reset 06/23/99
Since about our eighth wedding anniversary, my wife, Rose, had been warning me in no uncertain terms that she expected a good present for our 10th anniversary. I'd stopped giving her gifts long ago. She never liked anything I gave her. Why, I recall the time I bought her favorite perfume, Joy. I knew I couldn't go wrong with a self-declared favorite luxury item, but I was wrong. Rose was upset with me for something the day I presented her gift, so she wanted to pour the perfume down the drain. I rescued the perfume and took it back to the store for my money back. Now I just give her cash and let her buy her own presents. I knew, however, that the 10th had to be special. I had to actually buy her something, and it had to be significant.
Rose soon let me know exactly what she expected, a diamond bracelet. I knew what she had in mind wasn't one of those mass-produced tennis bracelets. I knew that I'd have to save and skimp for a while to pull this one off. It just so happened that I finished paying off the car, but my credit union did not discontinue the monthly payroll deductions. To terminate the automatic electronic transfer required me to file some paperwork. This opportunity to be passive seemed to be a good way to set aside some extra dough, and it wouldn't really affect our cash flow (historically speaking), since we were used to a monthly car payment. Oh, I had to dip into the till a couple of times to cover a few large bills, but all in all, it was a good system. The money kept piling up, and I was on target to afford something nice.
In my graduate school days, I had done a bit of diamond and jewelry brokering, so I knew the ins and outs. I tried my hand at jewelry making as well. I made my own wedding ring-- a band of white gold sandwiched between yellow gold bands soldered into a single piece. I like to interpret the three rings as a symbolic union between Rose, God, and myself, with God as the white band of purity and righteousness. The original design, however, was based solely upon artistic impression.
Once a fellow at the gas station admired my ring. When I said I'd made it myself, he asked, in his thick Middle Eastern accent, if that meant that I had married myself. I just laughed. I guess I wasn't thrilled about Rose's gift selection track record either. After all, a wedding ring is an item to be worn for a lifetime.
At the time of this writing, I'm not wearing my ring. Oh, I'll put it back on soon, but I've seemed to have developed an unusual sensitivity to poison ivy or poison oak. When I was younger, I could roll in it with no reaction. Once, Rose developed an awful rash, including a large spot on her back. I helped her apply some cream to those unreachable areas, and I've contracted rashes every growing season since. It is said that individuals take on characteristic traits of their spouses, but this is ridiculous. Well, we've definitely got some of the stuff somewhere in the yard out back. If I get that potent oil on my hands, the ring will never come off. I'm also taking the opportunity to resize my ring. I'm not the same diameter I was at the wedding alter in more ways than one.
Getting back to the bracelet -- investment of what I considered to be a sizable sum required some cross-checking. I had my fill of miscalculations. I brought home a number of jewelry catalogue photocopies for Rose to inspect. After all, it was not going to be a surprise gift. She made her choice; I got the ball rolling.
It gave me great pride to be able to give Rose a bangle bracelet with 1.5 carats in relatively high grade diamonds across the top. It was an eye-catching piece, although it really looked out of place with most of Rose's wardrobe. I presented the bracelet to Rose on August 31 and took it back the following week to get the engraving on the inside, "To My Dearest Rose on our 10th Anniversary." It made me proud to see Rose wear the bracelet. I think she wore it everywhere for the first week or so. Thereafter, I saw her wear it only to church on Sundays and special occasions. I had noticed that the safety catch didn't work very well, but wasn't overly concerned.
November 26, 1995 was no ordinary day. It was Sunday, and we dressed for church as usual. We were running our obligatory 15 minutes behind schedule, but Rose, who seldom lets others drive her Suburban, made up ground on our 20+ mile trip to church. Like a seasoned jockey pulls back on the reins to keep a thoroughbred under control, I verbally throttled back Rose from my back seat location. As we approached the drop off point (Rose let us off and parked to minimize the tardiness of the kids to their respective classes), Courtney complained of a stomach ache. This was nothing new, really. I asked Courtney if she had used the bathroom that morning. When she said no, I told her that we'd stop off at the ladies room before I accompanied her to her classroom. We did, and she said she felt a little better.
