Every so often, I have the sanctifying joy of disassembling our Bosch front-loader washer. This isn’t one of those joys like building a Lego set where everything clicks into place nicely. It’s more the type of joy that involves scraped hands, craned necks, and lots of opportunities for biting my tongue instead of grumbling.  

Here’s the thing: it’s my family’s fault. We have a tendency to keep copious amounts of change and a large amount of lint in our pockets, which all gets rattled out in the wash and then promptly stuck in the too-small-for-change-and-homemade-lint-creatures drain pipe. The tiny pipe is a design flaw, to say the least, because you have to literally remove half of the exterior of the washer and a fair amount of the interior to extract whatever abandoned your pockets, all while contorting yourself like a Cirque du Soleil understudy.

Because we haven’t learned our lesson, I’ve gotten fairly good at this whole song and dance. In fact, I was just about to set a personal speed record on disassembly and reassembly when, as it does, pride came before the fall. (My smugness was caught in my throat in a similar way to the lint in the drain).

I had just extracted the sopping-wet lint blob from the drain and was ready to reinsert the dozen screws and variety of plastic pieces back into a functional washer.

And then I heard it.

Click-clack.

The terrifying sound of an unidentifiable piece of white plastic longer than my forearm rattling to the ground. I froze. I had never seen this part before.

Its shape instantly befuddled me. I had no idea where it came from. It didn’t look vital, but it obviously came from within. I didn’t feel great putting everything back together and just keeping this plastic Frankenstein out as some kind of disappointing souvenir.

So, I did what any modern DIY repairman does:

  • scoured the internet
  • debated with ChatGPT
  • dissected unclear instruction manual diagrams
  • Contacted Bosch customer support from four different countries

The best customer service response I got?

“It seems like it’s a piece that goes somewhere inside the washer.”

It was time to wave the less-than-white sock of surrender.

A few days later, the growing tidal wave of laundry forced me to re-enter the fray, and so I kept fiddling. I almost left it shoved in a back corner holding up an internal drain pipe, but it didn’t feel quite right.

And then, by some miracle (or divine whisper), I noticed a few tiny grooves on the inside of the front panel. The little plastic mystery piece had corresponding prongs. I lined them up, lifted gently, and—

Click.

That sound.

That satisfying, unmistakable click heard ‘round the laundry room.

It wasn’t just the distinct sound of plastic snapping into place. It was the song of order being restored.

Design being fulfilled.

Something finally finding the place it was destined to go.

I promptly removed the piece, started recording a video, and clicked it back into place again to send it to my dad and Bosch support.

There’s a few morals to the story beyond don’t buy a Bosch washer or expect their support to be of any help.

Things are designed for a purpose.

Sometimes finding the purpose something was made for takes a lot longer than we hope.

What’s the Point of All This?

I don’t want to over-spiritualize a washer repair. But there is something here worth noticing.

There are parts of our lives that feel like that extra—maybe even unnecessary—pieces. They must go somewhere, but we can’t for the life of us figure out where.

There are parts of us like that too. The talent that’s gone undeveloped. The longing that hasn’t been satisfied. The wound that you don’t know how to heal from.

Sometimes we try to jam it where it doesn’t fit. Other times we try to ignore it and see if we can just keep operating without it clicking into place. Almost always, it takes longer than we hoped to find where it goes.

Finding where things go, and how things in our life are supposed to fit together, is a long and challenging process. We can’t just force things into places where they aren’t meant to go. But we can keep searching, keep trying, keep twisting and tweaking until we hear that click.

A Few Reflections

• Things are made for a purpose. That includes you. You’re far more than a bunch of biological processes just firing off. You are a created being, made for love, purpose, community, and a whole lot more.

• Misplaced doesn’t mean useless. Just because you can’t see the fit yet doesn’t mean it doesn’t go somewhere or doesn’t serve a function.

• Design takes time. Sometimes God takes His time aligning us with the good works he has prepared in advance (Ephesians 2:10). Stay patient. Keep fiddling.

• Don’t settle for “good enough.” I almost wedged that piece behind a pipe and called it good. But I wouldn’t have had peace. And I would’ve missed the joy of that click. (And certainly my washer wouldn’t have continued to function the way it was designed to.)

If you’re in a season of questioning your place—vocationally, relationally, spiritually—write down what you do know.

  • What’s true of your design?
  • What brings you life?
  • What stirs your heart?

God always designs with a purpose. It might not be time for the click yet, but that doesn’t mean it’s not coming.

So don’t buy a Bosch washer if you can help it. But if you do, and a strange plastic piece falls out one day—don’t panic. Keep looking. Ask around. Line up the grooves. And listen for the click.

It’ll come.

And it’ll be worth it.