A Ring of Faith

Memoir

A Ring of Faith 

I remember my last carefree hour on Martha’s Vineyard. I had been looking for a gift in the shops of Oak Bluffs one Saturday. My friend had asked me to find turquoise for her throat and I hunted throughout every quaint store but could not find the right piece. Instead I spotted some silver rings with words printed in black on the bands. LOVE. BELIEVE. CHARITY. HOPE. I stopped before the ring named FAITH. Everything in my being told me to purchase that little eight dollar ring. I bought HOPE and gave it away. I pulled my ring free from its wrappings and placed FAITH on my third finger. In a moment my life changed, and I knew there would be a great shift in my life. 

Shortly thereafter I became seriously ill. As I battled with mysterious fevers, tremors, infections, and headaches, my relationship with my partner eroded and I chose to leave him, my state job, and our home on Martha’s Vineyard. My father offered his home as a temporary respite before I resumed my journey back to my home in Arden, NC.  I remember being sick, pushing myself to pack my little Ford Contour with whatever I could.  Only my most personal possessions could go with me. All of the things I had purchased were donated to the island’s thrift store and the West Tisbury dump. My family antiques were left at a friend’s house and I reluctantly sold my other things to my partner. In three days. I was on the ferry and feeling so ill I thought my body would shut down on me. A slow moving fear came over me. Had I done too much to leave the island, so that I would not be able to get safely to my father’s home five hours away? I felt a comforting presence traveling with me. I laughed at the thought of angelic presence trying to fit into a packed up, parked car. I relaxed in the belly of the ferry. My ties were forever cut with my life on the island; the knowledge brought little joy to my heart.  

When I arrived at Woods Hole, I parked my car and walked to the restroom. I felt like I was going to black out. I prayed, “Please, God. No. Not here. They’ll take me back to the Vineyard. I’ve got to get to my father.” Everything seemed unreal to me. I stumbled back to the car. My hands shook as I put the key in the ignition. My mind was set upon getting to my father’s home. Nothing else mattered to me. 

The Cape faded from my memory as I drove away from the pain and humiliation I felt over my broken relationship. I focused upon driving safely; it was lunchtime and I was not a bit hungry.  There was a gray look to the sky. A few gulls were flying above me. I kept driving past the towns and stores I would not see again. Across the bridge I felt lighter. “I’m really leaving it all behind me.” The sandy landscape faded as I drove closer to Boston. How far was I from the Massachusetts Turnpike? I felt worse and, yet, I was compelled to push myself. I prayed for God to give me the strength to get to my destination. Once I headed west, a tide of thankfulness crept over me.  I wasn’t alone. 

As I drove through Western Massachusetts everything started to blend in. I drank some water. April snow flurries stirred in the mist. If I saw a blue sign for a hospital, I reasoned with myself that I should stop and then lost the argument. “Please, God, keep me going.” I prayed once more. The music of James Taylor played softly in the background.  

New York State welcomed me quietly.  I held onto the wheel. This experience was so hard. Why did I have to go through this? I wrestled with God. Still, the strong presence reassured and consoled me. It would not allow me to be defeated. The glimmer of my silver ring caught my eye. It was more than a band of silver. It became my mantra -my testimony of FAITH. 

I connected with the thruway, following the signs to New York City. The Catskill exit lay just ahead, but I felt the worst I have ever felt in my life. My whole body went cold. Every part of me hurt. No music consoled me. I listened in the quiet. “Go on,” I was told. 

I drove to Cairo. Disoriented and weak, I found a phone at Cumberland Farms and called my father. “Please, Dad. I need you to lead me home.” About ten minutes later, he arrived in his black GMC truck. We wound our way on mountain roads to Round Top. I hugged my father, kissed his dog, Sheena, and fell asleep for fifteen hours. 

My angels had their way with me.