Around 30-45 minutes later, I received a tap on the shoulder in my Sunday school class from our Children's Minister. Courtney was sick and was now in the children's divisional office resting. When I got there, Courtney was looking okay. She had a half empty Coke can in her hand and was going after the second half. It was a special Sunday School day with a mission emphasis. The kids paraded from room to room to hear different missionaries tell about their experiences. It was during one of the treks through the hallway between missionaries when Courtney had spotted the Children's Minister. They had always had a special relationship. Like a dam bursting, Courtney began crying at the sight of a familiar face. Courtney had a bad stomach ache. A few minutes after my arrival, Courtney's teacher came by to see if she'd like to come back to class. By then, Courtney was feeling better, and after a second trip to the bathroom, Courtney went back to Sunday School for the last 10 minutes.
I picked Courtney up from class, but she was moving kind of slow and acting sleepy. We wasted a few minutes in the church library while the crowd from the earlier service dissipated. Rose, Courtney, and I went into the sanctuary early enough to get three aisle seats, front and center -- or at least as close as we cared to be. During the service, Courtney wanted to rest and perhaps even take a nap. Due to the circumstances, we obliged her. We'd made it through prayer, musical worship, and offertory fine. The pastor was a good ten minutes into his sermon when suddenly Courtney rose up with wide eyes and declared she felt like she was going to throw up. I whisked Courtney around Rose who was seated at the end. We made it about 20 feet toward the rear when Courtney spilled her guts on the carpeted aisle, still a good 10 or more pew rows from the door. Like the Dutch boy who put his finger in the dike, I put out my hand, as if there were a chance that Courtney's stomach contents would stop at one handful (or mouthful). Some kind, quick-thinking person handed their husband a purse-sized pack of tissues, who in turn passed it to me. During that split second I contemplated actually trying to clean up the mess, but Courtney was obviously not finished, so we side-stepped the mess and rushed to the nearest ladies room. It was not soon enough though as Courtney had a repeat performance on the ladies room floor. Even as we hurried out of the sanctuary, I recall one woman's comforting words, "Don't worry about it. We'll take care of it. You'd be surprised at how often that happens." Well, that made me feel better, but I wasn't the sick one.
Rose was apparently ignorant of the vomiting incidents, as she kept her seat throughout the remainder of the sermon. Courtney was resting comfortably now on a padded pew in the hallway, just outside the bathroom. Just prior to the extension of the invitation, I left Courtney to retrieve her mother before we had to deal with a crowd in getting Courtney to the car. Rose offered to escort Courtney across the street and remote parking lot, while I retrieved Creighton, our son, from his Sunday School classroom. We met up at the truck -- ready to convalesce at home.
We reached our house without further incident. Creighton was fast asleep in the front seat. Rose scooped him up to take him to bed so that his nap would go uninterrupted. I aided Courtney to her bed also to recuperate from within a state of slumber. It was somewhere about then, when Rose began to undress from her Sunday clothes that she declared her bracelet missing.
We searched Creighton's bed while he slept -- but no bracelet. Rose and I looked all around the Suburban, inside and out -- to no avail. I called the church, but of course, no one was to be in the office until time for the evening worship service. I used the voice mail system to leave a message for the Children's Minister, in hope that she could check in the church office for lost and found items. Strangely enough, Rose seemed more distraught than me. Although our efforts that day were unsuccessful, I was sure that if the bracelet were lost at church, someone would recognize its value and turn it in.
