Welded
I sat in the front pew of our little church many years ago and listened as a friend's mom spoke. She held up her wedding band and asked us what shape it was. We answered in a sing-songey, childish voice, "A circle." "Where does it start?" she asked, "Where does it end?" We studied the endless circle and shrugged our shoulders. "There is no end. The circle goes around and around forever. You can't really tell where it starts, and it never really ends. We wear these rings to remind us that our love, when we marry someone, is the same. It never ends." I never forgot.
Cora held up my ring and studied it. "It's beautiful, Mama. What is this one for?" She pointed at the diamond.
"Daddy gave me that one when he asked me to marry him. When I wore it, everyone knew I was going to marry him."
"Oh. And what is this one for, Mama?"
"Daddy gave me that one on the day he married me. When I wear it, everyone knows I'm married to him."
"Oh. But I can't separate them."
"No, and you never will. They used to be separate--two separate rings. But when we got married the jeweler soldered, or kind of welded, them together."
"What does 'welded' mean?"
"It means that two pieces of metal used to be separate, but they were melted together and became one piece. They can't ever be separated again."
I looked down at my ring. I'd often remembered the symbolism I'd learned that Sunday morning, but I'd never thought about the symbolism of the two rings I wore every day.
"It's kind of like a reminder to me. Daddy and I used to be two separate people, but we're welded together now. We can't ever be separated again."
"Yes, but some people are, Mama."
"I know, sweetheart. But we have promised each other and you that we won't ever be separated, even on the days when it might be hard. These rings remind me of that. There's a verse that talks about that, about how we leave our families--our moms and dads--and join, or are welded, to the person we marry. In another verse it says, 'the two become one.'"
"(sighing and holding my ring) Mama? When I grow up, I'm just going to stay with you and Daddy. I don't want to leave. I'm never going to get married."
"Ok, but I think you might feel differently when you're thirty..."
Cora held up my ring and studied it. "It's beautiful, Mama. What is this one for?" She pointed at the diamond.
"Daddy gave me that one when he asked me to marry him. When I wore it, everyone knew I was going to marry him."
"Oh. And what is this one for, Mama?"
"Daddy gave me that one on the day he married me. When I wear it, everyone knows I'm married to him."
"Oh. But I can't separate them."
"No, and you never will. They used to be separate--two separate rings. But when we got married the jeweler soldered, or kind of welded, them together."
"What does 'welded' mean?"
"It means that two pieces of metal used to be separate, but they were melted together and became one piece. They can't ever be separated again."
I looked down at my ring. I'd often remembered the symbolism I'd learned that Sunday morning, but I'd never thought about the symbolism of the two rings I wore every day.
"It's kind of like a reminder to me. Daddy and I used to be two separate people, but we're welded together now. We can't ever be separated again."
"Yes, but some people are, Mama."
"I know, sweetheart. But we have promised each other and you that we won't ever be separated, even on the days when it might be hard. These rings remind me of that. There's a verse that talks about that, about how we leave our families--our moms and dads--and join, or are welded, to the person we marry. In another verse it says, 'the two become one.'"
"(sighing and holding my ring) Mama? When I grow up, I'm just going to stay with you and Daddy. I don't want to leave. I'm never going to get married."
"Ok, but I think you might feel differently when you're thirty..."
