The Miracle of Faith

I wrote this story almost twenty years ago. I dug it out seven years ago when a friend invited me to join her in a month-long blog series about miracles. I shared it on my now-defunct blog and never moved it over when I started this new blog in 2019. A Facebook memory recently reminded me of it. Rereading this story again blessed me. I hope it will be a blessing to readers, too.

“Mom,” the quivering agony in my daughter’s voice on the phone threatened me with panic.

“What is it Kellie?” I asked too fast, incapable of not imagining terrible scenarios.

“I’ve lost my ring.”

I closed my eyes and breathed, relieved that the problem wasn’t worse. “Kellie, it’s a ring. Don’t worry,” I tried to console her. But I was heart sick. It was Kellie’s engagement ring. The wedding was three weeks away. The diamond ring was an antique. The wedding band had been custom-made to match the vintage filigree and curve of the now lost ring.

It was March 31, 2006. Kellie and her fiancee, Mike, drove ten hours from Pittsburgh, PA, where they attended college to Mike’s home in Wisconsin. Mike’s mother was hosting their bridal shower.

Kellie’s spirits lifted as we talked. Then she sounded strangely calm, assuring me, “I’m sure if we all pray, we’ll find it.”

I winced at her childish idealism. A tiny ring lay somewhere along a stretch of highway several hundred miles long. Kellie remembered admiring the ring shortly after they left Pittsburgh. She noticed it was gone sometime in Indiana, two states away. They had been in and out of the car several times during that time.

Her final semester and wedding planning had caused weight loss, even in her fingers. She thought she might have lost it after washing and drying her hands in one of several rest stops along the Pennsylvania/Ohio/Indiana Turnpikes. I cringed as I imagined my anxious daughter unwadding paper towels from trash cans. She was searching dark sidewalks. It was like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Their exhaustive search made them arrive in Wisconsin at 4:30 a.m. instead of midnight, as anticipated.

My heart dropped. I calculated the slim possibility of finding the ring she had so delighted in receiving nine months earlier. I went into “Mother” gear, trying to encourage her and give helpful advice. I suggested submitting a report of loss to state Turnpike authorities. I emailed prayer requests to friends, including my mother, the best of the best prayer warriors.

My plea that night and throughout the weekend was, “Lord, Kellie has so much faith in You and the power of prayer.  We don’t know where her ring is, but You do. It can be in the trash can, or in a parking lot, or in grass somewhere.  It doesn’t matter where it is now.  We know that You are capable of doing anything.  Please get it to a place where she can see it.  And if someone finds it, let them feel convicted to find the owner.” All the time I prayed, I also added, “And Lord, help my unbelief.”

Although they had no good news on Saturday, Kellie and Mike were still optimistic. They trusted their prayers weren’t falling on a deaf God. But I had moved beyond prayer into “fixer” mode. I contacted the jeweler with a ridiculous question–could we have another engagement ring made to match the band they had just fashioned. I even searched the internet for a look-a-like.

On their return trip to Pittsburgh on Sunday, Kellie continued to sound calm and peaceful, the opposite of what I was expecting and personally experiencing.  She said a peace had come over them about the ring. I was grateful for their peace, and reminded myself it was just a ring, no matter how special. 

Back at school Tuesday afternoon, Kellie called me, giddy with laughter. Returning from work, she noticed the ring was on her bed! Her squeals brought her roommates running, and they joined in the delighted squeals. Kellie’s voice was still shaky from the shocking discovery. 

I quickly called my mother. Her odd question surprised me, “What color is Kellie’s bedspread?”  She said she kept getting an image of the ring on a blue square.

I quickly redialed Kellie, disappointed that her answer was green. I shared her grandmother’s 
vision of blue, but didn’t mention the square. Kellie’s answer shocked me again, “My quilt under my bedspread has blue squares on it.” 

“Was your bed made when you found the ring?” I asked. (I don’t know why I had visualized a sparkling ring prominently displayed in the middle of a meticulously made bed, as Angels sang.)

“No,” she answered.

So there was a blue square, and a ring, returned from only-God-knows-where, because of a childlike faith in the power of prayer. And a vision from a beloved grandmother to add to the miracle. 

We are blessed because God is always good.