Puzzle pieces…
Parents and children. The simplest relationship in the world and yet the most complex. One generation passes to the next a suitcase filled with jumbled jigsaw pieces from countless puzzles collected over time and says, “See what you can make out of these.”
– Kate Morton, The Clockmaker’s Daughter
As a young mom, I determined to set things right. I wanted to raise children, intentionally, with a sense of purpose and lots of “expert” advice. I expected to offer my children to the world at the end of their childhood, whole and ready to take on the world. Instead, I offered them a suitcase filled with a jumble of puzzle pieces.
The grief of that reality has softened a bit in the past few years. All my good intentions, my vows, and even my sacrifices could not protect them from life, or from me. My hopes slid down my face, as they began their own journeys into the unknown. They were raised with love and brokenness. That’s really all I have to give, maybe it’s all any of us have to give.
We gather up the pieces of our own stories, our childhoods, and our family. We
I thought my faith would fill in the pieces and make it all make sense for them and for me. Instead, my faith added meaning, hope, and His presence. The pieces of my life have been reshaped and relayed, added to and taken away. My life is a collage of love and loss, of joy and sadness, of honesty and regret. And, right in the center is a small wooden cross around which my pieces curve.
He changed everything and nothing at all. I am still me, probably more me than I’ve ever been… and He is still here, more here than I have ever known. Faith swept change through my life, upended me, and embraced me.
Instead of the finished masterpieces, I envisioned for them.
And now, they must still do the work of making something out of the random pieces we’ve collected over generations. Watching them manage their own puzzle pieces gives me great hope, and tender love. I wonder what they will make of these.
