I have a diamond engagement ring my husband bought for me ten years ago at an upscale jewelry store in an upscale part of town. We couldn't really afford it, but ah, what wouldn't he do to give me all things beautiful! He had given me a different ring when he asked me to marry him; he said he wanted us to pick a diamond ring together, the perfect ring. Shortly before we were married, I found just the setting I had envisioned: the wedding ring curves up toward the diamond on the engagement ring like a wave, gently encircling it in a partial embrace. It was designed by the jeweler and custom made at the store. It was perfect; that was going to be my ring.

The jeweler showed us a number of diamonds, and we chose carefully, balancing the different qualities of each diamond to find one that fit in our price range. The diamond we chose was the right size: not very big, but not too small. It was exquisitely cut: catching the light and throwing it in tiny rainbows around the room. It fluoresced: put it under a black light and it glows and shimmers with blue light in the dark. Very few diamonds do it, yet this doesn't add to their value, at least not as far as jewelers are concerned. But it did have a flaw, a cloudy little spot directly in the center, carefully masked by the clever cut. The jeweler pointed it out under magnification, but I had trouble seeing it. As far as I was concerned, that diamond was perfect.

After we were married, the diamond caught my eye from an odd angle, and I noticed an inky little spot on the surface. I tried to rub it off, but it remained. Then I realized it wasn't on the surface, it was in the heart of the diamond, right at the center, that flaw I hadn't been able to see before. I still wasn't able to see the spot when looking straight at the diamond, but from an angle, it was clearly visible. I was disappointed: the perfect diamond wasn't perfect after all. But I had to admit, it was still beautiful.

As time went on, the flaw grew on me. I would take my ring to be cleaned and look for the flaw when the jeweler handed it back. No one can steal the diamond, no one can swap the diamond. It's unique, it's mine, and I would recognize it anywhere, like my husband, like my children. And in so many ways it reminds me of my marriage and my husband: flawed, imperfect, beautiful, sparkling, radiant even in the darkness. And as I look at it sitting on my hand today, softly catching the light from the open window as I type, I know it's perfect for me.