Puzzle Pieces

You know when you meet someone for the first time and think, Where have you been all my life? There are certain people who you just click with, you jive, you dance and things are good. Then there are people who you meet and instantly wish you could unmeet them. There’s no clicking or jiving and the only dance you are doing is the one to get away from this new acquaintance. (Not that he or she is bad, but he just doesn’t fit into your puzzle.)

I’ve recently been pondering relationships and human interactions. Side bar: Some of you may be raising your eyebrows with a slight smirk on your lips because, if you pay any attention to the happenings on my Facebook page, you will know I recently entered into a relationship (with someone wonderful).  While this “someone wonderful” may have triggered a few of these thoughts below, the term “relationships” here (in this post) does not strictly apply to the romantic kind, but rather a reflection of all forms of relationships: family, friends, significant others, circumstances and opportunities. End side bar.

Each of our lives are like a large, intricate, and challenging jigsaw puzzle. The kind that would take you several weeks to put together; the kind that takes over your dining room table and beckons you to keep assembling it even though you have more important things to do. Maybe you don’t enjoy puzzles, in which case this analogy is totally lost on you.

All puzzles start the same way: with a single piece. After dumping the contents of the box onto the table, any puzzler begins by picking up one piece. That initial piece is you. Unique, uncoordinated, unambiguous. The puzzler then examines the piece and looks for a second piece to fit it.

All of the remaining puzzle pieces that are scattered about your dining room table represent the people and places and opportunities you will have throughout your life. You will find friends and a husband or a wife and a family. You make choices and take chances with your career and the place you choose to live. Your whole life spread on the dining room table.

Assembling this puzzle, just like any other puzzle, takes trial and error. You may try to make a piece fit, foolishly forcing it into place, while other pieces will effortlessly slide into their designated spot. As the pieces begin to fit together, the beauty of your life becomes evident. Each of these people, places, or opportunities are no longer individual shapes, they are now a part of you and who you are.

A too common characteristic of puzzles are their missing pieces. How many puzzles have been started only to be disassembled by disgruntled puzzlers because pieces were discovered missing? Missing puzzles pieces are okay. The missing pieces represent loss and brokenness. At one time that piece fit perfectly into your puzzle, into your life, but the friendship was severed. At one time that job was a great fit for you, but then you were fired. While these things are hard and painful, they are still a part of your story, your puzzle. You can keep assembling a puzzle without all the pieces; in fact, that is what we are supposed to do. Keep assembling, keep going. Acknowledge the heartache, but keep going.

Our lives are puzzles: confusing, complex, captivating. But we get to figure them out, to assemble, to try and fail, to love and lose. Every piece is necessary, so embrace them all. Sometimes it’s okay to step away from the puzzle for a while to gain a new perspective and look at the big picture, but don’t give up on the task you have set out to accomplish. Keep puzzling. 

Incomplete Thoughts and Important Choices

My parents were recently in France and they brought this small leather journal, handmade by a street vendor, back for me. I love this journal for a lot of reasons. First, this journal has character. Even with still primarily blank pages, it already has a story to tell because of who made it and how it was made. I appreciate that it came from a side-alley street vendor, from the not-so glamorous and potentially overlooked. This journal makes me feel like a real writer while I scribble random thoughts onto the unlined pages; I feel like a Victor Hugo or even F. Scott Fitzgerald during his time in France. This journal inspires me to dig deeper and go further into my passion.

I’ve recently been reflecting on repentance and how we have this need (or even command) for daily repentance. I wake up a sinner and go to bed a sinner, but too often I fail to see the gravity of my sin on a day to day basis. When you do something against someone, you apologize/confess/repent in order to make your relationship right again. This is common knowledge and we all practice this readily. But every day I sever my relationship with the Lord because of my actions and I do not make the right efforts to restore. I have a need for daily repentance in order to maintain a right relationship. (Not that it is even my doing, only His doing, but I won’t get into the theology now.)

One of the ways I sin against Him is in my independence. I take great pride in the fact that I have my life rather figured out. (Famous last words?) But actually, I have a routine and a system and it works. Structure is good and important, but it results in a lack of dependence on the Lord. As long as I stick to my schedule I’m going to have a great day. But is there room for reliance in my schedule?

This morning in church we sang a rendition of Great is Thy Faithfulness, and afterwards the pastor said, “It has never been a question of God’s faithfulness but rather our faithfulness. We are people who continually make a mess of things both advertently and inadvertently.” At that moment, the words repentance and dependence flashed across my mind.

Naturally, because writing is my passion, words are also. I was intrigued by the way these words sound so similar. I did a little research to see if they have more in common than seven letters. Sadly, they do not.

Repentance comes from the Greek word metanoia which literally means “to change one’s mind.” When metanoia enters our English language and becomes repentance it loses some of its intended meaning. Metanoia isn’t meant to be about guilt or shame, but rather about making a decision to turn around.

Unfortunately, the origin of the word dependence is very pathetic in comparison to repentance and hardly even worth mentioning. Dependence comes from the Old English word dependre which means to rely. The end. My excitement came to a crashing halt when I discovered just how boring dependence is. 

However, all is not lost, I am still going to attempt a correlation between the two. Every morning I wake up a sinner and I am faced with a choice: to repent or not to repent. And it is not about waking up with guilt, it’s about waking up with a choice. The choice to depend. To turn away from my own self and my own routine and desires, and instead rely on Him. God is a relational God. He loves us, and love has to have a choice; He allows us to choose. This is both daunting and humbling. We can choose to turn to Him or not. 

