It started with a taped‑up box.

A few days into a 90-day residential treatment program, Jim Hines found an old jigsaw puzzle on the common-room table — the box worn and faded, held together with tape. He tipped the pieces out and sat looking at them.

“Those scattered pieces represented my life,” he wrote later. “Broken, jumbled, and seemingly without order or meaning.”

Nine days earlier his life had come apart — a confrontation at work over money he had taken, the end of his career there, and then treatment, for anxiety, depression, and the things underneath them. The puzzle went back in the closet. It didn’t stay there.

His therapist told him something he still repeats: “God might not give you all the pieces at once. But over time, as you’re ready, He will give you the pieces you need.”

The house held sixteen other men, each working on his own picture. Somewhere in those ninety days the puzzle stopped being a metaphor and became a practice — a quiet hour with his hands busy and his mind on one small thing at a time. “Recovery — and life — isn’t about one piece. It’s about the whole picture.”

So when he came home, he built the thing he had needed in that room: a real puzzle that carries its own help. Fifty coping statements — the working language of treatment, the lines that held up — printed on the pieces of three designs, with artwork by Joshua Noom.