My son loves puzzles and (allow me to brag) he’s pretty good at them.

Intended for older kids? No problem. He’ll work diligently trying connections over and over until at last he’s looking at a completed picture, staring at me expecting applause as he puts the last piece into place.

My daughter, on the other hand loves the taste of puzzles.

Jigsaws now have the added difficulty of a grasping toddler looking for a snack. That means our house is decorated with random pieces: Under the couch, stuffed into a toy garbage truck, and stuck to the bottom of my feet.

One day recently we were trying in vain to gather and sort everything into its proper box.

Step 1: Gather all the pieces into a pile
Step 2: Pick 1 up and try to determine if you’re looking at a bulldozer, or a starfish or a tuba.
Step 3: Give up and go write a blog post.

But as I was still working on Step 2, I realized there was beauty in the big mess.

On its own, the puzzle piece in my hand wasn’t a picture – it was a fragment. It didn’t tell the whole story, but it had a place, a purpose, in the whole story.

My life is the same way. I keep striving to be the big picture. I am tempted to live like I’m the star of my own type of Truman Show. But in all my efforts I am like a child chasing bubbles that disappear in my hand. I can rest on this truth: Just like a puzzle piece I have a purpose, a place, a part of a bigger picture.

God is authoring a narrative by arranging us into a community. Like puzzle pieces, we come together into something above and beyond our dreams. Great news, right? But…

Trying to stack a handful of pieces is a great way to spill them back onto the floor. They have odd shapes with curves and cutouts – imperfections only make sense when the puzzle is complete.

Thinking of myself of a part of the Big Picture, I can relate. My life is out of shape. I have random bumps that I’d rather go away and my life has cutouts where I long for that which eludes me. It hurts to feel imperfect and abnormal. But I look at the puzzle pieces…

Each one is unique but at the very same time they reflect a need for community and I see how those odd shapes fit together so beautifully. Could it be that the very parts of my life that I consider broken are a complement to someone else in my community? Could my areas of struggle and loss be answered by someone else’s odd shape? I cling to my faith that there is a reason.

Maybe it only makes sense when the puzzle is complete.