Walking the Tightrope without a Grace Net

Thomas asked me to wear his ring. I was thrilled, but at the same time horrified, knowing I would never be allowed to wear it, even though it more than likely had come from a bubble gum machine. It made no difference. If it slipped on your finger, it was considered jewelry and an admonished sin. My girlish emotions made me accept the ring and I put it on hesitantly, with heaps of guilt. I was in such conflict over wearing a plastic ring. My own parents didn’t even wear their wedding bands, but I liked the idea of showing I was Thomas’s choice with this plastic ring. I must not be “completely sanctified” because it felt good and I didn’t want to take it off. I knew I was “sinning” to want to wear this little twenty-five cent token. I wished we were back in the 50s where boys “pinned” the girls they liked. I could have worn a pin; even an enormous one. I don’t know why a pin was different than a ring, but it was the rule. When I got on the school bus for my ride home, I took the twenty-five cent ring off and put it in my change purse. I had to decide how I was going to tell my mom and dad that I liked Thomas and he had given me his ring. I couldn’t get up enough courage that evening, but thought maybe I could tell them the next day. After all, I didn’t want to hurt Thomas’s fragile feelings. The next morning, my mother opened my change purse to put my lunch money inside and found the small, silver-like, peeling ring. She came to me, with sternness in her voice, and said, “What is this?” I began to tell her the story and how much I really liked this cute, dimple-faced boy. As firm as a preacher and with conviction she said, “Brenda, if Jesus returned today and you had this ring on and you believe you would still go to heaven, then go right ahead and wear it.” To this day, I remember the hurt, guilt, and betrayal I felt in the depths of my soul. I was only ten, and the thought of spending eternity with the red, horn-headed devil with all the fire burning my flesh off my bones, was a picture and thought that gave me regular nightmares. (My mother apologized profusely, again and again for this response in my adult years.) While I didn’t understand why it was evil and a sin to wear this plastic ring, I did know that my church had made the decision that it was, my parents believed my church, and so to be honoring, I didn’t have a choice. I had to go to school and give the endearing ring back to Thomas and tell him I still liked him, but I couldn’t wear his sweet ring because it was against my religion. By the end of the day, he had given it to my best friend who wore it with pride.