Yesterday I lost my ring. Not the real wedding ring, just a cheap one I wear while I’m on prac or working in the garden. I couldn’t find it anywhere. I was wearing it one moment and it was gone the next! Ok maybe not quite that quick. I was sitting in bed fiddling with it and all of a sudden it just flung off. I couldn’t work it out. There was no clunk, so it had to be on the bed. But it wasn’t! I shook sheets and pillows and pjs and still couldn’t find it. I got a little panicky. So I prayed. Nothing. I asked Mum for advice – she told me to pull everything off and shake it and look again.
I nearly didn’t. I nearly decided it was too much work. I’d find it eventually. It’s not like it was going anywhere. (Rings can’t walk, right?) But the stubborn side of me wanted to find that ring. So I pulled all the pillows off the bed again, I pulled the sheets and blankets off the bed and shook them, and I unfolded pyjamas and shook them too. Just when I was about to give up there was a clunk as the ring dropped out.
I said a prayer to thank God for giving me patience to keep looking. And as I did, something hit me. I was willing to give a lot of time and effort seeking a ring that isn’t worth much at all. (Except for what it stands for, but let’s forget about that for the time being.) But how much time and effort am I willing to give to seeking God? I spent a lot of time on my knees looking for one small ring. But how much time am I willing to spend there preparing for eternity? How many feathers am I willing to ruffle to live for Him? How much of my day am I willing to give to seeking and doing God’s will?
It wasn’t about the ring. It was about how much it means to me.
So how much does God mean to me? How much does He mean to you?