Valentine’s Day marks my tenth wedding anniversary.  This gold ring, and all it represents, has stayed on my finger for ten years.  My wife has a matching one, which she wears constantly; I take mine off each night before bed.  Sometimes I put the ring on my right finger to remember something.  At restaurants, I’ve been known to take the ring off and spin it on the table — tables at Applebees work well for this purpose. 

I lost my ring once for two days.  I was frantic till it turned up — in the washing machine of all places.  Not content with stealing our socks, apparently these machines are branching out into jewelry too. 

Two weeks after we married, I traveled to the Holy Land for an educational trip sponsored by my seminary.  The ring went with me, of course, and at that point it still felt odd on my finger.  I’d look at it during the day, surprised it was there.  Standing at the edge of an archeological dig in Jericho, I feared the ring would fall off my finger and drop into the cavernous hole, never to be seen again, so I stepped away from the rail.

Five years ago the ring traveled to Montreal for a wedding.  It’s also been to South Carolina, Florida, Wisconsin and Nevada.  It goes with me to Morning Fresh Bakeries to get a glazed donut.  This weekend the ring will accompany my wife and me on a trip to celebrate our anniversary.

So the wedding ring sits on my left hand, a tangible reminder that I am a man most blessed.  Happy Valentine’s Day to all.