Maybe you’ve heard the phrase, life is like a puzzle. If you haven’t heard the phrase, you have likely built one. When my family and I build a puzzle, we usually dump out all the pieces, sort them into outside pieces, inside pieces, and prop up the box so we can use the picture as a guide. Next, we build the outside border of the puzzle before we fill in the middle. Before you know it, viola! You have successfully built a beautiful puzzle.
Life isn’t that simple or straightforward. But, most people usually have an idea what they want their life to look like. Then they go through life taking steps (collecting pieces) to build that life (the puzzle).
Puzzles take time to build, have numerous pieces, sometimes thousands of pieces. Have you ever painstaking put a puzzle together only to discover as you near the end that your puzzle has a missing piece? If so, you have likely frantically searched high and low, torn apart the room, checked the box a trillion times, looked under the couch etc. searching for that piece. Because, what do you do with a puzzle with a missing piece?
So, what does a puzzle have to do with Jesus. Well, friends…its a wild ride but here is my truth.
Some of you know I was raised Catholic. We may have even went through Catholic school together. I attended a Catholic School from PK to 12th grade. So I was baptized, went through Holy Communion, Reconciliation, Confirmation. I sat through mass sometimes three times a week. As I grew older, I had questions. It’s the normal human response when something doesn’t make sense. But, I knew Catholicism. I knew about Jesus. So I had a puzzle in a box.
Like most people, my life was far from perfect. There were highs, there were lows. Young adulthood was a particularly stormy period for me. My parents went through a horrible divorce when I was in high school. It was ugly. It was painful. It was traumatizing. I ran off to college in Ohio to escape it all. I dumped my puzzle pieces on the table and tried to build it.
I tried to figure it out. I turned to and relied upon relationships that were unhealthy. Focused on or prioritized people or things that weren’t important. I tried to fit pieces in the puzzle where they didn’t belong. And it was FRUSTRATING. Things felt hopeless, I felt defeated. I gave up. Complacency won. My puzzle began collecting dust.
When things were already LOW, we received the devastating news that my grandpap had cancer. Like most people in times of need, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I turned back to Catholicism. I attended 7 AM mass with my grandpap, every Sunday. We would sit through mass, get a gas station convenience store coffee, and we would go to breakfast at George’s diner. Every week. I sat back down at that table, refocused my efforts, and tried to build that puzzle again.
Yet, those hard questions about my faith lingered. These pieces just weren’t lining up. My grandpap and I were close, and I confided in him about my struggles with my faith. It was then I got the validation I needed when he admitted he had been asking himself those same hard questions. He set out to find those answers…in the Bible.
In September 2008, he lost his battle and passed away. He was my best friend. Before his death, he made me promise to return to Ohio to finish up school. He told me I needed to go. Never one to let my grandpap down, I agreed. He passed just a few weeks after the fall semester of my sophomore year began. I was devastated. Still am. At that time though, I was so unbelievably angry. Full of Rage, really. I was furious at God for taking my favorite person away; for taking a good person away when there was so much bad in the world. In true vindictive fashion, it was YEARS before I stepped foot into a church. It was probably YEARS before I thought about a church or even prayed again. I tore up the barely completed puzzle, shoved the pieces back in the box, and threw it in the closet.
In summer 2010, I had extended my college graduation to spend a semester in Washington DC. I was unsure of my future plans, wary about anything regarding commitment. I was throwing darts haphazardly at the target hoping something would stick. I had become good at running from my problems, my feelings, the hard things. While in D.C., I met Jeff, a young man from Cortland, Ohio. We weren’t fast friends. But, he was charming, funny, and quite handsome. By the end of the semester, I had met his family. Despite challenges with distance, the uncertainty of our post-college plans, and his younger sister who was completely unsure of me, Jeff and I started dating. So Out comes the box, let’s try this life puzzle again.
Once you start getting older, relationships tend to be intentional. It was relatively quickly that I realized I very much liked him and wanted the relationship to have a fighting chance. We start talking LONG TERM goals, dreams, aspirations. With that comes seeking approval from his parents (and sister). We got the border of the puzzle. Now to get to work on the middle.
I was splitting time between Pittsburgh and Ohio as I was gearing up for law school and between semesters. One weekend, I came to visit and stay with Jeff’s family in his hometown. Jeff’s mother, Debbie, invited us to attend her church for a Saturday service. I remember politely informing her that I did not bring any dress clothes or church appropriate clothing. I only packed jeans.
