I am not sure when I started wearing them. The two silver bracelets with Biblical quotes on them have clinked on my left wrist for years. One has the ten commandments. Lest I forget. The other has the description from Corinthians about love. On my right hand, third finger, I have worn a triplet of rings that interlock. These were offered as a workshop at the Marriage Conference and many couples were pleased to make them. They symbolize the husband and wife, and their relationship with God. 

 

But I can't find them. 

 

Last December I was an angel in the Tableaux production of the Nativity story. Since angels probably don't wear jewelry, we were instructed to leave them at home. Which I did. The trouble is, I set them aside so carefully, I cannot remember where they are. At first I just poked around in the usual places. After a couple of weeks I really hunted. But my finger and wrist are still bare. 

 

The thought occurred to me to ask for another bracelet for Christmas, though the rings are irreplaceable. Yet I would prefer to wear the old ones, as they carry meaning that has ripened over time. 

 

 

A friend was feeling sluggish in her marriage. She decided to reread old love letters, the ones on actual paper, from when they were dreamy eyed and young. She was astonished at the flood of affection that came surging back through the wormhole that is time. Her own words, and his, were positively gushing with adoration. She felt herself transported to another era, a different place than the one she now inhabits. The one where routines have replaced spontaneity, and compromise has edged out curiosity. 

 

She told me that the memories changed something inside of her. It was almost as if she discovered her love again, after having having tucked it away. It turns out that some things should be kept out in the open.