Lost and Found
I lost my ring. I somehow misplaced the band my wife presented to me when we exchanged our vows on the sandy stretch of beach in Kill Devil Hills, NC on June 27, 2009. I lost it. And, I felt awful.
You should know though I can be forgetful. It’s been a lifelong disease. From childhood and well into adulthood, I would lose stuff. Some of the lost items were more important than others. Lost memorabilia, papers, phone numbers, etc…, were less important than loss keys, credit cards and money. Yeah, ouch!
And, yes, I heard every lecture on responsibility people could muster. I was “reckless” and “careless” and fill in the blank. But, most of these monologues started when others saw the lack of affect I displayed when I could not find the lost item; so I was wrong not just because I lost the item, but because I appeared not to care. To be fair to the loved ones who chastised me, however, sometimes it was true. Sometimes I didn’t care. Mostly, though, I cared but things and names were always less important to me than relationships, connections. Life has always seemed a much more fluid experience, much more alive and not bound in fixed boxes or “things” that could be definitively found or lost.
That said, it is also true that when you live with losing stuff a lot, you build a calis around stuff gone missing. You generally don’t show the same kind of urgency—or even remorse—around lost items because it is a common occurence. For someone who never or rarely loses something your lack of expression may appear problematic, but truth is because you are used to dealing with loss—you expect it, so it is not a surprise.
When I lost my ring a couple of years ago, though, it was different. I cared; I was hurt. It wasn’t just the initial losing of the gold band or my wife’s weighty glare, a mixture of disappointment and anger, but I felt the weight of its absence. I missed its presence on my finger. I got a replacement ring, a place holder so the world would know I was not single and my wife would not be so angry, of course. It was a nice silver band with a more ornate design. And, while I liked it—sometimes a bit better than I remembered the gold band, honestly—from time to time I would look down and ache a bit. I missed my gold band, flaws and all. Although I couldn’t quite name what I missed about it.
A month ago my wife and I moved to northern Virginia so I could take a position as a youth director for an area church. We made the transition from Durham to nova pretty smoothly, time spent living in my gracious in-laws downstairs included. Yep, within a few weeks of arriving to our new home we were in our own place, stuff organized and ready to work. One night in our new abode I was sitting on the sofa relaxing a bit before work the next day and my wife eased down beside me, reached into her pocket, and as she drew her hand out held between two of her lovely fingers the gold band I lost.
I couldn’t believe it. I thought it had been lost forever. It hadn’t. And, I was grateful, tremendously grateful for her discovery. Then, in a tearful speech, my wife shared with me how this was a new chapter in our marriage and how she was looking forward to spending our lives together—and I better not lose this one. I asked where she found the ring and she said it was behind a file cabinet. Apparently, the cat had knocked it back there and my wife found it when she was cleaning our apartment on our move-out day in from Durham.
I should say that while I frequently misplace stuff, my wife frequently finds it. She finds the things in our relationship, often. Sometimes physically, sometimes metaphorically. In the instance of the ring, she brought back to me both a piece of gold and the tactile symbol of the God covenant, spiritual space we stepped into just a little over three years ago. And, she is the force who perpetually draws my attention back to that promise bourne on the covalent bonds of the shiny circle I now sport on my left hand. Without fail when we have a disagreement or stage 5 collapse she will say, “marriage is a forever commitment, Paul!” Just to keep it real, at stage 5, I’m like Andre 3000 pondering the ramifications of, “Forever-ever, forever-ever?” But her steady refrain is always, “forever.” And, in her refrain I hear God; in her refrain my wife pushes me closer to the Divine, whether I like it or not.
Now, I will admit I am cynic. And there is truth to my wife’s insistence I have trust issues. But I would argue that observation is derived less from my issues with trust than from the logical conclusions I draw from cold, honest, almost clinical observations around the messy nature of human behavior as witnessed in the choices I and others have made. And, to me, a realistic view of our world necessarily holds the tension of both the evil and good wo/men do and have the potential to do in view. My wife, however, stands as the check to an excessive leaning toward the evil wo/men do. And her refrain reminds me that there is good when I see mess, that there is hope when I see issues. Now, admittedly, her expressed commitment to our marriage could be some disturbed, elaborate ruse she has created or toxic indecisiveness she maintains as a way to further some nefarious end using the promise of God as a pawn for personal gain. I’m a cynic, remember. But, I don’t think that’s true. I think she is the woman I married. What’s more, I have learned to limit the flourishing of ideas, conspiracy theories like that from her God-refrain. Ultimately, I have learned to lose less and keep more as a result of being married to this woman.
So, now, I always remember my ring. I remember the promise and power symbolized in a lost, but now found band. I remember a day when I started down the path of forever with a cool chick I dig. Sure, there will be times in the future when the honest, visceral interrogative juggernaut of Andre’s line in “Mrs. Jackson” supplants the refrain of my wife channeling God’s voice. But, I know that is a temporary interruption. The interrogative will soon give way to the declarative, and the questions of forever-ever will part for the promise of forever. Thank you, wife for finding my ring.
Iaomai 