Debbie’s response: “Perfect! Jeans were perfectly acceptable for service.” HUH? Never in my life had I worn jeans to mass. So, I agreed to go to church, and I can almost guarantee it was an effort to gain any sort of favor in Debbie’s eyes.
I won’t lie. I was nervous. Church was something I did with my grandpap and it was something I had successfully avoided after he passed away. But, Jeff was looking like that person I wanted to do forever with, so I was going to suck it up and go.
It’s just church.I knew what to expect, I’d spent YEARS of my life in church…
< < < < < WRONG > > > > >
I was so utterly WRONG. The service and experience is one I will never forget.
- I remember Debbie telling us that her church was going to be getting a new pastor and that he was from “someplace down south.”
- I remember thinking it strange that church was on a Saturday night and that jeans were acceptable attire.
- I remember pulling up to the building and marveling at the fact that it was sandwiched between a Kohls and Kmart.
- I remember walking in, no holy water to bless with, no genuflecting before walking into the pews, no hard wooden pews.
- The seats didn’t come with a preprinted missalette to sing from or to preview the weeks “Readings”.
- The altar had a guitar and drums.
- Projection screens adorned the walls.
- When church started, there was no church organ and no procession.
- There was no required kneeling and raising, or repeating memorized prayer.
- I remember making a mental note of it all to tell my mom in great detail just how odd the whole thing was going to be.
<<<<<<<< Well, jokes on me. >>>>>>>>
Service started, and there was loud, energetic music. Lots and lots of music. Song after song after song. Around me, people were happy. They were praising, arms outstretched in worship, clapping, and REJOICING. There was joy and hope. I was shocked, mesmerized, speechless, and confused. I felt out of place, a fish out of water, a tourist in a foreign country, like the new kid in school. But I wanted to be a part of it.
After twenty minutes or so of worship, the pastor came out to deliver the message. He didn’t wear robes. There was no big formal process. It was just the pastor, with a southern accent, armed with The Bible and a microphone. He read some passages, explained them, made them relatable. People were laughing. The Pastor was laughing…joking even, DURING service. I wish I could remember exactly what that message was. All I know is I struggled to hold myself together, tried not to cry.
I remember feeling SEEN. It was like the pastor could see my darkened soul standing out amongst the crowd. He could see my puzzle on the table, shamefully incomplete. I remember hearing a woman behind me holler “Amen,” and “preach it.” I remember desperately wanting to know how it felt to have that much conviction.
At the conclusion of the message, the pastor asked (not to anyone in particular, although it felt spoken directly to my heart) what I thought was the scariest question ever asked…
”if you died, would heaven be your home?”
Talk about the air just leaving my lungs in heart stopping Fear. I knew, at that exact moment in my life, without a shred of doubt, my answer was a resounding NO.
Those years and years of searching, of yearning, of hoping, of doubting, all came crashing down around me. I knew I was in BIG trouble. Man overboard! I had gone astray. I had turned my back. I was LOST at sea. Floating in an angry ocean with no life jacket. Oh, that puzzle was so close to being finished, except I had run out of pieces. I had searched frantically to no avail.
But I leaned in a little bit, sat on the edge of my seat, hoping to learn what to do… and for the first time in my life, I was shown the ANSWER. I was thrown the life jacket. I was handed my missing piece. I sat there, head down, eyes closed, and I professed that Jesus loves me, that he died for my sins, and I declared Jesus my savior. I prayed that prayer like I never prayed before, Eagerly, Earnestly, and Truthfully. I was changed. I was saved. His grace saved my life. That message, that day, that pastor, that prayer changed my life.
I am a child of God.
I would be lying if I said life has been rainbows and butterflies since then. There have been TRIALS! But Jesus has had his hand on my life and he has worked in my life ever since that first Saturday service when I gave my heart over. I have prayed hard, have seen prayers answered, and have witnessed miracles. I am happy to share those stories as well. (Ask me about my third child or my moms heart attack).
I have continued to build a relationship and make that relationship with Jesus a priority in my life. Without a question, I knew Baptism was the next formal step to publicly proclaim my faith. I want my strong convictions in faith to serve as a beacon, a lighthouse, for those who may feel helplessly lost at sea. I want to hand someone else the universal puzzle piece they’ve been searching for to no avail… Jesus is the universal piece.
I feel SO blessed to have been able to proclaim my faith and take the next step in faith with Debbie (spoiler alert: she is my now mother in law for those of you who don’t know) and my mom, Diane, last weekend. I love them both, and look forward to continuing to grow in faith together and in service.
Special thanks to Pastor Roy Mack and Grace Fellowship Church.
I know Jesus. Do you?
Life of A Mama: Unfiltered 