So, I’ll continue to write and scribble in my little French journal and make choices. I’ll make thousands of choices every day, some will be bad and others will be good. But the most important decision I can make in the morning and all throughout my day is to continually turn away from myself and toward Him. 

Father’s Day

Dads are tricky. They hold a whole lot of power and most of them don’t even realize it. Some of them do realize it. I’m not sure which is worse.

But see, when Paul commanded us to “honor our fathers (and mothers)” that was not a conditional statement. Love your fathers as long as they love you. As long as they value you and notice you and respect you. Nope, nothing conditional about his command.

So how then can we honor mothers or fathers who have failed us?

That’s exactly where the beauty lies.

It’s easy to honor someone who has never wronged you. But the moment you honor someone who has hurt you is when ugly and broken become beautiful and renewed.

In some twisted way, we should actually be giving thanks for our parents when they fail us because that means they are human. And I would rather have imperfect human parents than perfect robot ones.

So, Father’s Day: a day to honor the father.

To the man who taught me how to dig the knife deep into the peanut butter jar and smear it on the banana, still in peel.

Who showed me that grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are better than not grilled. And sitting on the kitchen floor eating a bowl of cereal late at night is truly the best way to eat it.

Who taught me how to throw and catch a baseball and how to send it flying over the fence with a perfect swing.

Who took me out on the day after Christmas to learn to drive stick-shift because “If you can drive in today’s traffic you can drive any day.” And taught me to parallel park on a hill because “If you can parallel park on a hill in a stick-shift, you can parallel park anywhere.” And taught me to ride with the windows down when Mom wasn't in the car because she doesn't like her hair blown around.

Who filled my ears with music of all kinds and gave me an enormous understanding and appreciation for it.

To the man who held me to a high standard because he saw potential in me. Who taught me to always strive for better, to set goals and attain them through hard work and discipline.

When I think of our relationship many words come to mind. But one that stands out from the rest is grace. Grace from the Lord.  Grace from me to you and from you to me. You and I would amount to a whole bunch of nothing if it wasn’t for grace.

So, I’m thankful for the present grace and the presence you have in my life. Thank you for fighting for your family and for striving to be better and not perfect.

 Happy Father’s Day, Dad. 

It’s Been a Year

There is nothing quite like a Minnesota summer. Enduring the less-than-ideal winter is richly rewarded with a perfect summer. I’ve been here a full, solid year. A year!

Today I drove south of the cities to spend the morning with a dear friend, and I rode with the windows down the whole way. The sky is that perfect cloudless blue that I just adore, and I couldn’t stop smiling and reflecting on my life and how much I love where I am.

A year ago, just after arriving in Minnesota once again, I wrote, “Africa, especially East Africa has worked itself into my heart and dirtied my lungs with its sweet, raw dust....But I can breathe just as deeply here as I do in Africa. I can allow my lungs to be filled with the dusts of Minnesota and let it work its way into my heart. I can commit to it. I can allow it to be my new home.”

I’ve done this! My eyes and heart are wide with amazement. This needs to be celebrated because I can’t remember the last time I stayed in one place for a full year. (Well, I can, but it’s been a long time.)  I have committed to Minnesota and I do call it home. (At least for this stage of my life.) I’m thankful for God’s blessings and ever-present kindness and redemption in my life. I have developed beautiful friendships and learned how to forgive and love and smile genuinely. I have learned that life doesn’t always need to be so perfect; in fact, life is better when it’s not.

The longer I am alive (which, granted, hasn’t been that long) I’ve learned that life is like a classic Rwandan staircase. Allow me to elaborate: each Rwandan staircase is completely unique and completely uneven. The steps are not measured. Some steps require giant lunges and others only take the smallest lifting of your foot. Sometimes you can take the step in one movement and other times you need to walk twice before advancing to the next step. (For the record, I love Rwandan staircases.)

When I was first thinking about this analogy I was picturing this stepping-stone path through a field. But not all the steps we take are the same. In a lot of ways life is an uphill climb. We’re always supposed to be taking steps forward (although we do have the option of turning around and going back down the staircase, but that’s anti-climactic - literally). Some steps require deep strenuous lunges and other steps are a no-brainer. And sometimes you get to hang out on a step for a while because it’s so wide.

I’m in a really good place right now. I’ve just finished one of those monstrous lunges and successfully made it to my next step. However, every time I make it to a new step I have this tendency to believe that my staircase has ended. This is not true. Our staircase is as long as our life. We’re always faced with new steps with varying levels of difficulty.

But taking it a step further (pun intended), maybe life isn’t one continuous staircase. Maybe the staircase is in a skyscraper (or whatever type of building you want it to be) and we just keep climbing up to new floors. With each new floor we have the option to hang out for a while or keep climbing. That’s how life is: we do have options and we are, in fact, not always climbing. And it’s important to remember that every staircase is different.

Google images coming through for me once again

I would say I’ve made it to a new floor and I’m going to chill here for a while. There are good things on this floor: relationships and college and my nanny job and my life in Minnesota. God will let me know when it’s time to start climbing again. But for now, I’ll rest here. I rarely take time to rest. I love to move and do; in fact, I think I actually function better when I’m moving and doing. But I need to learn how to take a break from climbing. I need to relax on this level and enjoy the people around me and take a moment to notice the beauty.

I’m always looking for beauty in the ugly grunge because I believe that is where a lot of beauty lies. But beauty lies in the easy and relaxed as well. We are meant to climb and we are also meant to take a break from climbing. We are meant to smile. And love. And for heaven’s sake, we are meant to get out on the lakes and enjoy the Minnesota summer because it will be snowing again way too soon.