The strains of "I Will Always Love You" drew Faith away from the journal. Opening her phone, she saw, 'toy.' Her heart began to beat rapidly.

Since Faith had told Aaron that she needed some space, an opportunity to grieve, and time to think about his revelation and the effect it would have on their relationship, he mostly had respected her wishes and left it up to her to make contact. He had been patient over the last few weeks. Her phone had fallen strangely silent, or at least his ring tone did not grace her ears. Now she held the phone and stared at the three letters while the song that was his ring tone mocked her. Would she always love him? She wasn't sure anymore. Did she still love him? The beating of her heart answered that question for her. Slowly, she pushed the button that would reveal the picture. A profile of Aaron filled the screen. He knelt beside his bed, his head bowed over folded hands. When Faith zoomed in for a close up of his face, his cheeks looked suspiciously wet.

She felt like she had a rock in her chest where her heart should be. With her thumb she caressed the image. She wanted badly to assuage his grief, to take away his pain.

"But I can't," she thought. "Not yet. I have to deal with my own hurts."

"Just give him a little hope," her internal voice insisted.

She looked around the room searching for something that would send a message that all was not yet lost, something that would encourage him to continue to be patient. Neither the washstand with the bowl and pitcher, the antique dresser, nor the brass bed held a hidden message. Her open suitcase and her discarded clothes provided no spark of inspiration. Then her eyes fell on the Bible she had placed on the nightstand. She opened it to I Corinthians 13. Verse 7 (NKJV) read: "[Love] bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." Taking off her engagement ring, Faith laid it on the verse. The way the words were positioned on the page "bears all" and "hopes all" fit perfectly in the circle of the ring. She zoomed her phone in on the ring so that it and the words filled most of the screen. She snapped the picture.

Sitting on her bed, Faith looked down at the photo. Was the message too strong? Was she ready to give Aaron that much hope? Her heart beat loudly in her ears. Her breath came in short shallow gasps. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed, "What do I do, God? I know I still love him, but I'm not sure if it's enough."

The words of the next verse in the passage echoed in Faith's mind, "Love never fails."

"That's Your love."

"It can be yours. Trust Me."

"I want to, but there are some things I need to know."

"Trust Me. Love never fails."

Faith felt the ache in her heart begin to ease. Could it be that easy?

"Trust Me."

Peace wrapped around her like a blanket. Her breathing became deeper, and her heartbeat slowed.

"Love never fails."

Faith opened her eyes and looked down at the phone in her hand. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the paper she had printed off of the Internet. She turned her head and looked. Kyra and Shandra smiled at her.

"There are some things I have to do," Faith said aloud, "but I can still give him hope."

She sent the 'toy' on its way, but the cocoon of peace evaporated like steam from a teakettle after it's removed from the heat source. The lump in her chest returned. She went back to the journal and found her disquiet echoed in the pages of her mother's missive.

#

Routine drained the adventure from marriage. Gradually our jobs pulled us apart. When the harvest was over, David traded in long hours as a tobacco lackey for long hours as a furniture salesman. I spent my days in school and my nights planning lessons and grading papers. The television became the third party in our marriage. The long conversations that were the norm during courtship were replaced by perfunctory exchanges.

"How was your day, Sweet?"

"Fine, and yours."

"Same old same old. You got papers to grade again?"

"I've got to do report cards. You want to help me figure grades? It would go faster with someone to call them out."

"Not tonight. I'm tired. I thought I'd just watch a movie."

Our love was not gone, but it certainly took a sabbatical. Some evenings we would share the excitement of our days, but more often than not we were too tired or too preoccupied to work at keeping the relationship out of the swamp named apathy.

Early in the spring, our landlord sold our house. We had to move. David found a trailer for rent on a country lot. I began packing up our lives, yet again. By now we had come to a general understanding. I was a better packer than David.

I got the first hint of that truth on my first trip to Baton Rouge with David while we were in college. He was heading home for a holiday. I was going to stay with my grandparents and planned to meet his family while I was there. I carefully packed my suitcase, making sure everything fit without causing considerable wrinkling.

When David came by to get me, I saw no suitcase and asked where his stuff was. He pointed at two pillowcases thrown into the trunk. Assuming those were the dirty clothes he was taking home to launder, I asked, "So, where are your clean clothes?"

"They're in there," he said, pointing to one of the pillowcases.

"Don't you think they'll get wrinkled?"

"That's okay," he said. "Mama will iron them."

David not only threw things haphazardly into containers, his dislike of details led him to leave blank the content labels on the boxes he packed. He also was impatient when loading and did not work out a strategic placement system. As a result, I was in charge of packing and placement. The grunt work of loading and unloading was his responsibility.

As we made our fifth move, my love for David certainly was tested.

