For quite a few years now I have been in possession of a diamond ring designed by my great grandmother. I come from a family of immigrants and coal miners, so, needless to say, my great grandmother's diamond ring is a big deal. When she died, the ring went to my grandmother, who held onto it for many years until she gave it to me. My great grandmother's name was Anna Elizabeth, and I was named after her, so that's how this ring travelled down to me. I wear it on the ring finger of my right hand, and it's never been resized. It has always fit perfectly. It's the nicest and most special thing I have.
For a few years after my grandmother gave it to me I didn't wear it. Mamaw asked me once why I didn't wear it, and I said because it was just so special and I didn't want to risk losing it. Mamaw replied that Grandma Annie wore it all the time -- even when doing dishes -- and that it's meant to be worn, not kept away in a drawer. Ever since that day I've worn it all the time and rarely take it off.
Two summers ago my friend Melissa and I were at the dance studio doing some major cleaning and renovations. We arrived around 5 p.m. one day and by the time we left around 10 p.m. we had scrubbed floors, painted and laid down those sticky floor tiles. Man those things were sticky! We washed and washed our hands, but it was really hard to get the sticky off!
After we finished up I went home and went to bed. In the middle of the night -- and this is just the weirdest thing ever -- I woke up out of nowhere, sat up like a shot and was like WHERE IS MY RING?! I felt my hand. No ring. NO RING. I suddenly had visions of myself washing my hands over the sink in the dance studio bathroom and just knew the ring had somehow slipped off with all the soap and water and was now lost. I literally jumped out of bed begging God to please help me find this ring. I shook the sheets all over and didn't see it. I was getting so upset, knowing it was lost forever.
Then, suddenly, I looked down on the bed, and there my ring was. Just sitting there like it was the most normal thing in the world. I picked it up and put it back on my finger. The thing is -- there's no way that ring slipped off while I was sleeping. Just no way. It fits perfectly. Perfectly. Even now, as I pull on it, it does not budge over my knuckle. I shake my hand and it goes nowhere.
I figured out that night, and still believe now, that God rescued my ring and left it for me in my bed to find. There really is just no other explanation. And every time I look at it I am so glad to wear it and remember the great lady my mom loved so much she named me after her. And I know that I'll have this ring forever.