The Ring

Twenty-five years I went without a ring. I'm not much for jewelry. I flirted with a class ring, mostly because everyone else was doing it. I didn't like it. I wore it only sporadically, eventually not at all.

Then I took her hand in a small chapel with only our parents there, and we exchanged rings. There were tiny silver daisies on hers. They are her favorite flower. Mine was inscribed with ancient words: "I am my beloved's, and she is mine."

It helps me to remember I am no longer one body, but two. I am no longer my own. If I ever was my own at all.

It was annoying at first, having this band on my finger. I touched it, picked at it, moved it up and down my finger. I couldn't stand it. But I wore it to remind myself, to remind the world. I am no longer my own.

Only two years have passed, but now I feel my ring even when it is not there. Now I rub my finger where the ring should be. I do not feel complete without it. It is a microcosm of her. I do not feel whole when she is not near. I don't need the ring to remind me of this, but it is a good example.

I have felt God near a handful of times, just a few. Maybe that is all we get.

I remember that I am not my own.

When you see love that is sacrificial, a life poured out for another, God is near. There's no formula to make it happen, no way to predict it. But when you've felt it, the feeling never leaves you. You long for it again and again. You don't feel complete without it.

I absentmindedly reach for the ring and think of her.

I've spent my entire life reaching for something because I feel incomplete. Lately it's been the right things.