Unfortunately, I am not the wearer of the One Ring found in Tolkien's fantastic adventures, nor am I the one to bear a royal diamond upon my finger. The ring I write about today is neither enchanted nor worth anything other than sentiment, but this ring bears witness.
In a dusty, sunlit African church, the preacher was giving a children's message about Joseph becoming second in command over all of Egypt. To immerse the children in the story, He brought two young boys up to play the roles of Pharoh and Joseph. Displaying the power of Pharoh, He slid a ring onto the older boy's hand. The boy's smile grew almost too big for his face. But when it came time for the ring to be passed from Pharoh to Joseph, the Boy proudly and with authority slid the ring from his finger and placed it on the slightly smaller boy's hand, declaring Him to have power.
Now, that ring is not of a royal heritage, but it does have a story. My Great Aunt Helen forged that ring, let's say, 50 years ago. At the time of its creation, I doubt she could have imagined it would end up 8,696 miles away in a rural African village. Let alone on the hands of two young boys as a means of sharing the word of God. Yet the ring bears a testament to a family who was faithful to the Lord and, through generations, passed more than beautiful jewelry. They passed a willingness to share God’s love where He leads.
You see, by nature, we pass a lot on to one another—clothing, jewelry, stories, mannerisms, books, etc. I guess the point of this story is to make sure you are passing on the truth of the saving grace of Jesus Christ while you’re at it. Who knows, maybe one day, your ring will be used to share the gospel where it has never been before.