My wedding ring is missing. Again. Not to worry—it's in the house somewhere. God knows where it is and he will lead me straight to it, eventually. He always does.
As a life-long fidgeter, no accessory entrusted to my care stands a chance. Knowing this, I don't go in much for jewelry, except for a few standard items which I wear daily, including my wedding ring. The problem with rings is, it's easy to take them off, making them a prime target for fidgeting. We once had to disassemble an upholstered armchair because I lost my grip on this symbol of marital love as I was twisting it around my finger. It slipped between the cushions, into the dark recesses of architecture hidden beneath fabric and stuffing. The chair wasn't cheap, but we had no choice: this ring is an heirloom. It belonged to my husband's maternal great-grandmother, who received and wore it proudly in Peebles, Scotland until the day she died. When Fred's mom inherited the ring, it became a family treasure; she entrusted it to him, and he, in turn, gave it to me. We went to Peebles on our honeymoon, traced the ring's history, etc. Very romantic. As newlyweds, we had it appraised. Financially it isn't worth much; however, it remains annoyingly irreplaceable. Despite having to shoulder the responsibility of keeping track of this prize, I do love it. The design is perfect for me. It's unusual: white gold (nothing flashy), a modest diamond rendered imperfect (and therefore blessedly inexpensive) by a tiny black flick, surrounded by delicate (but not too dainty) Victorian scroll-work. There is the obvious sentimentality attached to what The Ring represents, but it is, after all, only a symbol. Fred and I love one another just as much, with or without his great-grandmother's diamond on my finger.
Here's the thing though: the symbolism of wedding rings matters to God. It matters to him, a lot. I know this because when I rush out the door ring-less, he brings this neglect to my attention before I make it to the end of our street. The empty spot on the third finger of my left hand burns. No matter how far behind schedule I may be, at God's signal, I turn the car around to set things right. Luckily, I have my late Great-Aunt Dede's inexpensive setting of ruby chips and diamond dust to wear as a backup, until God reveals the location of my wedding ring which, as I write this post, remains M.I.A.
Marriage should be honored by all. ~ Hebrews 13:4