The Day I Lost My Wedding Rings
It was a Thursday night. It was hot and the air in my house with thick, as always. I was exhausted. Not that I had done much that day, but the Haitian heat has this way of stealing your energy just for fun. I had just finished my shower and was climbing into bed when I first noticed it. My wedding ring was gone.
At first, this didn’t freak me out. I am known for taking it off here in there. When I am cooking in the kitchen. Sometimes when I take a shower. Often in the summer months when my fingers swell and I don’t want them to get stuck.
I went searching in my normal places. On top the silverware container in the kitchen. Not there. On a shelf in my bathroom. Not there. On my bookshelf. Not there.
At this point, I was a little nervous. Mainly to tell Hunter, who is always lecturing me about keeping my rings on. In his mind, I put them on July 26, 2008 at 6:30 p.m. and I should have worn them every minute since. Bless him.
So I told him. “Ugh, Hunter, I, maybe, uh, well, you see, um, I kinda don’t know where my rings are.”
He looked up at me through the holes of the mosquito net. “You kinda don’t know? Or you don’t know?” he asked.
Annoyed, I crossed my arms. “Hunter, can you please get up and help me look for them?”
He did. We did. For hours. In the dark. By the limited light of Hunter’s cell phone flashlight. Nada.
The next morning I put an award on the table for anyone who could find my ring. The kids searched everywhere. Hunter, bless him again, went through all the trash. We turned our house upside down all day long. Nada.
I cried a lot that day.
By the next morning I had given up hope and was now under the assumption that perhaps they had been stolen. People had been in our house earlier that week, and it wouldn’t have been the first time something of ours had been stolen in Haiti.
Although I was heartbroken, I wasn’t angry. I expected myself to be, but I wasn’t. Instead I often found myself praying. “God, if someone has my rings, may it be a blessing to them.” I wasn’t praying, mind you, that God would bless someone for stealing my rings. Instead, I asked God that if my rings were in the hands of another, that they could bless them with whatever needs they have. If they sold them, that they could now put food on the table, purchase books for school, buy medicine prescribed from a doctor. Anything. Just something good. If they were no longer with me, may they bless someone else.
I grieved for weeks. Constantly found myself rubbing my empty ring finger. And when the sadness started to creep in, I’d pray.
Let them be a blessing. Let them be a blessing. Let them be a blessing.
Fast forward to last Friday. The kids and I were doing school at the table when I told them to reach inside their book boxes for their reading books. Emptying out his box to reach for his book ON THE VERY BOTTOM, Nalandson cried out. “MOM! Your rings!”
The tears started of rolling down my cheeks. I kissed my rings like a long lost love. And the kids and me happy danced for a good ten minutes. Needless to say, I haven’t taken my rings off since. Not to cook. Not to shower. Not even in reaction to swelling fingers. If they get stuck, whatever. At least I won’t lose them.
How they ended up in my son’s school box, at the bottom, stuck between some crayons and a reading book he uses five days a week. I HAVE NO IDEA. How he didn’t notice my rings for weeks, since I tell him to get out that reading book every day. I HAVE NO IDEA. How? Why? When? They are all questions besides the point. Because I will never know. And I don’t care. I am a married woman, once again.
So why am I telling you this? What does it matter that I lost my rings and then found them again?
In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t. But there was a lesson I learned.
God cares about the little details of our life.
The weeks while my rings were missing I couldn’t help but think about how small they were. Expensive, yes. But small. How could something so small mean so much to me? How could something so small leave such a big hole in my heart?
It felt silly, to mourn over something so small. But God didn’t find it silly. He let me cry. Gave me peace to accept they were gone. He gave me grace as they consumed my mind. And when I least expected it, he gifted me with their return. Just because he loves me. Just because he can. Just because he cares about the little details of my life, what makes me happy and what makes me sad.
And I love that. Don’t you? God cares that I care about my wedding rings. If he cares about something so small, just think how much he cares about what’s big…like presidential elections or poverty.
So today, think on that. God cares about both the big and little in your life. What a blessing!