My CTR rings
When I was five, my primary teacher gave me a CTR ring for my birthday. A gold colored CTR ring that was a little too big for my small fingers. CTR — Choose The Right. I slid it onto my finger. The cold ring slowly warmed up until it matched the temperature of my hand. It slid around on my finger while I played with toys or collected flowers off weeds in the back yard.
Even after my hand became used to the ring, I frequently admired it because it made me feel happy and fancy. More than that, it made me certain I couldn’t do anything wrong if I was wearing it. I imagined it was powerful, almost magical, and would protect me from making choices that would displease God or my parents. Needless to say, it didn’t work that way. I still disobeyed and fought with my siblings, as children do. But life and my choices were simple. Pick up toys when I was told to or keep playing. Hold a parent’s hand in the parking lot or refuse to hold hands. Share with my little sister and brother or not share.
One Sunday, my primary class was about God creating the world. We went outside where we touched the trunk of trees, pulled up blades of grass, and blew dandelion seeds in the air. Then I realized my gold CTR ring was no longer on my hand. It had slid off my hand at some point and was now lost among dirt and pine needles.
Other than costume and dress-up jewelry, my hands remained bare until the next CTR ring I remember, which came when I was eight. After my baptism, the primary president gave me a green and silver CTR ring. The green and silver ring slipped snugly over my finger. It stayed there while I played kickball in the street and built stick forts next to our house. I proudly wore it every day until it started turning my finger green. Mom cleaned it and painted it with nail polish to protect my finger from the oxidation or whatever was turning my finger green. Eventually I stopped wearing it. But by then I knew that the CTR ring was just there to remind me to choose the right, not to make me incapable of choosing the wrong.
I tried really, really hard to make the right choices as I continued growing up. I enthusiastically participated in Primary and then Sunday School and the Young Women’s’ program. I memorized all the Seminary scripture mastery. I decided to go to college and apply to BYU. I chose to prepare to serve a mission. Yes, I still made mistakes , but when I recognized them I re-committed to choosing the right.
I spent the first year of college trying to take advantage of all the good choices that were available at BYU. I went to plays and concerts, took classes on all sorts of subjects, and made new friends. There were so many good options that trying to find the “right” one was overwhelming at times.
When I was 19, I applied to serve a mission. After I got my mission call — Minnesota Spanish speaking — I bought myself a thin, silver ring with the letters “HLJ” engraved in a small oval on the front. “Haz lo justo” means “Do the right”, the Spanish equivalent of “Choose The Right”. When the orange envelope came in the mail, I opened it and watched as the ring slid out into my hand. It was warm from sitting in the mailbox under the summer sun. I slid it onto the middle finger of my right hand. The ring fit my finger perfectly. It cooled to my hand temperature. I hoped the ring would remind me why I chose to serve a mission and my commitment to making right choices. The ring accompanied me to the Mexico MTC, then on the flight to Minnesota, and to the end of my mission. I often looked at the ring when facing unexpected challenges. Sometimes, the ring reminded me to be patient with my companion or to remind someone we met that God loved them. Other times, there was no clearly “right” choice. Those were some of the hardest parts of my mission.
After my mission, the ring started to irritate my finger. Eczema flared up, starting around the ring, then spreading onto my palm. Questions about the church flared up, too. Why can’t women preside at their own meetings? I tried so, so hard to be obedient on my mission. Why hadn’t I been protected from sexual assault? Why don’t we talk about Heavenly Mother more? Why don’t women have the priesthood? Why did Joseph Smith lie to Emma about polygamy? The ring felt hot and tight until I tugged it off my finger and dropped it in my jewelry box. Every once in a while, I’d put it back on for a few days, but it always seemed to irritate my hand again.
Despite my questions and inner turmoil, I kept attending church. Well, most weeks. Sometimes I felt so sad when I thought about sitting through yet another sacrament meeting, Sunday school, and relief society without my questions or the existence of Heavenly Mother even being acknowledged that I’d stay in bed and cry. One day I took my HLJ ring off permanently. My “HLJ” ring now sits in a box on my dresser. Overwhelmed with college classes, homework, and caring for my in-laws’ house, I also set aside most of my questions until after college graduation.
The summer after graduating from college was hard. Really hard.
At the time I was struggling to find a job or friends after moving to a new state. I was spending a lot of time in bed or on the couch feeling empty, sad, and unsure if life would ever get any better. In addition, with so much free time, I was once again facing all the questions I had tried to ignore the last few semesters of college, plus many more.
Many, if not most of my choices, were no longer between simple black and white options. My questions didn’t have easy answers. The world is more complicated than the simple binaries I saw as a child. My questions and my choices were becoming messier and more complicated. Unlike my five-year-old self, I knew I didn’t need a ring — gold or green and silver with “CTR”, or silver with “HLJ” — to make good decisions. Yet I also wanted something new to symbolize my faith and continued, if more complex, relationship with God.
I thought about getting a ring inscribed with the word “endure.” But to get through life by enduring sounds like tolerating and submitting to pain and suffering. I wanted something that acknowledged the difficulties and complexities of life but was also positive. Something that captures enthusiasm for life and for facing and conquering challenges.
I finally chose a slender silver ring that simply says “persist.” I don’t feel as sure as I used to that the “right” choice exists in every scenario or that I should choose what I’m told by others is the right choices as I did when I was a child. And many of my questions remain unanswered. But I can and will persist.
I’ll persist in clinging to life and beauty. I’ll persist in loving God, persist in learning to love myself, persist in showing love to others. I’ll persist in asking questions and thinking critically about religion and about my life choices. I’ll persist in writing about my questions and participating in conversations about difficult topics as I seek truth. And I’ll persist in acknowledging and honoring the ability I have to go directly to God when seeking truth rather than living by external rules and expectations.
