Stepping through it

When should a widower remove his wedding ring? It’s a fair question, even if there’s no good answer. Technically, I’m no longer married, even though I did nothing to end it. It’s just a fact. I’m no longer married. I could have removed my ring the day Susan passed away. I didn’t. I could wait three or four or six months. I didn’t. I removed it last night, two months after July 18. It seemed like the right thing to do. I thought of going three months, but why? When is the right time? I guess I was ready.

For a guy who doesn’t wear jewelry, it took a while to get used to wearing my wedding ring. I remember staring at it while we were driving to Palm Springs for our honeymoon, 28½ years ago. The sun gleamed off of its polished gold finish and sparkled in its stones. It left me transfixed, not just because of its beauty, but because we were married. I liked that. I liked my ring. It was an up-front symbol of our joy together and the commitment we made in marriage before God. I knew I never wanted to lose it – what a horrible thought. When I removed it, it was rarely and briefly.

So nearly three decades after a non-jewelry guy got used to wearing it, my ring is in safekeeping. It will take a while to get used to again, but oppositely. I was transfixed again today in reverse. I must have unconsciously touched my ring often over the years; because I certainly touched my bare finger a lot today. Each time, I was horrified for a moment that I lost it, and then remembered it’s gone on purpose. Then I’d forget the next time. I was unnerved over and over again. Seeing my ring used to remind me of Susan and our life together. Now, feeling an empty finger and seeing a pale ring mark reminds me of her absence. So I grieve. It’s another step, another phase of it, and part of the deal. 

Recently, someone who’s bearing the burden of caring for a loved one with a long-term illness asked me, “How do you do it? How do you carry on?” That’s another fair question. I struggled a bit to answer. I know how Susan and I did it; and I wasn’t sure if that would be true for my friend. We trusted God. I know he enabled us to trust him, but I don’t think it was any more than he’s enabled anyone else. I’m so glad we were able to respond the way we did, moving to accept our circumstances early and not fight them.

I listened a few minutes to my friend and realized she’d needed to vent. I also caught glimpses of healthy responses to their circumstances. Gratitude – knowing God better due to their situation. Joy – recognizing his goodness at work. Trust – learning to accept things the way they are, without assurance of our desired outcome. When times are truly hard, those are precious and powerful responses.

I’ve been thinking this week about the Shema, that centerpiece of Hebrew scripture that begins, “Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is One” in Deuteronomy 6:4. This command follows: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.”

Sometimes it takes all our strength to love the Lord our God. To love him, we first must know that he’s good – a fact he declares about himself and demonstrates continually. His very nature is goodness. To love him, it helps to know he loved us first. Without his original love, we wouldn’t have the capacity for it ourselves. To love him, it also helps to know as well as possible that his love for us comes at an unimaginable expense to him.

God’s goodness and his original, costly love are the source of his command for us to love him with all our heart, soul, and strength. Sometimes it’s hard to love him when our circumstances seem unbearable. Sometimes it takes all of our might. But it’s comforting to know that the avenue of love between God and us flows two-ways. He already loves us with all his might. Lovingly, God wants our response. He simply directs us to love him the way he loves us. My finger feels naked.