
I like rings but I hate wearing them. I wore my high school ring proudly for years (until I lost it) but I took it off to do just about everything. I took it off to eat, to write, to shave, to play hockey, even to go to the bathroom. So when I got married I told my wife she didn't need to give me a wedding ring. But, as you can see, she insisted.
For the first year or I wore it on a chain around my neck (no captivity symbolism intended). But that defeated the purpose of displaying that I was married in an obvious way to those who judge such things by looking at your ring finger. So I began wearing it on my finger and, of course, taking it off frequently to perform every little task.
Then came a summer day in Gravelbourg, Saskatchewan when I was helping the Church of Christ there with Vacation Bible School. A bunch of us were in Gerry Bell's back yard playing a harmless game of touch football while we waited for our BBQ supper to be ready. Of course, there is no such thing as a harmless game of touch football. While attempting to harmlessly bring down my friend Glen MacDonald, "Toby Tall" on my right hand got badly dislocated, broken knuckle and all. It swelled to the thickness of a ring of summer sausage. I ended up at the Gravelbourg hospital that night with all attention focused on the middle finger of my right hand. It was some time that night that I noticed my wedding ring missing from my left hand.
At first I was unconcerned, certain that I had taken it off before playing football or eating supper or some other activity that required digital dexterity, and put it in my pocket. But when I checked my pockets I did not find the ring. The next morning I checked every classroom and bathroom I had been in the day before. I looked in my car (yes, someimes I removed my ring in order to drive), my backpack, the church building, the school house, the Bells' house and the MacDonalds' house. The ring was nowhere to be found. My poor ring was stranded somewhere in Gravelbourg, of all places.
For the next year and a half I was without a wedding ring. It was no great disappointment for me to not have to take it off and put it back on incessantly but I felt bad about losing a gift my wife had given me for our wedding.
Then one day it serendipitously turned up in the bottom of our clothes dryer. I couldn't believe my good fortune! Ever since that day I have worn the ring on my finger to do everything and never take it off (except for the one picture you will see). I don't ever want to lose it again.
But there is an unfortunate result of always wearing my wedding ring. With the constant brushing up against objects, like the edge of my pants pocket when I'm getting something from it, the diamond eventually loosened and has gone missing. If you look closely at the photo you can see right through the hole where the diamond used to sit.

So why all this about my wedding ring? Just to remind myself, and anyone else who cares, that the condition of my marriage is in no way reflected by my ring. I am not more or less married based on whether I have a ring on my finger. The state of my marriage is measured by how much I cherish and nurture the relationship I have with my wife, not how fussy I am about the ring. The ring has deteriorated over the last 22 years, even the diamond has gone missing, but the marriage is stronger and more beautiful than ever. I can't think of anything that has been of more value to me than a loving, believing wife.
I could do without the ring, but I wear it always. I wear it to remind me to never take Jane for granted.