The Jigsaw Puzzle

I got a jigsaw puzzle when I was younger. It was big and had lots of tiny pieces. I worked at it every day, fitting the pieces together any way I could. Most of the time they didn't fit quite right, so I forced them to fit. But then somehow the picture didn't look right. I would get frustrated and walk away from it. But soon I would be back at it again, determined to get at least something to fit.

Every so often there was a knock on the door. I kept it closed, not wanting anyone to see my puzzle until it was finished. "Who is it?" I would call nervously.

"My name is Jesus. I was just wondering how your puzzle is coming, and if you'd like me to help you with it."

"Oh. Uh.... I think I'll be O.K. Thanks anyway. I ... I should have it done pretty soon, and then I'll show it to you, O.K.?"

There would be a deep, sad but patient sigh, and the footsteps would fade.

Years passed and my puzzle was getting worse rather than better. The floor was littered with bits of cardboard. I suspected the mice were stealing the pieces, chewing them up and using them for their bedding. The table was dotted with sticky spots and crumbs, remnants of many a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. More and more pieces were becoming warped and deformed, victims of coffee spills and my amateur efforts to dry them out and restore them to their original shape.

One day I was so engrossed in the puzzle that I forgot I had left a pan on a hot burner. The fire alarm screamed; I looked up and saw flames leaping up and the kitchen filled with sticky black smoke; the sprinklers came on; I shrieked, jumped up, knocking the table over, scattering puzzle pieces all over the floor, grabbed the fire extinguisher and sprayed it frantically. Hot grease splattered everywhere, and then a cloudy, drippy, grayish-white mud slowly drifted down and settled over the kitchen. My puzzle was hopelessly ruined. I was horrified. My entire life's work with all its great promise was now a disgusting cardboard soup of uncertain color. I sat down and looked at it in shock and disbelief.

Soon there was a familiar, gentle knock on the door. I knew who it was. "It's open!" I yelled, too nauseated to care anymore if Jesus or anyone else saw my catastrophe.

The door slowly opened. There stood the kindest-looking man I have ever seen in my life. He didn't seem to notice the disaster I had created. He looked straight at me, his compassion slicing right through my rib cage and into my heart. He hesitated for a moment, then asked: "Is it O.K. for me to come in?"

"Yeah, what the heck," I said. "You might as well. But you're not going to like what you see. It's a mess."

He came in, sat down and smiled at me. I was so ashamed I couldn't look at him. How many times had I put him off? He had every right to give up on me and leave me to drown in my misery. I was hoping he would at least yell at me. I would have felt better. But he did nothing of the sort. His smile filled the smoking ruins of my kitchen with warm light, illuminating my pitiful, mud-soaked puzzle for all to see and gawk at.

Suddenly, all the years of my pent-up frustration came gushing forth in a cascade of tears. I was powerless to speak or to hold back the swelling flood as it broke down my walls and swept away my pride. I sobbed uncontrollably for what seemed like forever. Every time I looked at his peaceful face again, so full of love, another wave of tears washed over me, until at last I was spent, exhausted and drained of all emotion. And through it all, he sat there, quite unbothered in the midst of my soggy cardboard cornflakes, smiling with radiant and gentle eyes.

"My puzzle is ruined," I informed him in a flat monotone, as if he couldn't see that plainly enough for himself. "It's not going to work. I can't get the pieces to fit. And now they've got grease and water and fire extinguisher goop all over them. I'll never be able to put it together for you."

With that, a fresh wave of despair came out of nowhere, choked up my throat and swirled in salty rivers down my cheeks again.

He waited, smiling calmly, until my last cloudburst was over. Then he finally spoke. "Where's the box?" he asked.

Oh, Lord. I cringed. The box was hidden in a far corner of the bookshelf, buried in dust and cobwebs. Who was the fuzz-brain who had persuaded me to keep the box out of sight so it wouldn't "stifle my creativity"? I'm never going to listen to that moron again. "Um, I'm sure I can find it," I said lamely.

"Do you remember what the picture looked like?" he asked.

"Well, sort of. I know it was really pretty."

"O.K., let's see if we can find it."

We searched, and sure enough, there it was. I wiped the dust off; then I looked at the box in astonishment. It was still the same lovely picture that I dimly remembered from so long ago, with the graceful willow trees bending down over a sparkling pond, two swans on the water, a little girl sitting in the grass with a basket of daisies, and the sky as blue as the delicate petals of a forget-me-not. But now, the picture was more intensely rich, vibrant and clear in every vivid detail than it ever had been before. I could actually smell the tender grass and feel the cool water lapping over my feet. I stared at it with my mouth open. That was what my life was supposed to look like.

