this is not a rough draft.

At times, I'm blinded by its tiny flash in the sunlight, although it's not often. I've all but forgotten about it until I catch its glimmer in between whipping out sippy cups and straightening tiny people's clothing. My eyes will wander, on many occasion, from a person's talking face to theirs when their hand is pushing back a stray hair.

Mine looks a little like how I feel most days--constant, a little smudgy, and holding the possibility of looking better with a little shine. Sometimes the dullness is like a tired, wry smile, "Yeah, I've been here the whole time. You haven't noticed?"

Um, no, not really. I noticed when I first received mine and desperately wanted everyone else to notice as I adapted strange and unnecessary habits of talking excitedly with my hands, tapping my fingers on my chin while deep in thought, and more ridiculousness that comes with the bliss of engagement. It was, as expected, so shiny and new.

After so many years, it has become a part of me. A part of me that, when removed, reveals the telltale dent of wear on my finger. A scar of sorts that tells, "We've made it this far."

I am one of the only people my age that has gold bands for my wedding and engagement rings.There are are days when I wish it was a white-gold, antiquey, art-deco type of ring, but since it's not, it gets a little more attention than usual.

"Wow--yours is gold!"

"I don't see gold on wedding rings anymore."

I look just surprised when they say these thing because, naturally, I've forgotten I'm even wearing them. "Oh, yes-well, thank you." Poor rings. I so carefully specified (in code) to my husband what I liked before engagement, and now, they get only a little recognition every now and then. Which is pretty accurate--we only give each other a little recognition now and then. For all we've been through, moving to three states, being jobless, having our faith mangled by the world, time and money chiseled away, and more, of course....we've still made it. We're become old married folks, and his presence next to me is a given--but not less precious by any means.

Our relationship is just like my ring, always on and always working. It supervises the smoothing of foreheads, the filing of taxes, and the mowing the lawn. It is sometimes treasured, sometimes in need of a good cleaning to start anew, but most of all, it's a blessing I don't deserve. The cherry on top, a cup overflowing, the diamond in the rough of my daily life here on earth.

And it's the dailyness of it that I love. The daily surrender of the remote control. The daily relief when I don't have to make coffee because it's already made. The daily tears that come with a hysterical laugh from something that only makes sense to us. The daily greeting from a child that looks both nothing and exactly like us. The daily worship for Something bigger than us...Something that oversees the placing of rings on fingers, the marital battles despite our promises to each other, and the redemption of our broken selves.

And thankfully, that Something's been here the whole time--along with that handsome other guy who could have abandoned ship a long time ago. I'm resolving to start noticing now. And start talking about them both with my hands again, too.