Since we were only moving across town, I was packing while David, Daniel, and some friends began taking loads across town in a pickup truck.

After they had moved several loads, David suggested I go to the new place and start unpacking. He said he would finish packing and bring everything over. Despite the warning voice in my head reminding me of past disasters, I agreed to this harebrained scheme. I thought that with the few things left, there was little damage he could do.

In record time, he arrived at our new abode, saying he had everything. I was amazed. I knew I could not have packed that fast.

"How did you do it so quickly?" I asked.

"Oh, it was easy," he said. "I put everything in that 9-by-12 rug we had in the living room. I picked it up by the four corners and put it in the back of the truck."

In horror, I hurried outside to see this packing miracle. When he went to lift the rug out of the pickup bed, I stopped him.

"What is that dripping from the bottom?" I asked.

He gingerly opened the rug and peered inside.

"Hmm," he said. A silly grin spread across his face. "That can of used grease you keep on the stove seems to have lost its lid."

Everything inside the rug had to be cleaned, and the rug had to be trashed. I did not take pity on him. I let him clean up the mess by himself while I continued to unpack the stuff I had boxed carefully and neatly. It probably took him twice as long to clean up the mess as it would have taken him to pack it properly.

I worked hard putting away our belongings. By late that evening, I had everything arranged. The only glaring lack was a throw rug to put in front of the living room couch. Even there, I saw the silver lining in the black cloud. The rug was a remnant from our first orange and green student apartment. My taste in colors had changed. I secretly despised the rug, but until now had no excuse to dispose of it. I knew my skinflint husband would not approve the expenditure of funds on a rug of a different hue. Since he had ruined the eyesore, he would have to allow me to purchase a new one, even if he felt it was beyond our budget.

That night we both slept soundly. The next morning as I dressed for church, I realized that my right ear was bare. One of my rose earrings was missing. I frantically searched the bathroom. Next I tore the blankets and sheets from our bed as I hunted for the missing jewelry. I got down on my hands and knees and scoured the bedroom floor.

David eventually came into the bedroom and found me sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed, tears running down my cheeks.

"What's wrong, Syd?" he asked as he hurried to my side. "Are you hurt?"

"No," I wailed. "My earring is missing."

I told him of my search parameters. He replicated my efforts.

"Maybe you lost it before your went to bed," he said. "You get dressed for church, and I'll search the rest of the house."

While I dressed, I prayed recklessly. I promised God the moon if He would only allow me to find the earring. David and I had wandered away from God after we married. Before moving to South Carolina, we became holiday Christians, darkening the doors of the church only on Christmas and Easter. Since Daniel was a preacher, we started attending again when we moved, but our spiritual condition was still abysmal. Maybe God would trade renewed devotion for the return of my earring.

David's quest included not only the house, but expanded to the truck. He found nothing. Despite my fervent prayers, we allowed the hunt to keep us away from church. When we didn't find the earring in our new home, I insisted we drive to the old house and look there. It didn't take long to comb that dwelling, since it was still empty.

Finally, we resigned in defeat.

Thinking like a man, David offered what he thought would be comfort.

"Don't worry, Syd," he said. "I'll buy you another pair."

"They won't be the same," I said.

"They're Blackhills Gold. I'm sure we can find an identical pair."

"It still won't be the same. Those are the ones you gave me on our wedding day. I would always know the difference."

"Aw, Syd," he said. "They're only earrings."

At that I burst into tears.

"You don't love me anymore," I said. "If you did, you would know they're not 'only' earrings. They're your wedding gift to me; the ones you gave me when I promised you a lifetime."

"I'm sorry, Syd," he said against my hair after pulling me into his lap. "I know they're special. You looked beautiful with them shining on your ears, even in a bathrobe."

Kissing away my tears, he promised, "On our next anniversary, I'll give you another memory and talisman. I know it won't take the place of my wedding gift, but it's the only thing I know to do, Syd. We've looked everywhere."

With that I had to be content. As I put the remaining earring in my jewelry box, I wondered, "Is this an omen? Is our love doomed to be half of the original promise?"

#

"That's how I feel about Aaron and me right now," Faith thought. "Like our love is not going to live up to its original promise."

#

That night we attended Sunday night church for the first time in years. We were paying penance for missing that morning, and, in my mind, I still hoped God might heed my desperate promises. The sermon that night was on the parable of the woman who lost a single coin. She sought it diligently, tearing her house apart until she located it. The celebration, when it was found, was compared to a heavenly bash when one of God's lost children is found and returns to Jesus.

"Is this how You felt when David and I exchanged our devotion to You for our pursuit of other things?" I asked God.

I wondered that His heart ever felt anything but pain, so many of us stray so often. That was the beginning of my personal revival and David's too. That night, for the first time in months we sat and really talked. The television remained silent. Love experienced a rebirth.