I've been staring at this jigsaw puzzle for what seems like hours- not sure where to put these pieces. I know they are part of the sky that backdrops dinosaurs meandering down a dusty path. I know where they belong, but they just don't fit together. It doesn't help that the pieces are not standard jigsaw shapes, but odd and nonsensical morphed ones that I would NEVER expect a 3-year-old to comprehend regardless of what the box says. So I'm stuck here, staring at this image slowly coming together and wondering how what I'm holding in my hands is going to work into the big picture.
It's a surprisingly accurate metaphor for my life right now. I have no idea where I fit, or where I'm supposed to be. I don't know where I'm going. I feel like I'm wasting time, wasting myself, staring at this "picture" where the pieces just don't fit together.
I realize that being in a state of limbo will never be a comfortable place for anyone, even those that like change, but I cannot seem to rid myself of the feeling that I'm supposed to be doing something. I do know where we're going- our move to Rochester is right around the corner, and maybe having a huge life change within grasp makes me feel restless.
My life is consumed with preparations for our move, with little time for anything else. My to-do list is scarily similar to a lazy-susan, just spinning around and around in my head until I can slowly clear things off. Lately my life has been balancing that with a 3-year-old boy that seems to be a walking protest to my unavailability. He doesn't understand that what I'm doing is for our ultimate benefit. He just knows that he's not getting from me what he wants.
He can't see the big picture.
Ugh..... He's kind of like me.
I wish I could say that I behave better than my son when his patience has expired, that I don't throw my own kind of tantrum and freak out when circumstances just don't seem to jive with what I'm wanting. I wish I could say that I've matured so much in my life and in my faith that I'm able to offer him great life lessons about trust, patience, and unselfishness. But I find that I still have a 3-year-old's heart when I'm holding the puzzle pieces in my hand, frustration growing, and all I hear is, "It's time to put that away- we're not finishing that right now."
So instead of trying to force the pieces together, (which is something I try all too often to do and usually ends up looking like a picasso-ish disaster because I just wanted the stupid thing done already so I could move on), I'm learning to let the empty spaces between them remind me of adventures not yet taken, answers yet to be given.
I'm learning that those spaces allow room for hope and possibilities to surprise me.
There just might be a whole panoramic view in between those two pieces of sky.