The Lord of My Ring

I woke up slowly to the gleam of the December sun through my grandmother’s salmon-colored window blinds. I stretched myself comfortably. It was the second week of Christmas vacation, and I had nothing to do today but relax and have fun. I took my glasses out of my purse and put them on. My other early morning items, my watch and purity ring, were in the candy pocket of my purse. But no, I suddenly remembered, my ring was in the pocket of the jeans I had worn yesterday and planned to wear again today. I was glad I had remembered that fact. This was my second purity ring, my second tangible symbol of the promise I had made to stay a virgin until marriage. My first such ring had been real pearl and silver, with diamond chips, and had been stolen when I carelessly left it in a public restroom. My current ring was black and silver, a much cheaper ring that I had bought at a fair, and I had already misplaced and recovered it twice. I was being much more careful with it now, wearing it almost all the time and carefully placing it in my pocket or beside my bed when I had to take it off.

I stretched again and reached over to shake my sister, who shared the room and the double bed with me. “Wake up, Karis!” I said. “Remember, we’re going to Grandma’s house today!” We were staying with our dad’s mom, whom we called “Oma,” and today we planned to visit our other grandma across town. Karis grunted and groaned and said she was tired. I knew she’d get up eventually. I sat up and put on my watch, saying to no one in particular, “I’m going to take a nice, long shower.” I reached for my jeans, which lay in a confused heap on the floor between the wall and the bed. I picked them up haphazardly and swept them out of the crevice in which they lay. As I did so, I heard a clattering noise on the carpeted floor. I dropped my jeans without noticing them. That sound could only mean one thing. “My ring just fell down the vent,” I said in shock, staring blankly down at the grate over the heating vent.Karis sat up immediately. “Your silver-and-sable purity ring?” she said in horror. I don’t remember if or what I answered her. All I remember is that within seconds I had squeezed myself down between the bed and the wall, bruising my leg in the process, and was prying the grate out of the carpet. Karis hurriedly crawled across the bed and leaned over the edge, entering into my panic.

The heating vent was a narrow, rectangular pit in the floor. Its bottom sloped like that of a swimming pool, making a shallow end and a deep end. In the wall of the deep end there was a large round hole that led to the furnace pipe. I had heard my ring bouncing and clattering in the vent when it fell, and I didn’t see it in the rectangular pit. I was almost sure that it had rolled all the way down to the furnace. Still, I would not give up. I was not about to lose that ring again. I felt around the edge of the round hole and partway into the pipe, where it still had a relatively level floor. Finding nothing there, I delved my fingers deeply into every corner of the rectangular pit. All I came up with was dust. I slammed the palm of my hand against the floor in frustration and despair. It seemed that my beautiful and richly symbolic ring was lost forever. If my feelings had made words, they might have said, God, how could You do this to me? Why would You? Don’t You care that I’ve lost the symbol of my vow?

Karis made sympathetic noises, which I scarcely heard, from her post on the other side of the vent. She had been digging her fingers into the vent as well, and had also been foiled. I sighed, not with resignation, but with desperation. I simply could not accept that my ring was gone. In whatever vestiges of hope I had left, I reached back into the hole, stretching my hand farther down the pipe. Suddenly I felt something smooth, round, and hard on the bottom of the pipe. My hand froze and my eyes popped. Could it be? I frantically felt it more thoroughly. It was shaped like a ring, with a bump at one point. I grabbed the object and pulled it out, holding it up for myself and Karis to see. We both sighed, this time in deep relief. There on my finger shone the familiar claddagh, the Irish symbol of friendship and loyalty, the silver of it still clean and bright. “Thank You, Lord,” I breathed. “Yes, thank You,” Karis echoed. I moved my finger away from the vent and kept gazing at my ring, reassuring myself that it was really safe. “Um, Brenna?” said Karis. I slipped my ring back on its usual finger and turned back towards her. Karis was trying to wedge the metal grate back into the floor, but the flap that opened and closed the grate kept on closing and blocking her efforts. I offered my help, and we both soon had the grate in its proper place. Karis got back in bed. I rolled my eyes and began to prepare for my shower. As I did, I was still in something of a grateful daze at the miraculous rescue of my ring. A song began to play in my head: “God is so good; He’s so good to me…”

Ever since then, when I’m tempted to feel that God doesn’t really care about my little problems, I feel my purity ring and remember how He answered my unspoken, desperate prayer. It’s like my own personal version of Jesus’ parable of the sparrows. Jesus said in Matthew 10:29-31, “Are not two sparrows sold for a copper coin? And not one of them falls to the ground apart from your Father’s will. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.” It’s the same for me with my ring. If God will keep my little, cheap ring from falling down a pipe, then how can I doubt His ability and willingness to take care of me?

[By the way, the ring in the story is the ring in the picture at the top of my page. There's a clearer but smaller picture of it in my profile.]