A puzzling concept

A few years ago, I bought a puzzle at a flea market. My family has always enjoyed doing jigsaw puzzles together, as it ends up being a good time for talking and laughing, reminiscing and planning while we pour over the pieces looking for just the right one to fit in an empty spot.
This particular puzzle that I bought was unusual in that it didn’t have a picture to use as a reference of what the puzzle should look like when complete. It was just 1000 random pieces jumbled in a bag.
When we got the puzzle home, we cleared off the cardboard table and started by finding all the outside edges. Eventually, we had the outline complete and slowly, piece by piece, a beautiful picture began to emerge.

Living in this country, some days are filled with frustration, friction and fatigue. Some days we question why we are even here.
But then we have days that feel like the puzzle pieces of our lives are coming together, and it’s a beautiful picture that the Great Artist is rendering.

How do you describe a heart that feels full?
How do you describe the warmth that comes from feeling the Father’s love shine down on you?
How do you describe the sensation of ultimate peace that washes over you when you are right where you are supposed to be?

As our family attempts to assimilate into this unique culture, I continually find myself feeling more and more at home. While skyping with some friends, I recently even described one of the local villages as reminding me of our beloved small town in Mississippi – a feat that could only come from Father changing my vision and my outlook.
After all, the homes of this village are mostly bamboo structures with little electricity or running water, but it’s the people who make the community what it is. From a second-story patio, I view two old friends cross paths at a nearby street corner where they stop to converse, likely sharing the latest neighborhood gossip.
A group of boys have begun an early morning game of “chin-lone” ball and their shouts of laughter penetrate above the din of buses and car horns.
A young mother dressed in her Sunday-best descends from a full bus with a small child in tow as she heads toward a local market. I imagine her shopping for the food her family will need for the week while teaching her young daughter how to navigate the chore that will inevitably become her responsibility.
It’s busy and sometimes noisy, but there’s a sense of routine that rises above the disorder. There’s a calm in the midst of the chaos that is somewhat predictable and comforting. The sounds become soothing and I find myself longing to sit in the shadow of the shelter it provides.

It was in this tranquil state of mind that we arrived at church on Sunday. It’s a local-language church and I was prepared to sit through the service while not understanding most of what was said.
There was a congregational reading and the lady next to me handed me a book and pointed to where we were. I can read the words of the circular script we’re learning (or at least sound them out) although I don’t usually know what they mean. Then we sang some hymns out of the old Baptist songbook translated into this language that I have memorized and could, thereby, participate.
I didn’t feel so out of place.
During the offering, a lady’s choir gathered at the front to perform. When they started singing, for a minute, I thought I was miraculously understanding their language when I realized they were singing in English.
“I come to the garden alone while the dew is still on the roses.”
As they began to sing, I recognized the song I’ve sung with my parents and my grandparents around the piano on countless occasions.
The song evoked such emotions that I felt as if my family were gathered around me and I realized right then that my picture-puzzle-life was complete.
In that moment, all the pieces fit perfectly together.
I can’t exactly explain how close I felt to Heaven at that point.
Here we are in this crazy, foreign place in a completely alien environment, but everything was just right.
It wasn’t because of the house we live in or the car we drive. It wasn’t because of the food we had eaten or all the material effects I possess.
It was just knowing and understanding that Father is real in my life; that He loves me and has placed me here for whatever reason He sees fit. It was recognizing that I am completely in His care and that He provides in abundance of my needs before I even know what those needs are.
He is so good.

I need moments like these.
Sure enough, dark days will inevitably come, but when they do I can look back to these moments and have the perseverance to hold the course.
The fun part is that the puzzle picture of our lives keeps changing and adjusting and reshaping – it’s never the same.
Just as long as I let Him be the artist, I know it will be a masterpiece. Not because of anything I’ve done or added, but because He puts all the pieces together.

“But now, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.” – Isaiah 64:8