Close to my heart

A scary thing happened to me on Interstate 81 north of Syracuse, New York, on the way to Massena via Waddington. About five hours into the day's drive, I realized something was missing from my ring finger. 

And my heart sank. 

I understand tradition holds that I wear my wedding band inside my engagement ring, so it is closer to my heart. 

I also know that the one I'm wedding banded to prefers the ring with the diamond go inside. This became apparent from a couple of close calls over the years as the diamond engagement ring slipped off my finger, always to be found, but once not until a vacuum cleaner had sucked the stone from the setting. 

Sometime after that, still many, many years ago, I found a way to honor tradition and my husband by finding an inexpensive but meaningful ring to wear outside the marital pair. For many years, I wore that little cat ring that I got on a trip we took to Las Vegas. 

I don't remember when or why I quit wearing it. I think maybe I had decided it looked tacky. I also thought I could trust myself to be aware if cold weather or other circumstances would temporarily increase the risk of my rings slipping off, so I could take precautions. 

But here I was at 2 p.m. in upstate New York, 1,500 miles from home, looking at a left hand lacking a diamond engagement ring. 

Had I forgotten to put it on in the morning at the Riviera in Erie, Pa.? That was possible -- but it seemed unlikely I would have gone that long without noticing it was missing. 

I thought back through the day and became nervous. We had only stopped once. That was at a service plaza along the I-70 toll road between Buffalo and Syracuse. But which one? I looked at an online map but couldn't figure out where we had stopped. I knew I had used the rest room and also bought a couple of fresh peaches. But the recollection that bothered me most was that I had taken off a pair of gloves as I was walking to the building. That seemed the most likely opportunity for the ring to have slipped off, with too much noise and distraction for me to notice. The thought made me feel sick. 

There was one other possibility, and that was that the ring had slipped off as I stretched out my fingers to reach for something in my purse or one of the snack bags in the back seat of the Tundra. 

I'm always hesitant to pray for material things but that didn't stop me as I tried to look through things as Gene drove.

I'm praying. Yes, Lord, I am. Above all, please help Gene not be too upset with me.

For His sake as much as mine, I hope and, yes, pray that we will find it in the truck, either in the front or in my bag. 

If not in the hotel or the truck, it would have to be at that travel plaza, because that's the only place we stopped. 

If we don't find it, please help Gene, and also me, be OK without me having it. Help me respond in a way that glorifies You, Lord, whether we find it or not. 

I didn't find it as we continued on from I-81 to a couple of smaller highways and onto New York 37. But through the power of prayer, I was able to avoid panicking by hanging on to faith that the ring might turn up in a more thorough search when we stopped. 

Finally we did stop, about 3:45 p.m. at a convenience store in Waddington. While Gene went inside the store, I quickly opened the door to the back seat of the truck and started looking. And it wasn't long until I found a thin gold band with a sparkling diamond. 

Thank You, God!!!

I can't express how relieved I was. When Gene came out of the store, I ran to hug him, and he easily guessed what I'd found. Even his comment that he guessed that meant he wouldn't be buying me a new ring didn't deter my joy. 

Now, each morning when I put my rings on, the diamond is closest to my heart. As with so many things in our nearly 35-year marriage, Gene and I know the reasons, and that's more important to us than traditions or etiquette. (But I'm also looking for a new ring to wear outside my bridal pair, and if I find one, I can go back to the perfect blend of tradition and, for me, practicality!)