My dad loves buying jewelery for my mom. Every birthday and Christmas he has some shiny bauble for her.
I assume this is why I love jewelry.
Jewelry is pretty, which isn’t an unusual reason to like sparkly things, but also it’s what I grew up seeing as an expression of love from my Dad to my Mom.
All of that is by way of an apology in the classic sense, because I have the sneaky suspicion that liking jewelry as much as I do isn’t quite the Christian thing.
I’m not the girliest girl, anyway. Not really into hair or makeup. But jewelry? Yes please!
But I’m hard on the stuff. I don’t know what I do wrong, except that like my mom, I just wear it, you know? A ring, a necklace. A pair of earrings. Not dripping in jewels by any means, but everyday I have a little something with my outfit, even if I’m just at my desk all day or driving the Mom-taxi.
About seven years ago I lost my wedding set when we moved. You can see how this would devastate someone who perceives jewelry as a love language.
After a sufficient mourning period passed, Daniel replaced the ring for me. But, like the lady in the parable of the lost coin, I never stopped looking, and eventually, I found my original set at my parents’ house, where we had stayed for two weeks between moving out of our old house and into the new one.
Since I had it, I wore it on my left hand.
And eventually the diamond fell off.
This isn’t that unusual, so I didn’t worry. I just put it aside until it made sense to fix it someday. After all, I had a new wedding ring. This was just for sentiment and sparkle.
But I like sparkle, so I picked up an inexpensive ring to wear in its place, and the little stones promptly fell out of that one too. I returned it.
But my hand felt naked, so one day at a gift shop I picked up a little silver ring with tiny pearls set in it.
They fell out pretty fast.
Long story short, (ha! Yeah right!) I had a fourth ring on that hand for the last 9 months or so. A vintage birth stone ring that I had had my eye on at a antique store.
I saved up for it. It was a reward for hard work, and a memorial to an uncle I lost at the same time. (I lost three uncles and my grandma and grandpa in the last 15 months. So I was feeling very sentimental.)
Last night I noticed that one of the very tiny accent stones had fallen out. These stone were set flush in the metal. The center birth stone stuck out quite far, so there really wasn’t any way that the side sparklies were getting knocked around.
I honestly have no idea what kind of physics it took to knock the stone out.
I feel like I ought to have a story of spiritual significance to go along with this. That God is eternal and the things of this world are not, by any means.
Or that your beauty comes from the inside and not from what sparkles on the surface.
Or that love is about laying down your life for your brother, not about gifts given on certain days.
And while these things are all true and very worth meditating on and writing about…I have a suspicion there is a more practical lesson in this for me.
One I don’t like nearly so well.
Something along the lines of “If you can’t take care of your nice things, you just can’t have them anymore.”
I don’t think I’m quite ready to adopt that one yet, so I’ll go back to the first.
God is eternal and his love is everlasting, and nothing on this Earth will ever compare.
Foreclosed is about lost jewels…and it’s free!