It broke in the Spring of '12. The CZ fell out of it. I've always had a CZ in it. I HAVE a diamond to put in it, I just haven't ever done it. My husband proposed with a CZ ring and then made payments on the diamond. When the diamond arrived, we were so excited... and then we let it sit for about 8 years. and counting.
Truth is: I like my CZ. When I looked down That Fateful Day and saw the prongs had broken off and the CZ had fallen out, I was surprised at how sad I felt. I shouldn't have felt sad, I mean... it was the perfect opportunity to have the real diamond put in! But I realized then, as Anne Shirley realized her love of Gilbert Blythe the night she learned he was dying, I loved my fake diamond. It was my own Book of Revelation, so to speak.
I DO love my fake diamond, quite a lot more than my real diamond, in fact.
I retraced my steps and combed over the ground... I wanted my CZ. Why? WHY? I could have easily paid $30 or so and had a new one in my hands, but I wanted THAT CZ.
It had been there with me through sin and miscarriage, through discoveries and confession. How I had wanted to tear it off in fits of rage and tears only to be captivated by it's beauty, by the sacrifices made on it's behalf.
Never could I look into the CZ and remain very angry because in it I could see my husband's pleading, nervous eyes... I could see his excitement, his planning, his desire to purchase the ring of my dreams.
I wanted that CZ.
Days went by, and I soon gave up hope. After all: wasn't I putting my heart into the wrong kind of treasure? It isn't as if My CZ will follow me to heaven.
Two weeks later, I sat on the bench by my door. My Dad was standing above me, and we talked over the day. I glanced down and saw something... probably something the kids left on the floor. I picked it up with an absent mind only to find that it was, in very fact, MY CZ!
Miracles never cease... and thank goodness my vacuum isn't top-o-the-line. I'd vacuumed that floor several times and it had missed my lost jewel.
My ring still sits in my jewelry box, naked of a prime diamond. My CZ sits in her own special spot, my diamond in her box.
My finger is bare.
I've very much married in my mind, so I didn't think much of it... not until I was hit on by a man in the church parking lot. He managed to hit on me and ask about every woman who walked by as well, intending "to move forward and begin a family as I've been commanded," as he said.
I thought again of my broken ring. It doesn't fit. It broke at the beginning of my pregnancy, and my fingers have gone up one blessed size, post-baby.
I admitted to my husband a scheme I'd been scheming.
"I want a new ring made with my CZ," I said.
He didn't understand. My wedding ring is beautiful. It is REALLY beautiful. It's been on the receiving end of compliments from strangers and friends alike. I adore it.
"Why?" He asked.
I want a new ring because I want a new marriage. But I also want my old ring.
It has everything to do with sentiment and nothing to do with being spoiled. Promise.
There are parts of our marriage I do not want to let go of. There are parts of our past and our past bond that are sacred to me -my ring is symbolic of those.
That ring -and that marriage -is broken.
The ring I want now mirrors the kind of marriage I want: simple, pure, and personal.
I want to wear it everyday. I want to get it covered in bread dough and dish water, freshly cut grass, and garden soil. I want it there to touch fevered heads, wipe teary eyes, and make peanut butter sandwiches for picnics. It doesn't draw attention or compliments. It's sure of what it is, what it represents, and it isn't trying to impress or prove anything.
I want that ring.
I'll have my wedding to wear to weddings and church and receptions and funerals and date nights. But for everyday reality, give me my simple ring.
I'm not ready for it now. Our relationship is only just starting to rebuild. We're only beginning to really see each other.
My old ring says, "I love you."
The ring I want says, "I see you."
The processes of learning to see is a very slow one. Do I even truly *see* myself? Do I truly see my husband?
Where there is a pure connection, there will be simplicity, there will be a newness and brightness... there will be tangible hope.
Right now hope feels elusive. Present! but elusive in it's own mysterious way.
Setting my sights on a ring gives me something tangible. It's what's right for me.
And like the young couple in love with no money, we will save our quarters for such a ring as that.
We are starting over. But not. But are.