Remembering the elation of finishing the other house last year, the girl continued to pound away with the increasingly heavy hammer, back and forth and back and forth, to the background noise of the drill  saw and the forthcoming delight of finishing this current house.

She paused.  Straightening out her fatigued back and stretching, she looked around at the other workers and their respective projects.  It all seemed so chaotic, though strikingly beautiful and organic in the entirety of its disarray.  There were frames with no walls, windows with no panes, piles of heaping wood with no labels or indications of what they were to become.  It was all very much like a great jigsaw puzzle of life-size proportions, in which only the contractor could make sense of and approach with such confidence and composure.  To the girl, all she could see was that there was still a lot of work to be done.

That being so, she knelt down once again to her own  project and began pounding away.  She would finish her panel the bossman had asked her to do.  She didn’t know what would become of it or where it would go, but she would finish it.  For she knew that when the whole thing was completed, it would make sense.  Somehow.  Someday.  And soon enough.  And wherever that panel would ultimately lie, on the outside to be seen or on the inside to support, she knew her efforts were and would never be in vain.

And so she continued to work.