I believe his name was Caleb. He was the one who greeted me with a friendly face when I walked into James Avery Artisan Jewelry after a long day. More truthfully, a long month.
The Brownwood store was new, and I had yet to visit. I associate the brand with milestones and celebrations, moments molded in silver that have retained value well beyond inflation, fads, and age.
October has aged me more than five years combined.
The unexpected hits have almost become the expected: sickness, bills, family concerns, and bizarre happenings I can only equate to evidence of being in the valley.
Yet victorious moments exist even in the rubble.
Caleb and James Avery are evidence of such moments.
I brushed my hair after a workday that left me both aching in body and mind. First time I had looked at myself since yesterday.
Not even sure yesterday is accurate… the days are blurring.
My hair is thinning due to fatigue, dehydration, and stress. My brush crowds itself with red strands and tangles, appearing as unkempt as the girl in the mirror.
I am both embarrassed and irritated. Yet, there is as much time for self-pity as there is for improvement. Neither seemed likely at present.
Putting the brush away, I accidentally knocked over my small tray of jewelry… everyday pieces… each from James Avery.
I sat on the bathroom floor, collecting each fallen piece in the palm of my hand. There were five items:
The Margarita Ring my father gave me in high school when I turned sixteen… my very first James Avery piece; a retired Candle Flame Pendant, bent years ago by the hands of my infant daughter, who would clutch it while I held her (she’s now 23); a Wild Sunflower Ring I bought myself the day I was offered a dedicated weekly Christian column; the St. Theresa Cross Necklace I bought duplicates of for Christmas when my beautiful daughter became a teenager, one for her and one for myself; and the Long Sorrento Ring I gifted myself from the sales of my first art show (I spent every cent on the ring).
Missing was the Fearless Heart Ring I lost years ago… it had slipped from my finger while unloading donation bags at a drop-off center.
I recall the panic when I noticed it was gone. It was the only James Avery piece I have parted with. I pray someone found it and enjoyed it as I would have.
While on the floor, I began to cry. Not noisily, but quietly, so as not to interrupt the thoughts I now realized I had been holding for much too long.
Exhaustion. Fear. Concern.
I stretched out on the cool concrete floor and allowed my bones to feel the weight of something supporting me. It was then that I noticed a small box far beneath the cabinet.
Reaching for it, my breath caught as I opened the dusty James Avery box and saw a pure faith ring. The sterling silver had tarnished from being tucked away for so long. I had no memory of when I received it, how long I’d owned it, or who had given it to me.
As if I were meant to receive it in that very moment, I stood and realized it was no coincidence: it was God letting me know that He sees me even when I am too tired to see myself.
I gathered the six pieces and asked my husband to take me to the newly opened James Avery store, where I knew they could be cleaned and restored to their original brilliance, free of charge.
Caleb greeted me with a kindness that made me momentarily forget how disheveled I felt.
An hour later, I came back to see each piece as brilliant as the day I first put them on. In one moment, I was sixteen, a new mother, a budding writer, a proud parent, an artist, and a tired but faith-filled woman thankful for the opportunity to see something shine again.
“Sometimes things just need a little bit of refreshing,” Caleb said. “I enjoy doing this.”
I was so full of joy that I didn’t realize I was smiling.
“Indeed,” I said.
On the drive home, I thought about those pieces of jewelry. None had lost their value while sitting neglected in a box or collecting the wear of everyday life.
The years had left their marks, but beneath them, the value remained.
I thought about the woman who had stretched herself across the bathroom floor, too exhausted to do much more than cry. The one who had wondered how much more she could carry before something gave way.
And I thought about the little forgotten ring.
Perhaps God allowed me to find it that evening. I needed a reminder that faith doesn’t disappear just because life has left us tarnished.
Sometimes we are so busy surviving that we forget who we are beneath the weight of it all.
But God remembers the girl, the mother, the writer, the artist, and the woman lying on the bathroom floor. He sees every version of us, including the ones we would rather hide.
And maybe that is what grace looks like on an ordinary evening. A forgotten ring. A stranger’s kindness. A little silver restored to its brilliance.
And a weary woman reminded that what God has placed within her has not lost its value.
This column was originally published by CherryRoad Media. For more faith-based columns and inspirational writing by Tiffany Kaye Chartier, follow her on Facebook. Her devotional collection “The 4-Minute Reset: For Cultivating Peace, Purpose, and Positivity” is available on Amazon and other major online retailers.