The next morning, I had an eye doctor appointment in the vicinity. My pupils were still dilated, but I stopped off at the church to retrace our steps from the time we parked on Sunday morning, to the time when we returned separately to the car to go home. My eyes combed the extensive parking area and church grounds. Once inside the building, my eyes scoured the premises. Surely if the bracelet were lost inside the building, someone would have picked it up by then. I checked the Sunday School room, but the entire room layout had been changed since Sunday morning. I looked and felt around the cushions in the pew where Rose sat, and sat, and sat, while Courtney's stomach was turning inside out. I went to the church office and inquired about returned items. I left my name, phone numbers, and a description of the bracelet on a sticky note pad in the main secretary's office. I checked in with the Children's Minister. The bracelet was nowhere to be found.
It was on my way back across the street and into the parking lot when a great sense of comfort came over me. It was there on the tree-lined walkway that I reflected upon the goodness of our Lord. If God wanted us to find that bracelet, we'd get it back. Why if God so desired, He could make diamond bracelets sprout on the very trees which marked my path. I was no longer concerned. The earthly value of that bracelet was placed in proper perspective. My God is Lord over it all.
Over the next few days, Rose and I simply made the bracelet an object of our prayers. Rose was reminded of the account in the sixth chapter of the book of 2 Kings where Elisha was able to recover a borrowed ax head which was lost in a stream. God answered Elisha's prayer by making steel float to the surface of the water. I also thought of the parable of the woman who lost a coin. She swept the house clean until the item was found. I took this to heart and thoroughly searched the carport, manned with a leaf blower.
With the passage of time, my positive outlook had turned sour. Surely, the bracelet was found by then. Perhaps it had been pawned. Maybe the diamonds had been extracted, and the bracelet reduced to its gold value.
My prayers also had changed. If the Lord had put the bracelet into the hands of a needy person, then let it be so. However, if it had fallen into the hands of a greedy person, I was in favor of the Lord striking the individual with plagues as when the Ark of the Covenant had fallen into the hands of the Philistines. Wherever the Ark was kept in the land of Israel's enemy, the people of the town suffered. Many were covered with tumors. The Ark went from town to town until the Philistines' only desire was to rid themselves completely of this spoil of battle with the Israelites. The fear of God motivated the Philistines to even send gifts of gold back with the Ark. Rats and tumors cast in gold symbolized the way the Philistines suffered for failing to humble themselves before the God of Israel. There was much celebrating in Israel when the Ark was returned, but it was the Lord's hand that brought it back -- not the actions of the Israelites.
Before long, the bracelet was no longer a concern of ours. We had a big family vacation planned to Disney World, and we were ready to go. I was ready to go. I'd never been before. This was, of course, before the boycott. Having kids with ages three and eight is a ready-made excuse for some kid fun as an adult. I couldn't get a good deal on airfares, so we opted to drive. That decision was based on some bad information on the length of the drive. We had allotted only one day for the outbound trip. As reality sank in from inspecting maps and mileage charts, I did allow for a two-day return.
We had a great time as a family. My step-daughter, Angie -- then in her early twenties, went also. This was one trip where after the initial planning, money was not a concern. That's the kind of vacation I like. So many times before our vacations could not be divorced from our financial situation. As we were driving back, our thoughts turned toward Christmas, which was only two days away. We'd get home in time to spend one night in our own beds before we'd reload and head south to my parents' home for the holiday.
When we arrived home, there were a number of messages on our telephone answering machine, including multiple ones from someone I didn't recognize. The message was to please return his call before Christmas. One of the recordings said that he'd also tried to reach me at work. I called my voice mail system at work to see if there were any additional clues to the mystery caller. The message at work shed no additional light on the identity of the caller. In fact, the message was essentially a repeat of the one on my personal answering machine. Again, there was an emphatic plea for a return call before Christmas, if at all possible. I dialed the number, not really knowing what to say except that I was returning the call. I really did not want to talk to a sales person, but not just anyone would have access to both my work and home phone numbers. The voice on the other end of the line was a friendly one -- an elderly man with a passionate but decidedly poignant tone. Quickly the conversation turned to a matter of a lost bracelet!
