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With These Rings
By Sherry M. Palmer

I was a new pastor's wife when my husband took me to a
small town in Oklahoma. We fought until we learned to love
each other during the two years we spent there. I was the
new girl in town. I knew no one and barely knew my husband,
Brad. He was busy with his church, and there I was, stuck.
No money, no job and no friends. I was uncomfortable in my
new role and resented it when others referred to me as "the
preacher's wife." I failed to see what an honor that was.
The parishioners made attempts to befriend me, but I was
too busy being lonely and angry, and was bound and
determined to let Brad know it. I pouted and packed,
whined and packed, and threw things at him and packed.
"I'm leaving!" I would scream when he came home. With the
fifty cents I had in my pocket and no gas money, I don't
know where I thought I was going, but I was adamant.
"Don't do me any favors," he would reply, which only
caused me to turn on my heels and shout, "I'm staying, and
don't try and stop me!" Who did he think he was? I wasn't
about to let him kick me out.
Somewhere between my daily suitcase-packing episodes,
I remembered that I had promised to love him for better or
for worse. In desperation, I found ways to entertain,
myself. I spent hours picking from the six pecan trees in
the front yard. I quickly realized that even though we had
no money, the pecans made great Christmas gifts. I even
found a job. Then my husband came home one day and
announced that he had an interview at a church in
Louisiana. I had just learned to live in Oklahoma!
True to form, I pouted and griped on the way to
Louisiana. Then something stopped me in my tracks. We
were on our way through Texas when we ran right into what
looked like a giant crystal bowl. An ice storm had hit the
area a few days earlier, and it was the most beautiful
sight I had ever seen. And there I was, gnawing on my
husband. Somewhere between Denton and Sulphur, I had taken
off my wedding rings and tucked them into the folds of my
skirt so that I could apply some hand cream. The ice we
were skidding on distracted me just enough that I forgot to
put my rings back on. Three hours later I looked down and
realized that I had lost my rings out on the highway when I
had stepped out of the car to take a picture of a horse and
buggy driving by. But which highway? Everything looks the
same in an ice storm, especially when you are in country
unfamiliar.
"I'll buy you another ring," my husband said.
I knew he meant well, but the ring was a family
heirloom. "That ring can't be replaced," I cried.
"Honey, we don't even know where to begin looking," he
said. "No, we're NOT going back," he insisted as he turned
the car around and headed back to look for the rings.
It was hours before we found a location that seemed
familiar. Occasionally some well-meaning person would
pull his car over to the side of the road, roll down his
window and yell, "Hey, buddy, what'd ya' lose?" At one
point there must have been ten cars stopped on the side of
the road, all abandoned by the occupants who had joined in
the search. But with the sun going down, it was obvious
that our chances of finding the rings were slim. I was
crushed.
"Face it, Honey, they're gone," Brad said. "I know
you're upset. I promise to try and find a suitable
replacement."
I knew he was right. The walk in the cold that day
had given me time to think about the day's events. I
played the scene over and over in my mind, and what I saw
was not a pretty sight. I had ranted and raved, nagged and
wailed, and acted like a spoiled brat. I took a good long
look at my husband pacing back and forth in the freezing
cold. He had driven three hours back to this desolate area
in the middle of a treacherous ice storm without one
thought for himself, attempting to find something that was
important to me. The rings might be gone, but there could
never be a suitable replacement for my husband. Suddenly,
the rings seemed so unimportant. I resolved right then and
there to stop thinking only of myself.
It was at that very moment that I opened the car door
and began to step inside. Something on the floor caught my
eye. My rings! I grabbed them and waved them in the air.
Brad rushed to my side and put them back on my finger.
"This is where these rings belong," he whispered. I looked
into his eyes, and knew that I had found what I was looking
for. It wasn't my rings that were lost that day - I was
the one who had been missing.
Life in the pastorate hasn't changed. The only thing
that has changed is me. We still move around more than I
like. And I still have to start over again every time we
do. But I've learned to appreciate when people call me
"the preacher's wife," because etched into my mind is a
frozen road in Texas, and a voice that whispers, "This is
where these rings belong."
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______________________________

Reprinted by permission of Sherry M. Palmer ? 1999 from
Chicken Soup for the Christian Family Soul by Jack
Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Patty Aubery and Nancy
Mitchell Autio. In order to protect the rights of the
copyright holder, no portion of this publication may be
reproduced without prior written consent. All rights
reserved.
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