The Missing Peace

By Kelly Petersen

I pulled out the Santa Asks for Directions puzzle after Thanksgiving, planning for some quality family time. I had forgotten that all “500” pieces are different shapes and colors, making it extremely difficult to assemble. I quickly remembered why we didn’t finish it last year. 

Amidst hosting, crafting, baking, and Sunday dinners, the puzzle lay scattered on our kitchen table, quietly mocking my best-laid plans. Instead of the Hallmark moments I’d envisioned this holiday season with my family gathered peacefully around the table, I ended up with a 6-year-old who now says “damn” when he’s frustrated. 

When the pieces weren’t stuck beneath plates, crafts, coffee cups, or elbows, they fell to the floor, risking becoming a cat toy (or food, knowing our cat). With Christmas approaching, I worked late hours trying to finish it. The puzzle left me feeling puzzled, much like Santa in the image, holding a light to a map. The irony is not lost on me.

My heart sank when I discovered the final piece was missing. I became like Gollum from The Lord of the Rings, obsessively hunting for my precious piece. I frantically crawled around the floor with bloodshot eyes, muttering “damn” under my breath, and refusing to accept the incomplete puzzle. 

I tore apart the closet where the puzzle came from, but no missing piece was found. I sent Brian a picture of the incomplete puzzle, and instead of tearing his garments and falling to the ground, he just replied, “Ha, metaphor for life, I guess? Advent 4 this year is about Joseph-how you can plan all you want, but it doesn't always work the way you expected.” As annoying as it may be, one of the upsides of having a priest for a husband is that I don’t get to linger in the dark shadows of obsession and loss for long. 

I threw the puzzle into the trash and wiped the coffee-stained table, contemplating the incomplete feeling that still lingered within me. I thought about Joseph and Mary, and was reminded that Joseph didn’t have the complete picture of what God was doing. He gave up control, finding a faith that led him to a willingness to listen, adapt, and trust God’s plan. 

I thought of young, pregnant Mary, who journeyed many miles on foot and by donkey, showing us that God’s plan emerges when we let go and act with love and courage. The deep sense of peace she must have felt. The missing piece illuminated my missing peace, the peace from God that surpasses all understanding—the kind that “guards your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:7). 

This deep peace reminds us that God holds the completed puzzle, and that we are still whole in our lacking. The puzzle has been with me through Advent, each light reminding me of hope, peace, joy, and love. It really is a metaphor for life. I may find the missing piece later, under the couch or in a shoe, but it will be too late.  

I will never know what it is like to finish that puzzle, much like the many things left undone in 2025, but I can imagine how it would feel. I’d savor the seasons and find peace in the incomplete feelings. I’d be more mindful of life's puzzle and more gentle with its pieces. With a heart and mind united in Christ, it would feel like truth. Like the newborn baby Jesus placed in the manger, like Christmas.