My life is a puzzle. Except the tricky part is, I’m working without the picture of what the result will be, or the exact puzzle piece count. I’m even missing pieces. The pieces seeped out of my small hands when I tried to carry them all by my lonesome. They even busted the seams of the baggage I was dragging along.

So, I’ve dropped some pieces along the way. I realized this one day when I gathered all my baggage together, opened my hands, laid out the pieces and tried to begin to put them together. The more I tried to put the puzzle together, the more I realized how broken, torn, ripped and missing a large majority of the pieces were. I, alone, would never be able to figure out how they would all fit together.

Clothed in this realization, frustration came like a wave and I threw the pieces all over the room and walked away.

Suddenly, putting my puzzle together didn’t seem worth it anymore. Suddenly, I gave up all hope. Suddenly, there you were– on your hands and knees picking up the puzzle pieces that I tossed angrily around. The pieces that were torn past recognition– you provided new ones. You even went out and searched for the pieces I lost. You found them all.

Your hands are strong enough to hold steady all my puzzle pieces without complaint or sigh. Even though sometimes I complain and sigh about when, how, and where you give me the pieces, I know it’s better this way. You hand me the pieces of the puzzle one piece at a time– your time.

You know exactly what the final picture will appear as, and I haven’t the slightest clue. So, I desperately need you to lead me in the way of understanding. The more I cling to you, the more deeply I know you, the more I fall in love with you, the more the puzzle pieces seem to just slide right into place. Each time a puzzle piece is put in its proper place, I see a little more clearly. Clarity on the existence of sunshine and rain, heartache and pain, past and future, flaws and strengths.

Sometimes I think my puzzle is complete like I have it all together and I don’t need any more pieces from you, but soon enough I feel the empty parts and I realize pieces are still missing.

So far, the middle of my puzzle is complete. You’re working from the inside of puzzle out towards the edges. If I were still trying to put my own puzzle together I would have started, of course, putting the edges of the puzzle together first– the easiest part. But working from the inside out is your thing.

___

I’m not sure where the next piece will lead me, but what I do know is that on the day my best friend returns, the last piece to my puzzle will be put into place. Completeness will come.

But until then, my puzzle is being put together one piece at a time.

One piece at a time.

One piece at a time.

One piece at a time.

One piece at a time.

One piece at a time.

Poetry