#9 - A Remembered Promise

I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten. --Joel 2:25

I kinda went crazy when my daughter got married fifteen or more years ago. My marriage to her father had been one of disappointment and heartache. I found myself spending hours outdoors in my garden the week before the wedding, crying, weeding, transplanting, fertilizing.

Three days before the wedding I started shopping for pretty jewelry. I didn't know why; I'd never had any. I lost my credit card. I switched to my check book and came home having spent money I didn't have to a pile of yet more telegrams and phone messages from my daughter's father. The back story on this isn't pretty, and my spirit broke in the ugly face of the terrible, haunting marriage that had been mine. My sixteen-year-old son came home and found me curled up under his baby blankie, crying.

I blubbered out what I'd done. He sat with me on my bed while I showed him all the jewelry, the bracelets and rings, the necklaces--the pearls and diamonds and precious stones. A single mother with three children, this was lunacy.

"I think I know what you're doing here," said my sixteen-year-old at last. "I think you're buying yourself the nice things he never did."

I stared at him. That's exactly what I'd been doing.

"I'll tell you what," he said. "We're going to take all this back to the stores tomorrow, and I promise to someday buy you a pretty ring."

Blake's promise touched me deeply. But the years went on.

At Thanksgiving, he called and asked for advice on a ring for his girlfriend. What kind of stones? Color of gold? Wide band? Thin? I could only offer what I liked. "When are you going to pop the question?" I asked.

"I don't know yet."

Christmas came. Blake handed me a large box. Inside was a lot of newspaper and, what's this? A ring box? I felt the instant sting of tears. I glanced to Blake. He was smiling. I flipped the velvet lid--and saw  the prettiest diamond and emerald ring ever. My breath caught. I could not breathe. I couldn't. The tears leaked. Still I couldn't breathe. Finally, I whispered, "You remembered."

"Yes, Mum, I remembered."

His dad had been a selfish man who resented me even the basics. I look back and can't believe I lived in such barrenness. The gift this Christmas was not the ring; the gift was Blake's remembered promise given as a teenager but which he never forgot. Surely this kind of love and generosity makes up for all the years the locusts ate.

Dear Lord: Sometimes when you make it up to us, we get far and above what we ever expected. Thank you.