CTR

For the last few days I find myself absent-mindedly fingering my right hand ring finger. It's uncomfortably bare.

I don't exactly remember when I got my CTR ring, but sometime during high school. I must have been fifteen or sixteen. I first wore it on my wedding-ring finger, not really caring that it might confuse some poor soul who was trying to see if I was married or not. I was in high school anyway.

But when I got to BYU a few years later, I realized it really could confuse someone, and moved it to my right hand. There it has kept house for ten years. Battered, bent out of shape, and endlessly dirty, I love that ring.

In high school it was a conversation starter. People didn't always know what it was or what it stood for. On my mission, it was my "bell ringer." Most people had wrought iron gates, railings, or window coverings in Honduras, and my handy ring was the perfect thing "clang, clang, clang" out our presence. That ring has knocked on many a door.

We've been through a lot together, that ring and I. It fits (more of less) on every single finger of my two hands (but my right thumb), although most comfortably in the slight indent of my right ring finger where I often find myself fingering it.

But somehow, somewhere, I lost it on Saturday.

It's been getting progressively looser lately, sliding around more than it should and flying off my hand while moving the laundry or doing the dishes. I kept telling myself I should retire it soas to not lose it. But what's the point of a ring like that if it's hidden away in a box somewhere? It would lose it's relevance.

But I wanted to record the sentiment of that ring somewhere where I would remember it. I'm sure I'll wear other rings in the future, probably nicer and less old-school CTR rings will make their way to my hands, but I really loved that one. Please forgive me for being so sentimental about it.