"I don't remember it being so beautiful!" I gasped.

Jesus smiled again. "It's been a while since you last looked at it, hasn't it? You kind of forget what it looks like."

I hung my head in shame. "Jesus, I'm so sorry. I tried so hard to make a nice picture for you, and I just did it all wrong! Please forgive me."

"You didn't hurt me," he said. "But you sure made it hard for yourself. Tell you what. How about we run down to the store and get you a new puzzle? My treat. I'm rich. I have tons of money. And I'll come over and help you work on it, if you want me to."

"Are you kidding? Of course I want you to!" I blubbered again, trying to dry my red, puffy eyes on my already tear-soaked t-shirt.

"And we'll fix up your kitchen too, while we're at it," he went on cheerfully. "I've got this amazing cleaning solution. You just spray it on, go take a nap, and poof! You wake up to a brand new kitchen! Free refills, too. My Dad gave me this stuff, and it's great. I've been having a lot of fun with it."

And so we laid out a new puzzle in my elegant new kitchen. Every day, Jesus comes over for coffee and we work on it. We keep the picture out on the table where we can refer to it constantly. When I am stumped, he knows exactly where to find the piece I need.

The new puzzle is beyond my feeble ability to describe, but I will give it my best. It is a work of grace and beauty that is nothing short of magnificent. The picture is the same as the one I had before, but instead of cardboard, it is made of the finest silver and gold, richly adorned with dazzling precious stones. If you look past the surface, you can see Jesus' face shining back at you through the pond and the willows. The pieces of the puzzle are made of something that looks like colored diamonds coated with quicksilver. Each piece is not only a piece of the picture, but also a mirror, reflecting my face. When you put two pieces together correctly, they bond in a perfect, seamless weld; the newly formed piece again reflects my face, and the new reflection is much more beautiful than before.

"Isn't this fun?" said Jesus.

"This is incredible!" I said. I couldn't believe how many years I had wasted trying to do it my way. It was embarrassing to even think about it.

One day, my neighbor Tom came over to see my puzzle. "Well, that's O.K. for beginners," he said, "but there's a better way to do it. See these colors? They don't look good together. You need to put this piece over here. Now it looks a lot better. Come over sometime and I'll teach you how to do it right." And he went back home.

The next day, Jesus came over for coffee and doughnuts. He gave me a rather peculiar look, but didn't say anything. We sat down to work on my puzzle.

"Look," I said. "The guy next door says I should do it this way. What do you think?"

He picked up the new composite piece and examined it. Then his face broke out in a wide smile of recognition, and then he started laughing, a free, hearty, booming belly laugh, a laugh that echoed off the walls and reverberated throughout the house. He laughed until the tears ran down his face. I started laughing too, although I wasn't sure what I was laughing at. Finally, he handed the piece to me.

"Whose reflection do you see there?" he asked.

I held it up, expecting to see the usual flattering image of my own face. Imagine my surprise when the face looking back at me was Tom's, and a ridiculous caricature of him at that. Startled, I dropped the piece; it fell apart and the image was gone.

"Do you know what you had there?" he asked.

"Ummmm...no."

"That was a religion! A denomination! That's what happens when you listen to someone else's opinions, instead of going straight to the boss. You get a goofy cartoon of the other person's face, and it's very brittle. That's why it broke as soon as you dropped it. It wasn't the real thing. The real thing is 100% guaranteed never to break, warp, chip, snag, splinter, peel, crack, fade, clog, tarnish, mold, crash, spoil, stain, fail, falter, rot, tear, stink, wear out, slip, sag, rust, fizzle, blister, leak, shatter, crumble, get stolen, get lost, get sick, get worms, go sour, go out of business or go out of style. In fact, the more abuse it takes, the stronger and healthier it becomes. What you and I are building here together is the real thing."

I thought for a moment. "So should I go over there and tell him he's full of baloney?"

"No, no, don't do that. He was just trying to help. You see, Tom invited me to do his puzzle with him too, so I go over and we work on his every day. But his puzzle has a picture of a lightning storm in the desert. So that's the picture he has in his mind. Each person has a unique, custom-designed picture, and no two are identical. Each one is designed to reflect the face of its owner. So, your puzzle is made to reflect your face, not Tom's, and Tom's puzzle is designed to reflect his face, not yours. But if anyone invites me to come in and do his puzzle with him, then his picture becomes three-dimensional, and no matter what's on the surface, you can always see my reflection in the finished masterpiece."

I stared at him, awestruck. "Jesus," I finally blurted out, "how come you know so much about puzzles?"

He laughed again, and his laughter filled my house with joyful music and warmth. "My Dad taught me. He's the one who invented jigsaw puzzles."