Wednesday, July 8, 2015

The Gift



“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.

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