The Tarnished Ring

When I gave my sin and the control of the rest of my life to Jesus Christ in March of 1988, I wanted to wear something that symbolized the permanence and importance of that decision just for me. I saw people wearing a cross around their neck and yet I didn't know what that meant to them. Is it a piece of jewelry that is a cool thing to wear or is it a clear representation of a new life that has gotten a restart on the earth and heaven beyond?  

I wanted to make sure that what I had for myself was an unmistakable proclamation of the spiritual transformation that took place in my life.  I drove to a local Christian bookstore that had these kind of symbols. Since I was single, I decided a ring on my left ring finger would be perfect. I looked at the different types of rings and found the perfect one.

I wore that ring every day for many years until my weight had gotten so high that the ring no longer fit on my finger. I put it someplace safe and have taken it out from time to time to look at it.

It's a sterling silver ring. You may already know that silver is the softest metal and cannot be enlarged because it will break. I've had goals of losing weight just to be able to fit in that ring but those goals never worked out.  I never lost the weight and the ring was beginning to tarnish.

With all that's been going on in my crazy life, I decided to pull out my ring yesterday.   Even though it was tarnished I put it on my finger. It still doesn't fit. I still have to lose more weight. But I felt a sense to put it on my finger when I went to Bible study. During the worship, I was feeling something because I had my arms hugging myself.  As the music played I began to cry again. I don't know what happened but when I sat back down at our table and I glanced at my ring - the tarnish was gone!

The only way I can explain it is that God wiped it away. Maybe that's something he's trying to tell me. I don't have to be perfect and shining all the time. I can be tarnished with little chips and still have high value to Him.   

After bible study, I still took my ring into our local jeweler for a free cleaning.  When I took it off my hand and put it on the counter I could see that the lady was looking at it and wondering why it needed to be cleaned. At that moment God reminded me that when I ask Him for forgiveness and I still feel guilty about it and I keep going back to him asking for forgiveness again for the same thing, he's looking at me and saying,"What are you talking about?  I don't see this sin that you say you committed anymore. It's been washed away by the blood of Jesus Christ."

The tarnish or stronghold is not the definition of who I am. Underneath is who God created me to be. And I need to start remembering that in this life the enemy is going to bully me to such a degree that I can become paralyzed in reckless behavior. I don't want that.

Now I can look at my ring and see sanctification.

Dear Dad,

Today is the eight year anniversary of your death.  I've written about this day for many years.  I wonder what God will reveal to me this year.

Did you know you had good character traits that you passed onto me?  You told me how smart I am and to embrace my intelligence. You taught me how to have a hobby, fishing, one I can do by myself (or with you).  You gave me my first job by working alongside you, pulling a big hose to spray on houses that had bees. You taught me the value of a hot dog and a coke without unnecessary conversation.  You showed me how to cut grass evenly so that the lines would be straight.  You taught me how to drive and I've never been in an accident I caused.

You taught me to respect my elders by saying, "Mr. or Mrs.".
I understood the importance of becoming a respectable and responsible adult.  I learned to be a person of my word.  I even saw you cry.

There's no denying the abuse that you dealt to my body, mind and spirit changed me.  It damaged me emotionally and confused me. One minute you were my Dad and my friend.  The next minute I didn't recognize you and I feared you.  Unfortunately, the latter was sealed into the depth of my soul.  Being your daughter was no longer safe.  I was no longer desired by you and that truth cut deeply.

How many times had we been on again, off again in our relationship?  Too many to count.  It was hard on me, not knowing what to do and what not to do.  It seemed nothing I tried worked.  It was hard as a child and as an adult.  It's as though there were rules you placed upon our relationship but you never shared them.  Your inability to honestly communicate caused trouble in my life.  Trouble I'd like to keep to myself.

I am feeling a mixture of emotions.  Glad you can't hurt me anymore.  Sad I can't stop over for a Mug root beer and shoot the breeze.  Knowing the abuse and harm you did to my little body causes me to feel downcast - I did nothing, at any time in my early years, to deserve such physical destruction. Even though you told me how smart I was, I've never felt confident in my abilities.

Yesterday, I was invited to witness a young man's confirmation of his Catholic faith.  I'm still surprised when people want me to attend a special event in their lives.  I'm not sure I'll ever feel worthy of their friendship or support.  I think that's because I've lived life close to my chest - happy on the outside but angry and guarded on the inside.

I was told to wear what I was comfortable in.  I wore my usual:  jeans, Minions t-shirt, Judson University hoodie and black DC's.  I was going to sit in the back by myself but my friend spotted me (darn!) and she and another friend invited me to join them down front.  I stepped out of my comfort zone - the church was a full house.  As I was walking toward my seat I saw my friend's Dad.

I think I met him for the first time in May 2014 at the Memorial Day Parade.  As she introduced me, I prepared myself to reach out and shake his hand, make eye contact and hold a firm grip.  That's something else you taught me.  I wasn't sure he remembered who I was so as I was still standing and our eyes met, he stood up and I said, "Hi Mr. (name and we shook hands).  I'm not sure you remember me but my name is Amy and I'm a friend of (her name)."

You know what happened, Dad?  He smiled, released our handshake and then took his right hand and placed it on the back of my head then jostled my hair.  I almost started to cry.  I have a fear of certain men, especially men whose exterior looks tough.  Her Dad gave me some gifts that I'm sure he's not aware of:

1. God used him to show me that not all men strike girls when they reach out their hand.
2. God used him to show me that men can express tenderness to their daughter's friends.
3. God showed me that there's a little bit of you still here on the earth because that's exactly what you'd do to me often, especially when you were proud of me.

There's a thousand things I could say about that awful day I received the phone call about your death and the awful day after.  But I've already written those in past blogs.  Nothing I say today can take away the heartache I feel having been robbed of being able to say goodbye to you before you died.

You are gone.

I am here.

The truth will come out.

The truth will set me free (John 8:32).

I hope you are living in Heaven.

I'd like to see you as God created you to be.

No alcoholism.

No abuse.

Your loving daughter,

Amy

This is the song my Dad gave to us as an expression of his heart.  It was on a cassette.