It was a hot, humid summer morning when I entered the Campbell residence, grateful for the air conditioning and for the chance to earn some pocket money. My mother was collaborating with Sister Campbell on a writing project and made regular visits to her home in McLean, Virginia; I sometimes tagged along for company and for the opportunity to do odd jobs.

My task that day was to prepare an inventory list of Sister Campbell’s jewelry for insurance purposes. I sat on the floor with her collection of necklaces, bracelets, and rings, sorting the items into different piles and recording a short description of each. There were many lovely things wrought from gold and silver, pieces with precious stones, and even some exotic works crafted of jade and amber.

Presently I came upon a small ring that appeared to be very old. Its stone was a round diamond, probably about a carat weight, set deep into a pale gold band. I tried putting it on, and found that it fit perfectly on my pinky finger. I liked how it looked — so delicate, so shiny! — and how it felt nearly weightless. It was such a tiny little thing, I thought; surely it wouldn’t be missed from this sizeable cache of jewelry. When it came time to put away the collection, I slipped the ring into my pocket.

This was not the first time I had stolen something. In fact, stealing had become a habit of mine — I routinely took things from family members, neighbors, even stores. On a surface level my behavior was sparked by selfishness and impulsiveness. But there were other contributing factors.

It was a troubled time in my life, a period when the normal upheaval of adolescence combined with deep-seated turmoil stemming from family difficulties. I felt powerless and vulnerable amidst the swirl of issues I faced. Stealing was a way to secretly assert myself, to feel in control. I didn’t act with this intent in mind, though. I just took things without really knowing why.

My ample experience as a thief had dimmed my conscience: I barely thought or cared about how my wrong choices might affect myself and others. Due to this nonchalant state of mind, I stayed calm throughout the rest of the visit with Sister Campbell. Nobody had any reason to suspect that I had a “hot” diamond ring in my pocket.

Twice Forgotten

In the privacy of my room at home, I tried on the ring again. It fit my finger so well that after a short while I forgot I had it on. Later, while sitting at the dinner table, I suddenly remembered — and realized that any moment my parents might notice the sparkly addition to my finger. Panicked, I slipped the ring off and hid it under my napkin. I intended to put it away safely after dinner, but again, I forgot all about it.

Ironically, it was my turn to vacuum the kitchen floor that night. Partway through the chore I heard the familiar clank and rattle that comes when the vacuum tries to pick up something hard and heavy. I turned off the power and turned the vacuum over. To my horror, I saw the pale gold ring band, without its stone, bent in half and battered from being whirled around the vacuum brush. The ring must have fallen to the floor when the dinner table was cleared.

The diamond was obviously somewhere in the vacuum bag. It could have been retrieved. Sadly, all I cared about was getting rid of the evidence so I wouldn’t get into trouble. I put the twisted gold band in the trash, the vacuum in the closet, and the whole episode out of my mind.

In the years that followed, my deviant behavior accelerated, and my conscience grew increasingly dull. I didn’t consider the dangerous place I had brought myself to until the effects of my actions began to catch up with me. But my attitude remained the same as it was the night I ruined the diamond ring: I was not willing to accept responsibility and work toward change. I just wanted to escape the consequences of my poor choices.

Relief through Repentance

Finally, as a young adult, I was led to an environment where I was subject to the influence of the Spirit. My conscience was awakened, and the pain I felt became great enough to prompt me to seek relief through repentance. Through grace I began to find healing from the effects of my own sins, and also healing from old, sore wounds that had been caused by the sins of others. It was a long process, with many layers of remembering, and many steps backward mixed in with my progress.

During these years of recovery I married and became a mother. I grew anxious to be completely clean from the stains of my past, so that I could live this new chapter of my life as a new person. I had done much to compensate myself for the years of spiritual damage I had put myself through; the time had come to seek out others whom I had wronged and try to make amends. It was then that I again thought of Sister Campbell and her ring.

