How I Lost My Wedding Ring and My Faith

Kissing on the beaches of Destin, Florida on Thanksgiving 2018

Jason and I nearly called it quits our first year of marriage.

I attribute our hesitancy to our stubbornness and aversion to divorce at the time.

“You’re miserable? Push through. God hates divorce.”

Years later, we found out we each secretly hoped the other would just end it.

I’m so glad we didn’t share that at the time. Who knows what might have happened.

But by all intents and purposes, we should not have gotten married. In fact, I asked him if we could postpone our wedding and deal with our issues first.

His response floored me.

“If you postpone the wedding, we’ll never get married.”

And for those of you watching at home, he didn’t mean we would live together in sin; he meant we would break up.

I hated his ultimatum, but I didn’t want to lose him.

We decided to start planning our wedding, which was next to impossible since he had accepted a job in a new city and moved two hours away.

I wanted a winter wedding, but Jason’s best man was in pharmacy school and summertime was the only option for him.

Fine, I thought. But my bridesmaids' dresses will still be aubergine.

We survived that season of our lives by the skin of our teeth.

But this article isn’t about the days leading up to my wedding or my actual wedding day.

It’s about my wedding ring.

Since Jason was in another city, I went wedding ring shopping with my mom.

I was having trouble finding a ring I loved until a saleswoman pulled a ring out from under the counter. It was gorgeous and reminded me of my Russian heritage, which unfortunately reminded me of my Russian grandmother who had passed away three years prior after an aneurysm took her life.

It was an emotional moment as my mom and I looked at the sparkling diamonds and simultaneously had the same thought: I wish she could be here right now.

Despite the heart-wrenching memory, I was in love with the ring, and the saleswomen said she would hold it for me until Jason could come purchase it with me.

But when we went back to buy it, it was gone. They said it was sold to someone else and they never should have offered it in the first place. They ended up selling me a different ring instead.

I was heartbroken, but I accepted reality.

My mom, however, did not.

She stormed into Gordon’s, demanded to speak with a manager, and got my ring back, or one that looked eerily similar.

I’m still not sure how she did it, but I’ll always be grateful to her for that.

That day, I vowed to never let my ring out of my sight.

It was August 6, 2014, and I was in the kitchen making shrimp fajitas. I decided to take off my wedding ring because shrimp are gross and all I could picture was the bacteria that was sure to grow on my ring if I didn’t remove it.

While in bed that night, I felt my heart drop when I realized I had left my ring on the countertop. Even though we’ve never been robbed (knock on wood), I was convinced tonight would be the night someone would come through our back door and steal my precious metal.

As I felt my way around the dark kitchen, I felt my hand graze my ring, then was shocked when it bounced off of me, and then silence. Not one indication of where it landed.

Jason grumpily got out of bed and helped me look for it with a flashlight. No such luck.

Friends and family even helped us look but to no avail.

While I could quickly summarize my feelings at the time, my journal entries speak volumes:

There’s a part of this story I haven’t been able to share, but that all changes today.

You see, my husband works for a prophetic ministry, and his boss is a prophet. She has an incredible heart for people and truly believes she’s called by God. But my being privy to the inner workings of a ministry is what eventually led me to leave the faith. You can read about that here.

In December of 2014, Jason and I attended his work Christmas party. I was still clinging on to my faith for dear life, so I decided to share my ring story with his boss and see if God saw her a fit vessel to reveal its location. Part of me believed God would reveal it only if it was his will; the other part of me was a few threads away from my beliefs unraveling completely.

Through tears, I shared my story with her, even though Jason had already brought it up as a prayer request months earlier.

She listened and empathized, but that was it. Not even an inkling of where to look.

I was devastated and kicked myself for putting so much stock in her response.

Where was the prophecy about me finding it in the unlikeliest of places, showcasing God’s undeniable power?

How convenient that she’s full of — albeit, vague — prophecies for other people, but no prophecy for me when it comes to revealing where the hell my ring disappeared to.

I struggled to hold back tears for the rest of the night.

In April of 2015, we had granite countertops put in, and I held out one last glimmer of hope that somehow my ring would appear and this nightmare would be over.

I didn’t want to mention to the workers that there might be a diamond ring around, but I also couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least ask them. The skeptic in me pictured one of them finding it, staying silent and taking it home to his wife.

I stayed in our bedroom because I couldn’t mentally handle looking one more time.

Jason came into the bedroom looking disheartened and shared the grim news.

I nearly canceled plans with friends that night.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways”

On April 27, after I had given up all hope of ever finding my ring again, I noticed the dishwasher wasn’t opening correctly. So to rectify the situation, Jason took off the baseboard in front of the dishwasher and revealed…

My ring was there the whole fucking time.

While I was making dinner and doing the dishes and sobbing my heart out in the kitchen, my ring was inches away from me.

It was a cruel irony for sure, but I was ecstatic. I finally had my answer to what happened that night: I tried to pick up my ring, didn’t get a good grasp, it flew off the counter, bounced against my body, and flew sideways into the gap between the dishwasher and the cabinet.

You can’t make this shit up.

My POV on divorce has changed since leaving religion. I no longer believe marriage is for life if you’re miserable.

That said, I’m beyond grateful we survived the dark times. The last few years have been amazing, and our marriage is stronger than ever. In fact, we just celebrated 9 years this summer and we’re planning to celebrate our 10-year in Italy.

I have no idea what life will throw at us in the future, but I know we’ll get through it together, which is why I couldn’t help but smile when I posted this on my Instagram:

Can you relate to my story? I would love to hear! Leave me a comment down below.

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On a lifelong quest to be emotionally and physically healthy. I'm also a part-time schnauzer snuggler.