Peacing the Puzzle Together

At one point, not too long ago, I was having a discussion with my daughter, Lilly, as we drove home from her ballet practice. Driving time truly is one of those golden opportunities to have real conversations with big kids. The long availability and the lack of eye contact seem to create that sweet spot of boredom and freedom which allow the important topics to bubble up somewhat naturally.

This time, like many times recently, the conversation moved around to our family’s priorities and scheduling. Lilly is one of four kids in our family, the oldest girl, and the kid with the most frequent interaction with the secular world. At ballet she attended classes with kids with their own YouTube channels, kids with divorced parents, and kids transitioning their gender. However, she’s definitely been the one singled out as unusual.

Here she was a tween, homeschooled and with no personal, unfiltered access to the internet or a smart phone of her own. To get in touch with Lilly you had to call her mom. She didn’t get an allowance. She had daily chores. Her screen time was limited, as were the shows she could watch. She’d never had a Starbucks drink.

These are some of the most minor ways our family differs from those of her ballet friends. But those are the things that came up the most among her peers during the snack break between classes, so that’s what we discussed most often on the car rides home.

To her secular friends, Lilly’s family seemed a little out there.

Something stirred up this one particular conversation, and it wasn’t any of the usual suspects. I had recently decided that I couldn’t return to the same women’s book club I’d been a part of in order to keep Lilly in her current ballet classes. I had mentioned it to Lilly on the way to drop her off for ballet.

When I picked her up, I immediately knew something had gotten under her skin. Her brow was low and she stared off into the middle distance as she got into the car.

After about five stoplights she said, as though we were still in the middle of the conversation from earlier in the day, “I don’t want you to give up book club.”

Well, I didn’t want that, either. And little did she know that while she’d been in ballet, I’d been sorting through all the pieces of our family schedule in an effort to find room for my favorite activity.

“Yeah, I’m bummed to leave that group, too,” I told her, briefly glancing up at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “And I would stay if I could, but I need to piece together our schedule differently in the fall.”

“Peace together?”

“Yeah, like puzzle pieces,” I agreed, misunderstanding the homophone she used. “I look at everyone’s schedules. The highest priority activities that have to get done come first. Like, Mass on Sundays and getting you kids to your homeschool classes. Then, I piece in the nice-to-have activities. Like, Dad’s choir practice, your ballet, and my book club. When I’ve found the best fit for everything, the schedule comes together like the pieces of a puzzle.”

She shook her head, “No, I didn’t mean like puzzle pieces. I meant like you’ll have peace.”

“Oh, huh! That’s not what I was thinking of, but yeah, like that too. When the puzzle pieces fit, we have peace.”

Here I sit at the beginning of another Advent season surrounded by boxes of Christmas decorations. We’ve gotten the Advent wreath on the table but with no candles in it yet. In the background is a tottering pile of Christmas books. But I’m thinking about Lilly and how she recognized that it’s in the pieces that we’ll find peace.

“Be vigilant,” we hear Jesus say in the reading from Luke today, this first day of Advent at the start of another liturgical year, “at all times.”

I want to tell Jesus, “I’m trying, but there’s so much in the way. If I could swipe away all the pieces, then I would have peace.”

This mothering life is full of pieces and sometimes holiness seems only meant for those who don’t have to hold toilet training and ballet classes and reading out loud and driver’s ed all at the same time. I’m tempted to think holiness seems meant only for those who’ve chosen a religious path, like priests and nuns, whose lifestyle guards the silence for them. Peace is built into their schedules, it seems; no children ever need poster board at 10pm or puke at 3am.

Vigilance doesn’t often come from a silent peace within my life as a mother. So, it must be the peace within the pieces. As much as it is enticing to believe that without the pieces I could easily maintain my vigil with Jesus, I’ve been called to an active motherhood. He calls me to vigilance among the pieces of my life, within the unique goodness of my family, a puzzle never to be repeated. It’s His masterpiece I watch over, His pieces. It’s His love I’m called to grow.

I have the most peace when all the pieces of our busy, modern lives connect to our mission in Christ. When I remember that Jesus commands my vigilance over all the pieces and I act for their right ordering, then I have peace.

All of this could end tomorrow. Heck, it could end today, while I’m writing this.

Perhaps putting out the Christmas tree on the right day won’t matter for the Parousia. Of course, maybe it will, not in terms of legalism but in terms of watchfulness.

Vigilance looks odd to a world that only watches phone screens. I watch my family’s activities. I watch all our material needs: the clothes that the kids outgrow, the hair cuts they need, the toys, the storage for the toys, and all the food. I watch our time. I watch it all because some day it will end.

Christian motherhood in this consumer-driven, impatient, rushing world demands and tests our vigilance. We can let the world dictate our family or we can develop the discernment to love our family with intention. I could have kept going to my friend’s house for book club, but I wouldn’t have had peace.

When we’re vigilant with the pieces of our life, we can co-create peace. In the never-ending activity of moving parts, I keep focused on the One who teaches me to watch. It challenges me every day, and more so during this secular Christmas season leading up to Christmas Day than at any other time. The tottering pile of books, the missing candles, and my family’s needs all allow me to work within my own life to find peace for my family.

Readings for the First Sunday of Advent (Year C) on the USCCB Website