One Piece at a Time

One year I went home for Christmas. When I walked into the front door of the house, my sister was working on a 1000 piece puzzle of lion. I saw the many pieces and said, "Steph, it's going to be forever before you finish that puzzle." I was the pessimistic cynic, she however chose to see the puzzle and all the pieces that had not been put into place as a progressive journey.

With each piece that she added, I was able to see her progress. She said, "Will, I'm going to put this puzzle together a piece at a time." I smiled, and brushed her off in my mind. I could only think about what I'd do in the same situation; seeing how daunting putting the puzzle together would be, and the amount of time I'd have to invest, I may have just walked away with a prevailing thought of what's in it for me when I finish.

The next year I again went home. We sat around the coffee table and on Christmas morning we began handing out the presents. As is a tradition in our family, Nat King Cole's Christmas album was playing, my mom had cut up some homemade Pumpkin Bread and the kitchen smelled of pumpkin spice, nutmeg and cider. My dad was leaning on the stairs, wearing his new overcoat and hat and my sister made her way out of the room. She came back in with a huge present that looked like a gigantic picture frame wrapped in exquisite paper. My dad, ever so gently, as he was known to do, which aggravated the hell out of us, started to slowly unwrap his present. He made sure not to tear the paper off, removing it so tenderly the tape was taken off a piece at a time. My annoyance at the delay was pronounced when I shouted, "We're going to be wishing you Merry Christmas next year before you finish opening that!" He looked up at me and smiled. It was his present and he was going to open it the way that he wanted to. When he finally finished, behind a shimmering pane of glass, bordered by an intricately designed rich wooden frame, I saw the face of a mighty lion staring at me. Each piece was in its place. My sister had finished putting the puzzle together.

Despite the painstaking hours, the annoyance at hitting a wall, the possible loss of motivation, she trudged onward and never quit. She saw each piece of the puzzle as an added item here and an added item there filling a desire that she had to present her hard work to her father as a gift. She loved him enough to give him a gift that required more than a Saturday shopping spree or an online order. It took her many days and many more hours to complete her gift. My dad wore a grin that would rival Bill Cosby's and walked over to my sister and kissed her on the forehead. His eyes couldn't hide the pleasure he felt at the show of love his daughter had blessed him with. I looked at my sister differently that day.

She answers so many of my questions with, "So what Will." Every time I think about quitting or not being able to accomplish something, as I describe the obstacles that are ahead of me, she interrupts me with her famous saying, "So what Will." When I told her that I had been laid off, "So what Will." When I told her that I didn't know where to start or how to write a book, she said...When I told her that I didn't think I'd be able to finish this or start that she responded, "So what..." I smile when I think about the unwavering faith that she has in me to accomplish the impossible. She often tells me, and has the framed lion to prove, that I can do and be whatever I want as long as I work at it a piece at a time. The next time I even think of quitting, I'm going to remember her. I'll say to myself, "So what Will," and then add another piece to the puzzle I call my life.