The prospect of confessing my crime filled me with agitation. Might it do more harm than good to bring up this incident after so long? I sought the counsel of my stake president, who had watched over me during the ups and downs of my repentance process. Without telling him any details, I explained that I was trying to decide the best course of action regarding an item I had stolen and ruined long ago.

Knowing of my anxiety to be free from past sins, he gently advised me that I needn’t take extreme measures in order for repentance to be complete. The Lord was generous with His mercies; I did not need to pinpoint and tackle every single incident of sin from the distant past.

I thanked him, and stood up to leave. Suddenly his brows furrowed, and his expression grew thoughtful. “Of course,” he concluded, “if you stole a diamond ring or something, that would be different.”

Soon afterward I sat down and wrote Sister Campbell a letter.

The Consequences

On another hot, humid summer day, a full ten years after I took the ring, her reply arrived in my mailbox. At the time I was vacationing with my children and parents; my husband, who had remained at home, told me over the phone that the letter had come. My heart started to pound as I considered how the contents of that envelope might affect my life, even my family members’ lives. Would she press charges? Would she ask for financial compensation? Would this incident disrupt her relationship with my mother?

“Open it,” I told my husband, with a shaky voice. “Read it to me.”

He began:

Dear Kathy, I’ve just returned from some traveling to find your most welcome letter...

First, may I tell you how much I admire your courage and commitment to right as you acknowledge an act which occurred so long ago and which, you would have reason to believe, had surely been forgotten...

I have long pondered over what possibly could have happened to that ring which you found so appealing that you thought it would be a fun pinky ring of your own. I also have felt guilty as I thought that I had carelessly lost something of enormous sentimental value to me.

Let me tell you a bit about the ring. It was my mother’s engagement ring. She often told me the story of when my father, upon returning from his mission to England, scraped together his meager funds that he might surprise her with it.

At the time of her death it was one of the few things left to me, as I am the youngest of ten and much had been disposed of in her later years. There was nothing in her possessions I would have wanted more. You can imagine my concern that I might have been thoughtless in its handling.

Recently, at the time of the death of my eldest sister, the family asked what I had done with the ring and I had to confess that I couldn’t locate it. Once again I was overcome with a sense of loss.

Although I would like to have the ring to pass on to my granddaughter, I think your example of ownership for past discretions and thereafter seeking forgiveness from the one wronged is the perfect example of repentance, and this example may be the greater gift. I believe this can be a great teaching tool for your children and others should you choose to share the story, reminding them that oft times that which seems of little value may indeed be the most precious to the owner.

Do not worry about this any longer. Certainly you are forgiven ... Don’t hesitate to call on me if I can ever be of help to you.

My best, Beverly

True Forgiveness

I experienced such a wide spectrum of feelings as I listened to these words. I felt relief as the kind tone of the letter’s opening lines registered in my mind — she didn’t hate me! I felt deep regret and sorrow, and shed hot tears, as I realized that I had destroyed a precious family heirloom — how could I have been so thoughtless, so foolish?

But above all, I felt profound gratitude for the compassion shown to me. This generous heart moved way beyond offering a pardon, to offering encouragement, affirmation, and friendship. I had received true forgiveness, a manifestation of pure love as bestowed by the Spirit.

I had felt this love many times during my repentance process. It emanated from the bishops I had worked with, from my stake president, even at times from the therapists who counseled me. But this was the first time I received it from a person I had wronged — or was it?

Upon deeper reflection, I realized how much the Lord hurts when his children are hurting. We are his most prized possessions. Those individuals that may seem of little value to us, including ourselves, are indeed most precious to the owner. Every time we damage ourselves or another person, he suffers. Yet his only desire is to help us — and because of the ultimate price he was willing to pay through love, he is able to help us.

I wish I could say that my experience with the ring cured me of thoughtlessness, carelessness, and selfishness. It did not. But I treasure the great gift of charity that I received, and I seek to emulate that love and extend it to others. I know that the power of charity embodied in the Lord can redeem each of us from our bent and battered state, and not only restore us to wholeness, but eventually raise us to shining holiness.

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