by: Sunshine Diem
Photo taken May 2025
I bought the ring I once hoped someone else would give me.
On June 1st, as I flipped the page in my planner to the new month, I noticed a giant black square over the 29th; its Sharpie scent still faintly lingering. June 29th is my birthday. At first, I was confused. Then I remembered what I had covered up: a hand-drawn image of a ring.
A year prior, when I had purchased that planner, I was in a relationship. I thought it would end in marriage. I drew the ring in the hope that by my birthday, I would look down at my hand and see an engagement ring.
On June 29th, 2025, there was no engagement ring on my finger. On that day, there wasn’t even a man in my life at all. I decided to visit my jeweler and buy myself a ring. A birthday gift to myself, and a reminder that I am loved.
Seven months ago, I wrote about how I had finally reached a pinnacle of peace. There was no turmoil or noise. Things have changed, not for the worse, but they have changed.
I remember crying in prayer after publishing my “Preparing Not Planning” piece. I begged God to let me rest in that space, even for a short while. It felt so safe to breathe and let my mind rest. I prayed and cried until I fell asleep.
He didn’t let me stay in that space, for He had much greater plans.
The Ring.
I have worn rings on nearly every finger for nine years. They aren’t just jewelry to me. Whether gifted or purchased during meaningful moments, each ring tells a story. It makes me happy to look at my hands and be reminded of the love that has crossed my path!
None of them are of high value. Some of them have been warped over time by doors, by heat, or by simply molding to the shape of my finger. Their imperfections make me love them all the more.
I am frequently asked if I will stop wearing them when I am engaged or married. I have not decided, but I doubt I will ever retire them. They are a part of me.
When I decided to invest in this latest ring, I went to Salt Hill Jewelry in Fargo, a place I already trusted. Danyel, one of the jewelers, found a sapphire ring from an estate sale. My mom’s wedding ring has sapphires, as does my sister’s. The moment I saw it, I knew it was the one. I do not know whose finger it once adorned or what it symbolized. I only hope the love it carried will radiate into my life.
But how?
Radiating love.
This is where my heart rests, and where it burns. This year, God made my mission clear: to love. To love without bounds, to give of myself, and to hold others close. I see this as a gift, but it often leaves little holes in my heart.
I have seen myself as a watering can, pouring into others, while leaving myself empty. I am like Martha, in the Bible, hustling and serving, but forgetting who is refilling the can.
Most of my friends are in relationships, engaged, or married. A couple of nights ago, I sat down to write about how quietly this hurts me. I sat down with a pen and journal, fully anticipating tears and frustration. I expected to scribble on about why I haven’t been chosen, and why I continue to lose people I invest in!
God wrote something entirely different.
The very journal I was holding reminded me of love, a gift from a dear friend who filled its pages with poems, cutouts, and pictures that reminded her of me. The journal itself was a testament to the love that pours into my life.
God then reminded me of the love that radiates around me. These couples I could envy instead play pivotal, self-giving roles in my life! We bake birthday cakes, play games, and tell stories. When the emotions become too heavy to carry, they are quick to pick up the load. They give and give and give. How could I be bitter when I am so deeply, truly cared for?
This is not my time. I know that when (if) a man comes into my life, and it leads to marriage and a family, they will be my purpose. They will be my mission. For now, my mission is different: to serve and to love, and I am focused on who the source is.
When Martha was upset at Mary for sitting at Jesus’ feet, He reminded her that Mary had chosen the better part: just being with Him. He is the source. He is the one pouring in. He always will be.
I feel an undeniable tug on my heart, a call to something more. I do not yet know what it is, but it requires my full attention. What am I to do with this call to servitude? My spiritual director recently asked me to reflect on moments when I felt whole, when I knew Christ’s presence. Here are two of them.
The Grocery Store.
Just a few weeks ago, I went to buy coffee creamer for the office. In the five short minutes spent wandering the aisles, I exchanged smiles and small talk with strangers. It was nothing extraordinary, but I felt it: I want to spend the rest of my life seeing people, really seeing them. I want to pour out my love, even in these small moments. I want people to encounter Christ in me.
As St. John the Baptist said, “He must increase, but I must decrease.”
I do not yet know how to decrease, but I want to.
Assisi, Italy.
In 2023, after a week in Rome, my heart was restless. I was on a pilgrimage, wondering who I was, where my peace lay, and why my loud personality seemed to separate me from the stillness I thought faith required. I wondered why I did not feel the “peace of Christ” I so often heard about.
The group I was with had just finished Mass on a mountain in Assisi, at the hermitage where St. Francis prayed. He would disappear for a while, hiding in caves, talking with God. We were given two hours to wander and reflect. I climbed over a mossy wall, determined to find a cave. If it worked for St. Francis, maybe it would work for me, too.
After about 15 minutes, I found one. It was a quaint dirt mound, with a tree growing out of its side. Roots and moss covered the space, along with delicate spider webs. I curled into a ball inside and, within minutes, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I awoke to warm sunlight on my face.
Without thinking, I pulled out my journal and wrote. It felt as if God Himself guided the pen. He reminded me that He made me exactly as I am, for His glory. My loud voice and loud heart were not mistakes; they were the very gifts He intended. In that little cave, I wept and healed. I knew His presence.
The Lord gives, and He takes away.
What a terribly painful and beautifully transformational gift. I have wept over the loss of opportunities, friendships, loves, and loved ones: losses that left holes in my heart. How could gifts so precious come to such brutal halts?
And yet, the Lord gives and takes away.
The tears shed are quickly replaced by grace.
My heart burns at what I have lost, but it glows in what I have gained. Following each loss, I wind up in Jesus’ arms. Though I feel small, I have found it to be the perfect size to rest in Him.
In every moment, each loss, each tear, is met with His embrace. He takes away what is not mine, or what is no longer mine. In doing so, He nudges me closer to His mercy, His place for me. Not everything is meant to be understood, but everything is a gift.
There is goodness in every breath.
There is goodness in every step.
There is goodness in every trial.
There is goodness in every victory.
These all-consuming losses and apparent failures are pieces in a larger puzzle, one only God can see. With every spark in my soul, every step that I take, every breath that I breathe, I hope the final piece of my puzzle is Heaven. Even more, I hope to see everyone there. I hope that if I get there, and I get the chance to look down at the puzzle in its entirety, I will see the faces of all those loved ones, all of those losses, smiling back at me.
The Well.
I once thought my watering can was sitting empty. I thought everyone was growing and harvesting while I was left behind. I was wrong. I only needed to look up and see the garden before me. I now walk freely. I smell the rain and the flowers. I let the vines tangle through my fingers.
The watering can is full.
It has always been full.
The watering can is useless without the well.
And so is the ring. It is not just metal and stones, it is a reminder. A quiet promise that I am already chosen, already loved, already full. It is a reminder of the well that never runs dry, the love that keeps pouring in.
If one day a man were to put another ring onto my finger, it would not complete me. It will simply add to the story already being written, the story of a heart learning to rest, to serve, and to radiate the love of the One who loves infinitely.
Pax et Bonum,
Sunshine