by Eliza Lundberg
I.
Let me tell you about my marriage.
In the summer of 2019,
A summer shy of Covid,
A wedding ring went on my finger
for keeps
At the altar of Saint John’s.
Ever since having a baby,
That finger has grown.
For weeks my finger has been swollen
Irritated, and the skin is broken
It’s in danger of being infected
My mom is worried about me.
I’ve tried everything to get it off.
The Internet said to try dental floss to wrap around
And squish the swelling
But that didn’t work.
I soaked and soaked that hand in ice water
To help with the redness and discomfort
And hopefully to shrink that finger
But that didn’t work.
I might have to get the ring cut off.
Embarrassing.
Embarrassing to go to a fire station
And have them use some scary contraption…
There’s actually a second small band I was wearing
Underneath
that will make it even harder to
get the wedding ring off.
So maybe the jewelry store can help me.
After all, that’s where I got into this
Situation.
Maybe the people who helped get it on
Know how to help when
It starts to hurt you.
II.
I rang for help the morning of the Super Bowl.
I texted Rev’d Craig: “is there a way to get pastoral care on a Sunday morning?”
Rev’d Roger Wilson called me back. “What do you need? How can I pray?”
The 10am service started and I was home trying to survive.
A 3pm service was held for Absalom Jones.
At 7pm (or so), Usher was dancing on my TV in a sparkly outfit. The Very Rev’d Jered was cleaning my cat box (not bad for a dog person). Rev’d Craig, who had preached about Absalom, was hauling my dead Christmas tree out the front door. Rev’d Roger was vacuuming the rug so my baby could actually crawl on it.
I felt better. I felt grateful to the other Weber-Johnsons for giving up their running back so he could run back to ministry work.
I joined a video call for the last vestry meeting.
In case you don’t know what the vestry is (I didn’t before I was on it), that’s like the elders board of an Episcopal church. Except I’m the youngest of the elders. At the end of the meeting, I threw out a life preserver ring to the vestry, too.
Bette, the vestry’s senior warden (a.k.a person who wrangles opinionated young elders), emailed me after, reaching out with care.
Another vestry member, who knew my story all too well, reached out to be a friend.
Rick Rinkoff, our intrepid treasurer, made sure to check that my treasury is okay.
It’s a good thing in the church where this whole thing started, they don’t leave you at the starting line.
