Treasure Hunting

A part of me became lost last week. After Evan fell down in the snow in our backyard, I wiped his hind end off. During this process I felt my wedding ring loosen on my finger and then suddenly it was gone.

There have been times when I thought my ring was cheap. No, not cheap. That's not the right word - Simple. And it is simple, but that's what I have always loved about it. Greg picked it out himself, and did a marvelous job. But as I've seen some of my friends become engaged and married, I have marveled at their rings. Most are comparable to mine - modest. But then there are some that I can't help envy a little. Platinum, diamond crusted, rows and tiers, and of course the price tag. I have friends with rings close to or into the double-digit thousands. I've seen the receipt for mine. And at different times in our marriage it's monetary worth has had a different value.

When it was first placed on my finger it felt like a bag of gold bricks. I held the bulk of my fiance's savings on one little finger. That seemed a huge responsibility. Later in our marriage, there were moments - brief moments - when I would occasionally look at that same ring and think it was piddly and I wanted something bigger (brief brief moments). But most thoughts on the subject include my love for its simple elegance and the way it magically transforms my monstrous fingers into something dainty.

Then there are moments like last week when that simple and yet stunning ring suddenly embodied a fortune again - both monetarily and emotionally. And when I could not see it atop the snow packs, I started to panic.

Evan joined me in the search, running back and forth atop the snow and grass, telling me it was this way or that way, while I took a more calculated, inch-by-inch approach.

We said a prayer together. How I hoped it would be one of those instant miracles and awesome teaching moments. But it wasn't.

I called Greg. I reigned in my panic. He soothed me nonetheless. He could sense the emotions I was not sharing. It could be anywhere in our backyard. But at least we knew it was in the yard. He calmed my fears and said if we couldn't find it we would use a metal detector.

During nap time I went out with a fork and started sifting through the white sands of ice. The sun sparkled off the snowy pebbles and I kept imagining it was the reflection from my diamond.

Thoughts of panning for gold came to mind. And then I remembered my treasure-hunting neighbor. He was Greg's former home-teaching companion and boy oh boy the stories Greg would share after their visits. There was my answer.

He was out of town. But yes, they had two metal detectors. Salvation! But she didn't know how to use them. I borrowed one and tempted my knowledge of fine-tuned machinery. It is poor.

The sun was getting low as I waited for my more technologically-savvy counterpart to return home. My fingers kept moving to my left ring finger out of habit. I like to play with my wedding ring. But there was none for me to toy with. That piece of me was missing.

Upon his arrival, we went out together and he tested the detector on something he knew was metal so he could listen and compare the results. I watched disappointingly as he would come across a lot of metal tubing far beneath the grassy surface and waited with bated breath after each squeal of the machine.

Finally it was time to change a dirty diaper. While standing there with soiled wipes in hand, Greg came up the stairs with a huge smile. He stooped down on one knee and asked me to marry him. Between the fingers of his out-stretched hand stood my ring. It was beautiful. More dazzling, more elegant, more perfect than the first time I laid eyes on it.

It's value has increased ten fold since that first giddy moment. I never take it off and each scratch and foggy diamond corner has been earned. It's been on my finger through all times good and bad. A constant symbol and reminder. That I am loved.

And I felt complete again.