I answered a number of detailed questions concerning a description of the bracelet we lost and the general location where the loss occurred. When I related the inscription, the voice on the other end of the phone said he was confident that he had our lost bracelet in his possession. He then told me how he came upon the bracelet in the shopping center parking lot on one of his periodic walks. He was not a member of our church. The church is the landlord of the shopping center property, but there was no positive link between the found bracelet and the church across the street. In fact, when the church was contacted, no connection was made, despite the church office having the necessary information. On the second or third consultation with the church office, cross-referencing with lost-and-found notes surfaced my information, including my work and home numbers. He wanted to resolve the situation before Christmas as a sort of Christmas present to relieve any further anxiety before the holiday. The conversation then turned to how we'd rendez-vous before our family needed to leave town again. We decided to meet at his home following the church service the following morning.
The exchange meeting took place. We spent a good hour visiting before our kids' began displaying signs of impatience. Besides, it was two o'clock in the afternoon, and we hadn't fed them lunch. We drove off feeling good. It was nice to have the bracelet back, but it was, by this point, anecdotal. Our initial prayers were answered, but our lives were enriched so much more through this experience. Most every Sunday after the morning worship service, I glance skyward when passing along the tree-lined walkway and smile. The most profound thing is that I'd still do the same -- with or without the bracelet.
Have you lost something which nearly drove you crazy? Car keys are probably the most common example. Perhaps you retraced your steps, moved the furniture, and sweated bullets until those keys turned up. I already alluded to a Biblical parable equivalent, the lost coin. Likewise, we have the story of the shepherd who left his flock of 99 to look for the one that strayed. The important thing to take away is the value God places on each of us. He wants nothing greater than to see us acknowledge him as Creator and Lord. Things are just things. God owns it all. God can replace it all and more. The question is, "Should he?" Matthew 16:26 reminds us of the words of Jesus, "What good will it be for a man if he gains the world, yet forfeits his soul?" Finding things doesn't compare with finding your way to God.
God came into this world to let us know Him better, to teach us how we should live, and to provide a means for us to come be with Him in heaven after this life is over. Those that reject God and His plan either refuse to believe in an afterlife or have modeled a god in their own image. If mortal life is the end of an individual, then the self-gratifying lifestyle is a means to an end, literally. At the other extreme are those that believe an all-loving god would send no one to hell. Adjacent to these are people who believe that no god would send anyone to hell who has led a "good" life. In turn, the eastern religions have no real need for salvation, since everything is god, and god is in everything. In those circles, if you don't come to that perfect realization, you get another chance at life in another form. The rebirth of this philosophy in America is found in the New Age Movement. What do you believe about God? A surprisingly large number of people don't even have an answer to that question.
When Jesus walked the face of this earth, most saw him as a man, many felt that he was a prophet, few recognized him as the Christ, God incarnate. As difficult as it is to believe, a direct encounter with the Son of God could be spiritually uneventful. If this were not so, not a hand could have been lifted to beat, scourge, or crucify Jesus. Without the crucifixion, we'd still be judged by our ability to conform to Old Testament law, we would still be sacrificing animals to gain forgiveness for our sins, and we wouldn't be able to pray to our god as individuals apart from our priest. God, of course, could have had an alternative plan for our redemption, but instead God had a perfect plan which was fully aligned with God's relationship to man following Adam's choice to disobey.
In Hebrews 9:22, we are reminded, "In fact, the law requires that nearly everything be cleansed with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness." Jesus was that sacrifice for you and me. 2 Corinthians 6: 21 says, "God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God." The Bible does not teach universalism, that we're all going to heaven. You must recognize we are all unworthy to come before a righteous god, affirm the deity of Jesus, believe that Jesus died to cover your sin, and accept that he was resurrected to be with God the Father and to mediate on your behalf. Thus, we enter into heaven on the proverbial coattails of Jesus and not on our own, because there is no act of goodness good enough to pay for your own ticket. Can I count on seeing you in heaven?
Please visit another workbench:
Randy's e-mail connection
reset 06/23/99