the year of the big ring.
It all started with the big ring. Well, the big ring(s).
For Christmas last year, Nick gave me this honkin' big old red ring.
I loved it. But it felt too BIG for me.
Let me back up, a few years ago, I was a mama to three bebes. BABIES.
I had three in diapers, I had three at my feet, I had three in my arms - at all times.
I lost a lot of who I was or who I thought I was and now, looking back I'm so glad.
Sometimes you gotta burn down something that's rotten to build something new, right?
Anyhow, at best, with my style and looks, I could feel semi-put together.
There was no feeling sassy, feeling cute, feeling stylish.
I just wanted pants that fit (rarely had those) and no spit up on them (yeah right).
I didn't want the most beautiful home, I wanted a clean floor.
I didn't want a decorative tablescape, I wanted a clean high chair.
You get my drift.
And somewhere in all of that, in those span of years, I confessed to Nick that anything more than some simple earrings felt like I was drawing attention to a person that couldn't hold or deserve any attention. If I was having a particularly promising day, I might throw on some cuter flats or some hoops, but mostly my staple pearl earrings and tennis shoes did the job.
But then, the big honkin' red ring.
I knew what my husband was saying.
That I had his attention.
And I was worth his attention.
That Christ had made me a woman worth his attention.
And he liked looking at me.
And two days later, when celebrating with our extended family, I unwrapped a box from my mom and wouldn't you know a big massive gold ring sat perched in tissue paper. Tears burst from my eyes and I asked her over and over again, "this is for me?!" "this ring is for me?!" "you bought me this beautiful big ring?!". She laughed and smiled and teared up too. She said it was a cheap gold ring, but that yes, she'd bought it for me - intended it for me.
The big rings were like a gateway drug.
Next came cigarette pants, more than one pairs of heels in my closet. Cut off shorts with tights underneath them. Thrift shopping like no other. Scarfs used as headbands. Red lipstick. Red lipstick. More red lipstick. Ombre hair.
I don't really have anything to say to wrap this up neatly.
Just to say that a year ago the broken parts of my mind thought if I wore a red ring, I'd be drawing attention to the mess that was myself, my soul, my heart.
And now, I have five big old honkin' rings sitting in my jewelry box.
And I'd wear them all on the same day if I could.
I've tried. I can't hold Benja's hand and wear them all at once.
And I know, the lady who wears them is nothing special.
But the Savior within her is everything.
He's grace and truth and color and love and excitement and
He's everything special.
And He wrote 2011 to be the year of the Big Ring for me.
And for that, I could not be more grateful.