Puzzle Pieces and Petitions

To say I obsess over puzzles would be an understatement. If it wasn’t for nagging neck pain created by countless hours of hovering over massive jigsaw puzzles, I’d do little else now that I’m retired. An example of my mania: after completing the border for my 2,000-piece puzzle of Hollywood faces, I went to bed. At 2:00am, I awoke envisioning the exact location for multiple pieces of Humphry Bogart’s hat. My feet hit the floor as I exited my bedroom. A surge of excitement arose when I flipped on the overhead light, exposing thousands of puzzle pieces on the dining room table. The puzzle box exposed the picture of what I hoped to complete within a week. Scooting up to the table, my heart raced with anticipation. After completing another section and then some, I needed to walk away and get some sleep before daylight. With a great sense of accomplishment, I returned to bed and dozed off.

The following morning, I plopped myself in the same chair. The only differences from my middle-of-the-night crusade were the drone of a female newscaster on the TV and the aroma of coffee wafting up from the mug in my hand. I wrestled with a twinge of guilt; this puzzle felt like wasted time. I asked for God’s forgiveness for what seemed like an idle, ridiculously fun activity. Regardless, I pushed aside that angst and continued the task at hand. One positive aspect arose in the late afternoon; it was a good diet program. I’d forgotten to eat lunch.

My cell phone rang. Putting my friend on speaker so I could free up my hands to piece together a green and blue boathouse, she asked what I was up to. I confessed feeling guilty about my wasted time ‘puzzling.’

Rather than chastising me, she pointed out the benefits of my hobby, peppered with a few suggestions. Apparently jigsaw puzzles, not unlike crossword puzzles, keep the mind sharp. If true, my IQ has greatly increased, likely qualifying me for entrance into Mensa, the largest and oldest high IQ society in the world. If so, I’ve never been invited.

My friend went on. “When you finish your next puzzle, consider mounting it for wall art.”

Shortly thereafter, I watched an instructional online video on how to mount a puzzle masterpiece. My new skillset came in handy.

That summer, while on vacation, friends helped me organize a freshly opened, 3,000-piece puzzle while sitting on an elevated deck overlooking the Piedmont in Virginia. Before attempting to snap together my bizarre, Jan Van Haasteren cartoonish work of art, we began separating similar colors and categorizing fragments of faces, hands, and animals into individual baggies.

One friend commented, “This could be a nightmare if we drop a piece. Think about it. It’s at least twenty feet from where we’re sitting to the weeds below the deck. I can assure you I won’t be looking for a puzzle piece down there. Snakes could be slithering in the grass!”

We all burst out laughing. In a full-blown belly-laugh, I threw my head back as my arms swung outward as if taking off in flight. I lost my grip on the open baggie, and at least thirty puzzle pieces flew in several directions in slow motion, tumbling over the deck. In total disbelief, we jumped up and peered over the railing. When we regained our composure, I started to retrieve a trash can to throw away the entire puzzle. Bravely, one friend put on boots and insisted I resist the temptation to toss the whole thing. Trekking deep into the weeds below, her voice echoed, “I found one. Here’s another!” Twenty minutes later, she returned. Upon inspection, even though she had retrieved quite a few pieces, we had no idea how many remained lost forever. Envisioning a less than perfect completed picture, I successfully blocked my OCD mental freeze-frame and continued working the puzzle long after our holiday ended. All uncertainty gave way to surprise when I discovered only two pieces were missing!

With such memorable backstory, I had to mount it. It’s a great conversation piece hanging above my computer. Few are able to locate the missing pieces. I’m so glad I didn’t discard it. Glancing at the finished product, the absurdity of trying to organize tiny puzzle pieces in a precarious spot brings a smile to my face. Yet typically, I forget about the missing pieces altogether and simply enjoy the totality of the 2,998-piece colorful work entitled “Farm Visit.”

Something happened the last few times I’ve put my hands to puzzle pieces—a God-prompting, if you will. I began praying as I work my puzzles. Completed segments actually brought people and situations into focus that I may not have thought of that day. The exhilaration I felt in completing a section paled in comparison to the delight in praying as my puzzles unfolded.

My ‘Route 66’ puzzle unveiled a map of the U.S.A., reminding me of relatives and friends living throughout the country. Next, I pieced together an RV zooming down the highway. Sticking out of the window was a dog, his ears flapping in the breeze—bringing to mind friends fulfilling their retirement dream. I recalled having tea with girlfriends when a box of Earl Grey appeared on another puzzle, so I stopped and prayed for those women who continue to bless my life. Scenes of a snow-capped mountain brought to mind friends hiking in Colorado. Sea creatures were a fond reminder of snorkeling with a couple in the Galapagos. Even though they reside over the pond in England, my prayers for them spanned the ocean. Another puzzle revealed a pasture with a church and playground. That brought back memories of my home in the country years ago. How thankful I am for the friends and family with whom I worshipped in that little sanctuary.

I limit myself to three puzzles a year and am thankfully able to continue turning my head right and left, and up and down without reaching for aspirin. It’s a hobby in which I participate with my Father in heaven. When I converse with the Almighty, it’s a reminder that time spent with Jesus is never wasted and always a benefit. The only missing piece that completes every puzzle is to pray as I play, without ceasing.

I think back to my friends picking up missing pieces of that puzzle and cheering me on to complete the work, despite knowing the outcome. In the same way, my heavenly Father encourages me to press on through life’s trials and tribulations while trusting Him alone. He doesn’t always reveal the pieces of my life that seem unfinished. Yet, now and then, uncertainty gives way to glorious surprises in the form of unrealized blessings—and the pieces fall into place.

“Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thess. 5:16–18)