Yesterday I told you that we went to pick pumpkins and spent the afternoon at a fall festival. One of the activities they had was hay pile for the kids to just and play in. They had a covered area lined with hay bales and then filled with hay. It was a blast. The kids jumped and dove and had so much fun. Bret and I had with them too.
I lost my ring. My wedding ring.
I have lost some weight since we were married. Not a lot but some. Enough that when it gets chilly outside my ring is loose. I know this. I have dropped it/lost it before but have always found it.
So I was in the hay pile tickling Palmer in front of me when Emily jumped on my back and I lifted my hand to pull her over my head when I felt my ring slip off. I felt it and knew that it was no longer on my finger instantly. However, instantly in a huge haystack is not soon enough. Bret jumped in, the kids sat and looked without trying to move the hay very much. In my mind I knew that it couldn't have gone that far but at the same time the idea of finding it again seemed insurmountable. I know Bret was frustrated since this wasn't the first time he had to look for the ring. I know I should get my ring size adjusted but I always have this tiny voice in the back of my head saying "what if I gain the weight back". As we sat there looking for my ring I thought back to another time I lost a ring.
I was Emily's age, about 6 or 7 and I was staying for a week with my grandparents at their little farm. I had gotten a birthstone ring for Christmas that year and it was very special to me. I wore it all the time. When my grandmother called us in for lunch I went to wash my hands and realized my ring wasn't on anymore. I burst into tears and told both grandparents what had happened. After lunch I went and watched TV for a while. I was bummed that I lost my ring and I knew I was going to get in trouble at home too. My grandfather went outside and sat on the porch as per his usual afternoon routine. About a half hour later I heard him shuffle inside and he handed me my ring. I was shocked. Grandpa said he said a prayer to Saint Anthony the patron saint of lost things. Shortly after he got up and walked out into the driveway and found the ring. My grandfather was not a very religious man in a traditional sense. He rarely went to church and other than bowing his head during grace before meals I had never heard him pray or even talk about prayer until that day.
So as the tears started to spring to my eyes realizing that I probably was not going to see my ring again and that we wouldn't be able to afford to replace it for a long time (although it's not really replaceable) I remembered my grandfather and the ring I lost before. I said a quick prayer to Saint Anthony. Believe me when I tell you that Bret found the ring almost instantly after. I got a lecture about not losing it again and that until I get it sized I should probably just wear the band (since it is much cheaper).
Maybe it's a coincident or maybe not. Either way we found a ring in a haystack and that in itself it a miracle.