“I’ll take that one.”
I had heard the words escape my mouth even before I’d had
the time to think much about them. The ring sparkled forbiddingly at me; though
it was pretty cheap by comparison to its neighbors in the jewelry store, it
came at a cost that would hurt—badly, for a time. But “hurt” was something to
which I’d grown accustomed, and this transaction seemed less like “hurt” and
more like the healing of hurt. I handed over the money and made my way back out
to the parking lot. It was only money, after all…and when you’re dying, you
tend not to hang on to it nearly as much.
Close to this time 10 years ago, we prepared to celebrate
our 10th anniversary. My cancer had recurred, and doctors were
beginning to speak in glum tones about the possibilities of beating it a second
time. A terrifying surgery had been scheduled for August, and it was literally
everyone’s guess how things were going to turn out. I had begun to prepare for
the worst-case scenario.
In my preparations, I thought of my 10th
anniversary. It was a rather large miracle that we had made it that far anyhow,
and I couldn’t let the moment pass without noting how good God had been to us.
When we were first married, I was a broke musician, so her wedding ring had
been a James Avery with her birthstone. She had always claimed to love it, so I
had never given it a second thought. Now, after having lived through everything
we’d lived through, I was determined to show a different level of appreciation
for the kind of woman she was—so I bought her an actual wedding ring.
We began our anniversary with the cloud of death looming
ominously on the horizon. We attempted to penetrate the shadowy atmosphere of
dread with a sort of forced celebratory spirit by going to the cheapo water
park in San Antonio, but I was in too much pain to do more than lazily tube
down the kiddie river. We changed clothes in our Ford Expedition and went to
Outback Steakhouse, where I surprised her with the ring. I finally got a chance
to let her know how grateful I was to have such a loyal and devoted wife
despite my own character failings, obstinacy and general asininity. It was a
beautiful night, in its own strange way—momentarily keeping at bay the
foreboding future. We both understood that it was likely to be our last
anniversary to celebrate.
You know the story by now; how God answered a multitude of
prayers and the death sentence that I’d been given was commuted. As we near the
10th anniversary of that incredible moment, I’ll probably have more
to say on that. But the immediacy of this particular milestone must not pass
unnoticed, for in the interim we have celebrated 10 more anniversaries than we
thought we’d have. Each one has been a gift, quite literally. As I prepare to board the plane that takes us
back to our home, I am packing the suitcase much less carefully than I did when
preparing to come here. I catch the flash of something brilliant in the morning
sunlight as it streams through the hotel window; it is the ring on my wife’s
finger.
She wears it without the temporal, fleeting excitement of
that frightening night those years ago. Instead, now it is less of an adornment
than it is a part of her hand. It is a regularity, and a regularity is a
comfort. It is a sign that all is right, and as it should be. It is as much a
part of her as the color of her skin. Its fanciful yet understated brilliance became
her “normal” for the previous 10 years. This is fitting, as well, for it
complements her who shines. Surely Lord Byron understood when he wrote the
words that always remind me of my wife: “She walks in beauty, like the night of
cloudless climes and starry skies.”
I’m so grateful for these 20 years. I’ve never shown it
adequately, and I’ve never lived up to my end of this bargain nearly as
consistently as she. But as I live and breathe today, I’ve never been more
grateful for any of God’s innumerable other gifts than I am this one—that He
spared my life that year so that I could spend it with her. The flash of sunlight
on that ring brings a reminder that God gives gifts far better than I, and He
has certainly out-given me in this case. There are other rings in the world,
and they are undoubtedly shinier and more expensive and perhaps more
impressive. But this one is hers, and she is mine, and God has provided all.
