A few years ago, I lost my wedding band at the office. I’d taken a walk through the snow on campus, fell, and with my fingers slightly shrunken from the cold, my ring flew off somewhere in the snow.
We looked for weeks, and never found the thing. We’d already checked with the insurance folks, and were within days of picking out a replacement. A replacement for something that was to have lasted a lifetime. I was more than a little distressed about the loss.
One morning, I was in the cafeteria at work, and noticed the cashier had a familiar looking ring on her thumb. I asked her about it, and she said it was just a cheap ring, but I knew that it looked an awful lot like my platinum band.
I called Becky, and had her come down to look at it — I’d hate to call someone out mistakenly. She knew it was mine, and talked to cashier, retrieving my ring.
One of the things that was an eye-opener was that there were no real distinguishing marks on the ring. So she decided to make sure that was taken care of, engraving my ring with the very phrase I’d been describing her with for years: "My Moon and Stars."
