The sparkle was gone. No more rays of light bouncing off the points, no more dancing diamonds on the wall.
I remember clearly the night Bob asked me to be his wife and then slipped a beautiful solitaire on my finger. I couldn’t take my eyes off the twinkle when the light caught the edges of its carefully tooled surface.
Last year Bob and I celebrated our 50th anniversary. For all of those years my ring stayed on my finger, as my generation deemed it a sacrilege to remove it for anything other than surgery.
Twenty years ago I went to our local jewellers to have the ring checked.
“What have you been doing while wearing this ring?” he asked, clearly horrified at its state.
Indignantly, I responded, “I cannot possibly tell you everything I have been doing in the previous years with this ring on my finger. I never take it off.” Shaking his head, he took it, cleaned it and advised me to be very careful when wearing it.
Last year, when having my ring checked again, my jeweler assured me that, without extensive repairs, the diamond would most likely fall out. After finding out the estimated cost for such repairs, we decided to ask our insurance company if the expenses could be covered through our policy.
After a couple of phone calls to our broker, and having received different opinions on the specifics of our insurance plan, I questioned the representative about my eligibility for such a claim. She was not very encouraging and ended our conversation with, “If you want to, you can call the adjuster directly, but if you do, you will have a record of claim even if you aren’t covered for this repair.”
Confused, I asked, “Is this a bad thing?”
“Well no, but all will be on your file.”
That sounded like a bad thing to me. I hesitantly wrote down the phone number of the adjuster, hung up the phone and hung my head as well.
Perhaps we can just buy an inexpensive band to wear and tuck the damaged ring in a jewelry box as a memory.
It seems ironic that our marriage has lasted longer than the diamond. Thoughts swirled around in my head until, about three days later, I awakened with the thought, why shouldn’t I call the adjuster directly? Isn’t that what they are for?
I made the call. After ten minutes of questions, I finally worked up the nerve to say, “Excuse me, Angela, do I have a claim?”
“Oh yes, you do. You’ll just need to send your ring here for our appraiser to have a look at it.”
“And what is the deductible?” I stammered.
“Oh there won’t be any, this will be totally covered. And the claws won’t be repaired, they will be replaced right at the base of the ring.”
Thank you, Lord. Two weeks later I carefully opened the wrapped parcel. The complete restoration was beyond my expectations, each glance at the twinkles a reminder that God calls me to ask.
Moses, one of Israel’s great leaders, practiced this truth of asking many times. Exodus 33 records Moses’ discussion with God, who is telling him to lead the people to the land He has promised them. He adds that He will not go with them, however, because the Israelites are a stiff-necked people.
A devastated Moses cries out, “If Your presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here.”
I get excited as I read in verse 17 where the Lord responds to Moses, “I will do the very thing you have asked, because I am pleased with you and know you by name.”
As a leader, I often succumb to my independent nature, too proud to ask or distracted by thoughts that I should be able to do everything on my own.
Asking God keeps me dependent on HIM and not on myself. I desperately need His provision and He is willing to supply. Why, then, am I not quicker to ask?