that fell today, and the ones that are yet to fall - the ones broken by a gust of wind, or melted from the body heat of a girl wheeling into a health clinic, or melted by someone who is freezing cold tonight, the flakes piled up in a gigantic massive mound somewhere in the Midwest right now (the four-foot pile against my house) - he sees each of those flakes. And how much more are his people worth than flakes? You are worth infinitely more than flakes, friend. I have to tell myself that all the time: "You are worth so much more than flakes, Catie." (Maybe I will sneak some snow in... : )
Because I can't get over the fact that I'm invited in. Into his presence. Into his plan. Into his embrace. That I can learn from him, that I'm allowed to see things through His lens - it's overwhelmingly wonderful. He just envelops me with his arms, and with his light & warmth. He is so gentle with me. I can't tell you how often I come to him at my wits end because I'm so frustrated. Because I'm just mad. Because I don't understand. Because the pieces aren't fitting where I want them to go. And that's not say that I don't come to him in thanksgiving or in worship or in joy - that's is so important as well.
What I'm contemplating tonight is the fact that even though so many pieces are still vacant in my life because of the steps (literally and figuratively) I haven't taken yet, he knows what the big picture is going to look like. I still have to take the steps, and sometimes that is in and of itself what trips me up. But I can find rest because He was the artist at the very beginning; his design never fails.
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