My generous cousin sent me a couple of ancestral jigsaw puzzles for my birthday. I love these puzzles for several reasons. This is the fourth I’ve gotten to do: The Market Square. I love the evocation of simpler times, the craft of being cut with an actual jigsaw by an individual, the way they don’t completely lock together like modern puzzles but segments slide apart at the slightest touch. They require a most delicate approach. I love that there’s no picture, just the title, so the image grows from mystery to completion. I love my great grandmother’s handwriting on the lid, and the note that one piece is missing. I love that at nearly 100 years old the pieces remain mostly in great shape.

I love that they’re small enough to do on just part of my desk so I can do a few pieces at a time on a short work break without rearranging my workspace for days at a time. I love the muted colors, the cuts that delineate color blocks adding difficulty, the illusion of bringing order to my mind as I fit the pieces. I love giving myself this little gift a few times a day as a way of surrendering to who I am: imperfect, aspiring, basically a good person despite the habitual afflictive thoughts and emotions that arise continually, despite the practice.

This is the second puzzle I’ve done this season knowing a piece is missing and not knowing which piece. It requires a looser approach and more comfort with uncertainty. It’s a good analogy for my own growth. Something’s missing, I don’t quite know what, I just trust the process and keep putting pieces together to eventually get a pretty complete picture.

I’m grateful today for the kindness of two people in this little community, one who helped soothe my struggling body and one who helped comfort my challenged mind; both provided the spaciousness to let go of a little suffering. May we all do the same for one another.