Small Miracles

(or how I learned to stop worrying and love plumbers)

Two weeks after I got engaged, I accidentally dropped my engagement ring down a shower drain. And not just any shower drain—a shower drain in the dorm I was living in, which connected to many others that could lead anywhere.

We won’t talk about how exactly it got there, let’s just say I was being as smart as I usually am.
I felt sick. I kept saying, “No, no, no.” I think I even swore a bit.

Barely thinking straight, I left the shower before I was completely dressed—luckily, no-one was in the bathroom or they would have seen more of me than I and they would have wished.

I called those in charge of the dorms. They said they would be over soon. They didn’t seem to understand the urgency of my situation. When they finally arrived, they said I would have to wait for a plumber, which would be a least an hour.
I was distraught—I wanted to hit them for all their unhelpfulness, throw up, and cry, all at the same time. I am fairly sure I was crying already by this time or, more correctly, sobbing.

For a while, they wouldn’t even let Andrew (my fiancé) come into the dorm and comfort me. It was such a horrible, horrible time. I knew it was a ring, just a material possession that could be replaced. But I kept thinking of how much money Andrew had spent on it and how long it took him to save up for it. Not to mention the significance of the ring and what it meant. It was like I had dropped my whole relationship down the drain.
Luckily, Andrew was very supportive, saying everything was going to be fine, and if the worst happened, he would buy me a new one. This almost made it worse. But when we prayed together, I did feel a little better.

The wait for the plumbers was the longest wait I’ve ever had, and that includes the time I had to wait five hours for a bus in the middle of Bangkok. I was so paranoid about the ring going further into the drains that I banned anyone from going into the bathroom at all, for any reason. The best thing about the wait was that my friends waited with me. They waited and prayed with me for the whole time it took the plumbers to arrive.

When the plumbers first arrived, they were optimistic about getting the ring out. But slowly, very slowly, everything they tried failed. Reaching didn’t work—no-one had long enough arms. They tried a wet/dry vacuum cleaner but all they sucked up was water and broken bits of tile—no ring. After an hour, all they did was poke around with a bent piece of wire.

By this time, I had given up. I thought I would never see that ring again. I think the plumbers had given up too—they had run out of options and were about to pack up. One plumber even said, “I can’t see it anywhere.” I was about to thank the plumbers for all they had done when the one poking around with the wire hook said, “I see it,” in this absurdly calm voice. I spun to him and said, “What?!” He didn’t answer—all he did was hold up the hook with my ring dangling on the end of it. I started to cry again.

With shaking hands, I took my ring. I had to be careful not to drop it. It was dirty and it stank but I held it in my hands once again. I gave both plumbers a huge hug and considered having a T-shirt made that said “I love plumbers.” As I ran down the hall to my room to clean my ring (in a sink with an entirely-safe-no-way-it-could-fall-down drain) I thought of who was actually responsible for getting my ring back. I truly believe God was the one who found my ring for me. How else could a ring not be there, then suddenly be in sight a second later without divine intervention? I yelled out “I love God,” as I neared my room. All of my friends who had waited and prayed with me prayed with me again—this time, a prayer of thanks.

For weeks, even months after that day, I couldn’t think about it without feeling physically sick. Now when I think back about it, I smile, and thank heaven for small miracles.