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The Wedding Ring: A Parable

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the wedding ring a parableI’ve been married for longer than I’d like to admit {so long, in fact, I tell people to got married at 16 so I don’t give away my true age (12 years in May)}. Last year, the hubs and I decided it was time to do a financial ‘physical’ – basically we just went through everything┬áto make sure we were appropriately covered and doing the right things so that some day {in the very far future, you know, because I’m so young ­čÖé } we could retire. Well, part of that process was checking out our insurance and part of that was having our nice jewelry reappraised {You can read that as nice jewelry=my wedding ring. Everything else can be replaced at Target.}

So, I schedule an appointment with a jewelry appraiser and put on every piece of non-costume jewelry I own {you know, all 5 pieces} just *in case* the appraiser offered to clean all the jewels I was wearing…

The day of the meeting everything is cleaned {yea!} before my wedding ring goes under the microscope. I’m put in the waiting room while everything is looked over and the report it written up. The appraiser finishes and brings me into her office – and asks me to take a seat, a little more business-like than I would have preferred. The first thing out of her mouth is “I have some bad news.”

‘Huh? What?’ I think. ‘How do YOU have bad news?’

She tells me that my engagement diamond has a substantial chip in it… My first thought? ‘Lady, my daughter died in my arms because of my genetics. Now THAT’S bad news. You’re telling me the rock I wear on my finger has a crack…’ What I actually said was something like “It’s just a ring. It’s a material thing. That’s why we have insurance. Ok.”

We finish up┬áand I head out to my car. The second I close the driver’s door I break down into tears – completely inconsolable {a complete 180 from where I was just minutes before}.

I call my husband at work. Through my sobs I say “I’m. So. Sorry. (sniff, sniff) I. Didn’t. Mean. To. (sniff, sniff) I. Don’t. Know. How. I. Did. It. (sniff)” After he figured out that no one was dead or even hurt {Maybe I should have led with that information…} he said *and I believe these are his exact words*:

“Love, your ring is a symbol of our marriage and our life together. It is shiny and beautiful just like you. Yes, we’ve had our hard times. We’ve had our own chips and cracks. That doesn’t make what we have any less beautiful. It makes it unique – it makes it ours. I love you in spite of and because of those cracks and scraps.”


I think I fell more in love with him and my wedding ring right then and there. I still have that ‘rock’ on my finger today and I find myself feeling for the chip when I need a reminder that even though I’m ‘broke’ I’m beautiful. it is my physical reminder to love myself in spite of my faults – and that others do to.

Think about your own life. Is there something that’s ‘broke’ but you love it anyway (or love it more) because it’s broke? Remember you’re the same. Your imperfections, your broke-ness, makes you who you are. Love yourself through the broke-ness. Not to fix it, but to honor it.


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