| Sunny Side Up Nov.3, 2004 �2004, Kathleen Gibson When the pieces don't fit Our children presented the Preacher and me with a cordless drill. Together we opened the case to inspect the components. Laying the bits and pieces on our dining table, we checked what we found against the content list in the manual. Everything matched. The fun began when we tried putting everything back. It wouldn't go. For a quarter of an hour, five very smart adults hovered over the table, shoulder to shoulder. We knocked heads trying to put those tools back. In the living room Neil, the Preacher's brother, listened to our frustrated gabble. This is what he heard: "We took it out of here, didn't we? It'll go back in somehow." "This piece has to go first." "No way, the biggest one goes first." "Uh-uh, it's just gotta go this side down." "That doesn't even look like it fits - why would you try there?" "Move over. Let ME try!" "Get your hand out of the way, I think I've got it!" Two seconds of silence. Then� "Darn. I could'a sworn it'd go." "Turn it around. No, no! Narrow end pointing out!" "Nope." "This is just stupid." "Well, if you'd let me have a go�" And still Neil sat in the living room, chuckling, I'm sure. Finally, perplexed and defeated, we stood. We'd tried it all; made every move possible. Except one. "Neil, you're the only one who hasn't tried this," someone hollered. "Get over here and see if you can figure it out." He rose and ambled over. Our frustrated knot parted to let him in. For ten seconds he hovered over the innocent tool that had flummoxed the rest of us, just looking. Then he reached out his hand, flipped the biggest piece and gave it one clockwise turn. The part nestled into place like a foot in a shoe. "Like that," he said. The rest of us stood gaping. My mother-in-law, Gerry, demanded. "Why didn't you come over and do that sooner?" Neil shrugged. "You never asked." Gerry laughed first. I can still hear her gleeful peals as her youngest son shuffled off. The rest of us joined her, though more lamely. We all felt a tad embarrassed, I think. In fifteen short minutes we'd regressed from decades of education and life experience to a scenario approaching a schoolyard scrap. Five responsible adults, in progressively louder tones, vying for 'our turn,' nudging each other out of the way to solve the problem we each knew we had the solution to. Except we didn't. Every time we use that drill I chuckle. It reminds me that my inner childishness is nearer than I thought. But more than that, it reminds me that when my frustrated efforts to make sense of 'my pieces' fail, when even my most capable friends can't help, someone else hovers close. Listening. Waiting for his turn. "Why didn't you do that sooner, God?" I ask when he drops the pieces in place. "Child," I hear, "you never asked." You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
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