COLUMN HEADER Brett Campbell

She was very frustrated. She had been working on this jigsaw puzzle for a long time, and she was exhausted. 

Clinching her fist tightly, with an odd-shaped piece in her grip, she gave in to all the frustration and stress of the week, lowered her head and began to cry. 

A gentle touch on her shoulder caused her to look up. Her dad was lowering himself into the seat beside her. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” she said, then dropped her shoulders further. “Everything.”

Dad gave an empathetic smile and asked after a moment, “Tell me how the puzzle is coming.”

“It’s not,” she said, emphatic and exasperated. 

“Oh, but it looks like it is,” her father replied. He pointed toward the top corner of the massive, multi-thousand-piece challenge. “That portion is complete, and it’s beautiful.”

“I know, but …” she began.

“And up there, in the middle,” he interjected. “That’s all done.”

She just nodded.

“In fact, it looks like just a few pieces are left,” he said. 

Looking down at her fist clenched between them, he asked, “Are you angry, or are you holding something?”

She held her hand up and opened it, revealing the puzzle piece in her palm. 

“Ah,” he said. “Is this what’s causing the trouble at the moment?”

Nodding, she attempted to press it for another useless moment into the empty space nearest her. “Yes, and it — just — won’t — go in!”

“Dad,” she said, turning to face him directly. “You made this puzzle.” He smiled. “It’s amazing, and just what I wanted, I think, but it’s so hard. And I can’t make this piece fit. Can’t you make it fit for me?”

She put the piece on the table in front of her father, and waited for him to take it and make things right, so she could move on with the puzzle. After a few seconds, he picked it up and held it.

“You’re right, honey. I did make this puzzle,” he said. “When I made it, designed the painting, chose where to cut the pieces, and then made it all for you to assemble, do you think I knew what I was doing?”

“Of course. You’re the master puzzle-maker,” she said.

He chuckled a bit. “And do you think my design is ugly?” “What? Of course not!” “Do you think it is flawed?” “No, Dad, I think it’s perfect.” 

“Then don’t you think this piece will fit perfectly where it’s supposed to fit?” 

She didn’t reply. 

“And don’t you think the right piece will fit perfectly in the space you’re trying to fill?”

Still no answer.

“My dear, sweet child, I will help you. But instead of asking me to make the wrong piece fit in this spot, why not ask me to help you fight the right spot for this piece? And the right piece for this spot? Wouldn’t that be so much better?”

She squeezed her tired eyes shut, tears rolling once more down her cheeks, and leaned her head against her father’s strong chest. 

“Of course, Daddy. Of course. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said.

Maybe we should quit asking God to put the wrong pieces in the wrong spots on the puzzle, and help us put the right pieces where they were intended to go. 

Editor Brett Campbell can be reached at brett.campbell@dailyleader.com.