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Goodness, what a day. Sometime between 10 and 11 this morning, I realized that my wedding ring was nowhere to be found. I frantically tore apart my recently organized house. There I was tossing dirty garments over my head like a scene from a trite sitcom, peering into toilets and down sink drains in hopes of catching a glimpse of a glimmer, and moving furniture around with ease thanks to the copious amounts of adrenaline pumping through my veins. 

After what seemed like a few days, really only a mere 40 minutes, I called my husband out of desperation. “Did you hide my ring?!” I asked. Seriously, Becky. Why would your husband hide your wedding band? I knew the answer but I asked him anyway. He assured me that he had not initiated a rousing game of hide and go seek and that he loved me and knew I would find it somewhere. His response did not rescue me from my state of panic but knowing that I would still be married to this man whether I found the ring or not did offer me an ounce of relief. 

So back to the drawing board I went.  I moved my search to the basement and then into the car feeling confident that I would find it in one of the three car seats.  I was wrong and with the list of possible locations dwindling, my tears started spilling.  With little time for tears, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for what I knew I needed to do next. 

I opened the garage door and headed towards the trash and recycling bins. 

You see, we have a 23-month-old daughter who has a tendency to flush, swallow, and throw away things that do not belong to her and since I had no luck with the toilets, it was time to scour the trash.  Sporting a pair of blue, disposable gloves, I sorted through every item in our recycling as well as three large bags of trash.  Although my extremities were numb, I was grateful that the frigid temps had frozen the insane amount of soiled diapers our two young daughters had generated.  I prayed that I would hear a tiny clink or see a sparkle amidst the grime but I didn’t. 

There was no ring.  Cue the tears, again. 

I allowed myself a few moments to mourn my missing treasure before I realized it was almost 3 and I needed to pick our oldest up from preschool.  With my composure somewhat gathered, I faked a smile and walked him back to the car.  We decided to retrace our steps from the night before, but the tiny object that symbolized my 8 1/2 year marriage was not tucked carefully inside the safe at Target or the local mall. 

I was done.  I couldn’t look anywhere else because I couldn’t handle any more disappointment.  Sitting at our kitchen table, I closed my eyes and prayed that God would reveal the covert location of my ring.  I felt a nudge to check out Facebook.  God does work in mysterious ways.  There, at the top of my news feed, was an article describing the current state of despair in Aleppo.  Real distress.  Real heart-rending anguish.  My day of fretting suddenly seemed so selfish.  Here I was panicking over a silly, diamond studded band.  How trivial.  I imagine that each one of these Syrian parents would trade every single belonging they have left for the chance to save their babies from the hell they are experiencing. 

Lesson learned.  I get it and I am sorry. 

Whether I find my ring or not, I am exceedingly grateful for the many blessings that have been bestowed upon me.  I also thank God for allowing me to grow a bit wiser today.  I go forward with more humility and a heightened perspective of the world around me.

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Becky Puls

Becky is the wife of Sean and mother to Jude, Rylan, and Indie. She resides in Kearney, Nebraska where she spent seven years teaching in a public elementary school. She recently resigned from that position to embrace the title of SAHM to her young children. She has more emotions than she knows what to do with and relies on God to steer her along this wondrous journey.

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