This Ring
As I was growing up, I never expected to be married before I turned twenty. Bill and I met In January of 1974, when I was a freshman at Concordia College, and he was working toward a degree in electronic engineering at Milford Tech. Ours was a whirlwind romance. By the end of January, we were spending every evening together, and talking on the phone daily. Bill's biggest concern then, besides passing his classes, was scraping together enough money to afford gas for his Camaro, so he could drive the twelve miles to Seward and back to Milford every day. We were engaged by May, and married in December.
When we announced our engagement, my dad's first question was, "Where's the ring?" It was a logical question, I guess, even though we considered ourselves engaged without that enduring symbol of our approaching marriage.
We looked at rings in Lincoln that summer, but we waited until we made a trip to Gering in August, for Bill's sister's wedding, to get serious about buying our rings. Bill's Grandma Lucas pulled out a few old rings, and encouraged Bill to take his pick, so he chose four of them, which we had remade into his gold wedding band. I wanted a simple, white gold band, with an equally understated engagement ring. We found what we were looking for at a local jewelry store, and bought the rings after stopping at a bank to secure a loan, undoubtedly co-signed by Bill's parents. The cost was only a few hundred dollars, but it was a small fortune for us at that time, since our only employment consisted of part time work-study during the school year, and Bill's summer job, helping remodel the Russell Stover candy factory in Lincoln.
And so, I wore that pristine engagement ring, size 4 3/8, until our wedding day, when it was joined on my finger by the matching wedding band. Within a few days, we had them fused together, and I've worn them nearly every day ever since, for forty-three years.
I intended to wear my ring at all times, but I found that it cut off the circulation in my ring finger when I slept, so it wasn't long before I was taking it off every night and putting it back on in the morning. I removed it occasionally to have it cleaned and checked by our jeweler. Over the years, I've had to give up my ring for a few days, four or five times, to have the prongs replaced, so the diamond doesn't fall out. I'm always glad to get it back on my finger, since my hand feels naked without it.
I've heard that there is no stronger gem than the diamond, so I expected my ring to last for our entire marriage, symbolizing the strength of our bond. The ring has survived, just as our marriage has survived and thrived, through the good times and the challenging times in our life together.
We had been married less than five years when we survived a serious car accident. Bill had to recuperate from a skull fracture, and I am still dealing with the aftermath of several chipped teeth. My ring seemed to come through the accident in one piece but, the next time we took it in to be cleaned, the jeweler informed us that the diamond had a large chip in it. I was surprised to learn that diamonds, as strong as they are, can be damaged during an accident. The jeweler rotated the diamond so that one of the six prongs was placed over the chip, making it invisible to the casual observer.
I've had the ring stretched once or twice, as I've gained a little weight, but I've continued to wear that ring, day in and day out until this fall, when I injured my ring finger slightly as Bill and I were loading some rocks into the wheelbarrow. After that injury, my knuckle swelled up so that I could no longer wear my ring. I hoped that my finger would return to its normal size, but my arthritis dictated a different outcome.
This time, the jeweler added a piece of white gold to the back of the ring, increasing it from a 5 1/2 clear up to size 6 1/2. While he was working, he replaced the prongs yet again, and polished the whole thing so it looks like new, noting that the diamond now has two chips. Who knows when that second chip appeared!
Some people would say that my ring is worthless now, because of the chips, but they would be wrong. Just as any two people struggle together through all kinds of setbacks in a marriage, and come through on the other side with a few more wrinkles and scars, my ring tells the story of our marriage. If my ring were still flawless after forty-three years, you could be sure that it had spent most of those years tucked away in a jewelry box for safekeeping. Instead, it has had to grow, more than once, to keep up with my changing finger. It has been stretched, almost to the breaking point. It has been cut and added to, parts have been replaced, and it has been buffed and polished over and over again. The chips have been camouflaged so the ring looks as good as new. All of these changes have made my ring stronger and more capable than ever.
Throughout our marriage, Bill and I have had to stretch and grow, too. We have had to learn to work together, in good times and not-so-good times. Sometimes, we have felt like we've reached the breaking point, but God has been our master jeweler, remolding us into one, making us stronger than ever. And, just as my engagement ring and wedding band have been fused together to make one ring, God has made the two of us into one, as he intended, for the rest of our lives.
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