Early in our marriage we didn’t have much, but I did have my diamond ring, a symbol of my husband’s love.
I had placed my rings on the kitchen counter before I began washing dishes. When finished, I went to retrieve them. My heart skipped a beat when I saw a bare counter. I looked on the floor. No ring. I got on my hands and knees and checked every inch of the floor. Still no ring. My hands shook as they held my spinning head. I pleaded, “Oh God, please help me find my rings. You know the number of hairs on our heads. You know where the rings are. Please show me.” I went from room to room, searching every nook.
When Glenn came home from work that night, I explained between sobs and broken words, “Rings…can’t find. Looked…everywhere. Forgive me.”
Glenn tried to console me. “Maybe when I get my vacation bonus in a few months, we could replace them.”
I looked at my bare ring finger. I knew there was nothing else we could do, but wait. I went to bed with a heavy heart.
The next day I needed to wash clothes. I proceeded to turn on the cold water faucet, but it did not respond to my efforts. The washing machine was wedged in between the kitchen counter and the back door. I nudged the machine away from the wall so I could obtain a better grip on the faucet. As I did, I noticed something sparkling on the floor. I took a closer look and gasped with joy as I found my wedding band and my diamond ring.
I thanked God for answering my prayer. This incident revealed to me how much God cares about the little things in our lives.