The Puzzle & the Wheel

A Letter from the Wilderness
Liturgical Season: Great Lent

Scripture for Reflection:
"When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things." – 1 Corinthians 13:11

I. The Puzzle with No Picture

"Honey, you are trying to put together a puzzle without having the picture." The words of my aunt echo in my ears, a truth so piercing it leaves me breathless. Because there is a picture—there is always a picture. A vision of a whole and healthy life, of a family rooted in love, of a world where pieces fit together to form something beautiful. But my puzzle? It came fractured. I had a few pieces that looked like normalcy, a handful that resembled love, but without the picture, how was I ever supposed to know what I was building? So I built blindly. I forced jagged edges together. I tried to make sense of what could not make sense. And all the while, she was at the wheel.

II. The Child Who Drove the Car

She is small—her legs too short to reach the pedals, her hands barely grasping the wheel. But she has been my driver for as long as I can remember. No license. No map. No training. Just pure survival. And she tries, oh how she tries—stretching her little neck to see the road ahead, gripping the wheel with all her might, whispering prayers as she speeds through dangers too great for a child to navigate. She does not belong in the driver’s seat. But who else was there? When no one else could guide me, she took the lead. When the world was unsafe, she did what she had to do to keep me alive. And she has never let go.

III. A Different Way to See It

Today, I spoke to her for the first time in a long time. "It’s okay, younger me. It’s okay." "Thank you for working so hard to help me." "I’ve got this now." And for the first time, I saw her clearly—not as a failure, not as someone who should have handled things better, not as a voice to resent or suppress—but as a brave, resilient child who did the best she could. How could I blame her for struggling? For feeling lost, afraid, unprepared for life? I have expected her to be an adult while filtering all of life through the mind of a child. I have expected her to drive when she was never meant to be at the wheel. And now, I tell her she can rest.

IV. Steadying the Flame: Practicing Mindfulness

This week, I am practicing mindfulness—learning to stay present, learning to recognize when she tries to take control again. Because she will. When I feel panic rise, I pause. Who is driving right now? When I start to spiral, I stop. Am I responding as an adult, or as the child who learned to survive? When shame floods in, I breathe. I am not my past. I am here, in this moment, and I am safe. I do not push her away. I invite her to stay—but not in fear, not in control. She can come out when it’s time to play with my children. When it’s time to laugh with my husband. When joy is what’s needed. But I am the driver now. And I am capable.

V. Lent: The Season of Becoming

Lent is a season of transformation—of shedding what no longer serves. And isn’t that what I’m doing? I am laying down the child who had to be strong, so that the adult can learn to truly live. I am releasing the fear-driven ways I have survived, so that I can embrace the abundant life God has for me.

"We must be ready to let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the life that is waiting for us." – C.S. Lewis

VI. Small Mercies: Today’s Glimpse of Grace

Today, I see His grace in my own hands—the ones that hold the wheel now. I see His grace in the realization that I am not lost, I’m not bad—I never was—I just wasn’t driving.

I do love her. The child who stood in the fire, who fought to keep me alive, who never stopped trying. But she can let go now. I have the driver’s license. I have the map. And God is showing me the picture I was always meant to build. Piece by piece, I will put it together. And it will be beautiful.

Closing Prayer

O Christ, who makes all things new, I thank You for bringing me to this season of transformation. Give me the wisdom to take my place at the wheel. Give me the grace to love the child who kept me safe, while also knowing when to let her rest. Keep me mindful of the work You are doing within me, and let me trust that You are leading me to wholeness. Amen.

+ Have you ever realized that your younger self has been leading your life? How do you gently take back the wheel? What small mercies remind you that you are growing? +