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The Missing Piece

I will forever be grateful to the youth group leader who first shared with me Shel Silverstein's "The Missing Piece." It is the story of the missing piece in search of it's missing piece. In this installment, the piece comes across several potential pieces: one that doesn't want to even try to be "its" missing piece, one too small, too large, too sharp, and too square. It finds some pieces that fit, but it doesn't hold it tightly enough, or holds it too tightly, or finds that its life is stifled when "completed". No matter how many times I've read it (or the sequel), I'm moved by the delighfully simplistic prose and drawings.

I shared this with my classes today. We all needed the break from our rigorous writing lessons, so I read to them and shared the pictures with them. As I usually do, I cried when the missing piece sets down his "piece" and rolls away. My students were outraged that the piece was calloused enough to just roll away from the piece. I couldn't help but laugh at them...and then I explained that sometimes we just need to let go--of people, of attitudes, of habits--of anything that isn't good for us.

This concept has been rolling around in my head all day. How often do we cling to what is not healthy for us just because it seems unfair or mean or for no good reason? And it's sad. It hurts to let go of something, especially when it's familiar or seems to make us happy or seems to be the right thing.

Personally, this has been my theme for the last year. Letting go. Of a friendship with someone whose values are in stark contrast to my own. Of my belief that something is inherently wrong with me just because I'm different from the rest of the world. Of my attempts to control my loved ones' attitudes and moods. Of insecurities. Of my reputation. Of the facades I've hidden behind in a desperate attempt to fit in.

The beauty of this "spring" cleaning is that I'm creating space in my life for new life. Friendships with people who share my values and accept me as I am. Finding other people like me to share and explore the depths of my soul. Accepting others as they are and giving them the freedom to be themselves around me. Eating cold eggplant parmesan in public with my hands. Being real. Screwing up. Acknowledging that God made me just the way I am...and soaking up each moment along the way.

And for the most part, I feel like the snotty little "piece" in the story who very frankly told the missing piece that it was NOT a missing piece...and even if it was, it was not necessarily THE missing piece. I don't need something to come in and complete me.

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