The Puzzle

If my life were a puzzle that came in a box,

with the pieces all scrambled and free.

Were the lid to be sealed and cellophaned,

would I like the picture of me?

Would my borders be laid down first of all,

never-minding what’s painted between?

The sheer joy and delight when two shapes connect.

Dare I hope for a beautiful scene?

Other stuff set aside. I’m committed.

Good puzzles take time and need space.

With the focus on me and my purpose,

I look forward to seeing the face.

Well, the hours and memories start growing.

I am building on sad yesterdays.

There’s a piece I wish had gone missing.

I’d replace it with flowered bouquets.

I question why some come together—

Why others whose color won’t fit.

I see my two viable options.

To keep working with patience or quit.

I imagine my life as that puzzle,

Not flat, laying helpless or still.

Not stealing my time or my table,

But needing God’s hand and His skill.

I can stubbornly force it together—

Be satisfied with crooked and bent.

I can choose to ignore the unfinished.

I can waste every effort I’ve spent.

But I gaze at the lid and the picture.

What I see is phenomenally sure.

It’s a picture of me with my Savior.

I am loved and each piece is secure.