Some people lose socks in the laundry. Others constantly lose their spare key. My family can’t seem to assemble a complete puzzle. No matter what, there is always one puzzle piece missing. I would understand if there were a puzzle missing a few pieces or two puzzles jumbled together in the same box. But repeatedly, one ominous section of a puzzle taunts us, as if laughing at our naivete in thinking we might complete the masterpiece. And that missing piece steals the attention instead of giving honor to the remainder of an otherwise intact, beautiful scene.
Do you remember Shel Silverstein’s story “The Missing Piece?” To summarize: The misshapen circle was looking for the piece she thought would make herself whole. She wouldn’t stop searching. And in her exploring, she met new friends and experienced the wonders of the world. Finally, finding her piece, she was certain life would be better, but she realized that life was actually better — before. Misshapen, a little off, forced to live with the ups and downs. Finding what was missing didn’t fill her up the way she hoped.
Many of us feel as if we are missing pieces to our puzzle, searching in every direction to feel whole, to feel complete. We crave the presence of other human beings, desire hugs from those we love, wish for the normalcy of summers past. But we can’t seem to find the pieces. They’re lost — under the couch, stuck between shelves, buried in crevices hidden from human eyes. These missing pieces most likely will be lost for a while; even my magical Mom eyes have no power to find them.
And so I’m choosing to see the rest of the puzzle. Acknowledging the hurt in feeling incomplete and also seeing the miracles in front of me. Miracles that would be glossed over if I choose to focus on what’s not there.
Taking an inventory during the month of Elul isn’t just about what’s absent from life; taking an inventory is appreciating what’s already there.
The missing pieces may still be missing. But for the other messy, chaotic, glorious pieces that make up the puzzle of my life, I give thanks.
Shabbat shalom.
