I lost my wedding ring, but God found it when I needed it most
By Jessica Saggio Forgino
The absence of my wedding ring felt like a glaring reminder of the tumultuous few years I had just experienced. Life is funny that way sometimes, throwing curveballs at us that feel somehow symbolic. And that’s what this ring had become.
Its absence represented the culmination of the hardest years of my life. In five years, I lost a sister unexpectedly, my parents divorced after 36 years of marriage, I left my career to support my husband’s, I moved three states away to a place where I knew no one and, to top it all off, I was diagnosed with Multiple Scerlosis when I got there.
Not to mention, I birthed two children. They were, and still are, miracles in a seemingly dark world, but challenging nonetheless. Motherhood amid tragedy takes a special kind of warrior mentality, one that is certainly not developed overnight or with grace.
So why was it after all of this that the straw that broke the camel’s back and sent me into a tailspin was losing my wedding ring? It seems so silly in comparison to everything else. But this is what did it. Losing my ring is what sent me over the edge.
A fun night out, for once
It was supposed to be a fun Friday night out. I had joined a club in town to meet friends and it was our monthly Mom’s Night Out. This time we were going bowling — my idea, ironically.
I was still recovering from a huge flare that led to my ultimate diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis. I was still functioning, but my hands were mostly numb and my feet tingly. My chest was tight and my arms sometimes hurt to lift. It’s a weird disease and makes absolutely no sense, but alas, I wasn’t about to succumb to it.
I got up and went out anyway, just a month after my diagnosis. It was fun. We ate and bowled and spent a lot of the evening at a nearby table. A song came on the radio and reminded me of my husband.
It was a cheesy rap song, but one in which the lyrics were engraved on the inside of my ring. I told the other moms the story and showed them my ring, never taking it off.
The next day I got up only to discover my ring — my precious, sentimental, extremely unique ring — was gone.
I obsessed. My husband tore apart the couch enough times to the point I was worried we’d be losing both a ring and a couch. We made phone calls. Friends tried to help.
My Facebook pleas for leads were shared hundreds of times. I posted ads. I offered a reward. I made a police report. All the things I was supposed to do, I did.
Then I sunk. You know, that feeling when you can physically feel yourself falling into a depression. It’s like a wave of sorrow that wafts through you.
Why?
Why the ring?
Couldn’t I have accidentally lost a Scrunchie?
Grieving the losses
There are times when we realize we’re making a bigger deal out of something than it’s worth. I knew deep down that my ring was just a thing. Lots of women lose their wedding rings. But this felt personal. This felt like the final jab in a fight I had been losing for years.
It felt like the weight of all my sorrow compiled into one physical possession.
Everytime I looked down only to discover a barren finger I was reminded of everything that led up to its departure from my life.
And I’d sink deeper.
I’d ask God, “Why? What was I supposed to learn from this?”
I was obsessed for almost a year. I tried to move on, but then I’d check Facebook Marketplace or Craigslist and find myself where I started. Same story. No luck. Still obsessing.
Then, one day, I decided to let go. It was time. If I wasn’t meant to have it, then surely God had a better plan for me. I gave it to God.
Investing in a new ring
My husband and I decided to have another ring made. It was time to move on. I had discovered a local jeweler who could recreate the ring from scratch, using pictures of it I had taken.
I’d never have my special ring back, but at least I’d have a respectable duplicate. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll wake up and find it lodged to the bottom of my shoe or shimmering amid a pile of dog poo in the yard.
As I walked in and showed the jeweler my photos, a lightbulb must have gone off. She saw the photos, then noticed my small hands. I have particularly small fingers. I wear a size 3.5.
She got a second jeweler.
He returned carrying something.
“Is this your ring?” He said, noting it had been on his desk for months, lying among dozens of other pieces.
It was like seeing a ghost. My eyes widened.
There it was. It was missing the diamond on top, but there it was. Everything else was still in tact, and in true Cinderella fashion I tried it on and it fit.
My wedding ring, a new kind of symbol
There are dozens of jewelry stores in my area, and dozens more pawn shops and gold-buying joints. And this is the one I chose. You cannot tell me I did not experience something supernatural.
I believe miracles come in all forms, and it’s hard to say why some people experience them and others do not. But this, I knew for certain, was just that — a miracle.
And that’s the moment when the ring became a different kind of a symbol.
Finding my ring felt like the delivery of a reminder — a reminder that God hears us.
I believe that sometimes, God will remind you He’s there through it all. This was Him.
And the ring that had become a symbol of agony had transformed before me into a symbol of hope and deliverance.
I needed to see God in my life so desperately, and this is how he showed up for me. Although it does not cure my other challenges, it is a treasure that will forever remind me of the importance of God’s goodness.
It reminded me to never lose faith.
During this time, I clung to the scripture that speaks of faith the size of a mustard seed, because some days that’s all I could muster. And that’s what I had to do. Cling to it. Hold it tightly and never let it go.
I hope others will hold as tightly to faith as I have learned. You never know when God will deliver, and sometimes He shows up to remind us that He is truly closest to the brokenhearted.
And as for the missing diamond? Well, it seemed like a good enough time for an upgrade to me.