With These Rings

Adjusting to my life as a pastor's wife, there were times I pouted and whined--or even packed my bags. One day, that changed.

BY: Sharon M. Palmer

I was a new pastor's wife when my husband took me to a small town in Oklahoma. We fought until we learned to love each other during the two years we spent there. I was the new girl in town. I knew no one and barely knew my husband, Brad. He was busy with his church, and there I was, stuck. No money, no job and no friends. I was uncomfortable in my new role and resented it when others referred to me as "the preacher's wife." I failed to see what an honor that was. The parishioners made attempts to befriend me, but I was too busy being lonely and angry, and was bound and determined to let Brad know it. I pouted and packed, whined and packed, and threw things at him and packed. "I'm leaving!" I would scream when he came home. With the fifty cents I had in my pocket and no gas money, I don't know where I thought I was going, but I was adamant.

"Don't do me any favors," he would reply, which only caused me to turn on my heels and shout, "I'm staying, and don't try and stop me!" Who did he think he was? I wasn't about to let him kick me out.
Somewhere between my daily suitcase-packing episodes, I remembered that I had promised to love him for better or for worse. In desperation, I found ways to entertain myself. I spent hours picking from the six pecan trees in the front yard. I quickly realized that even though we had no money, the pecans made great Christmas gifts. I even found a job. Then my husband came home one day and announced that he had an interview at a church in Louisiana. I had just learned to live in Oklahoma!

True to form, I pouted and griped on the way to Louisiana. Then something stopped me in my tracks. We were on our way through Texas when we ran right into what looked like a giant crystal bowl. An ice storm had hit the area a few days earlier, and it was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. And there I was, gnawing on my husband. Somewhere between Denton and Sulphur, I had taken off my wedding rings and tucked them into the folds of my skirt so that I could apply some hand cream. The ice we were skidding on distracted me just enough that I forgot to put my rings back on. Three hours later I looked down and realized that I had lost my rings out on the highway when I had stepped out of the car to take a picture of a horse and buggy driving by. But which highway? Everything looks the same in an ice storm, especially when you are in country unfamiliar.

"I'll buy you another ring," my husband said. Read more >>

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