What I Learned Inked

I got a tattoo last night. It is my second one. Come and look at my left arm and my right arm, see both of them and have a coffee with me. 

The first one I got about five years ago. It’s a line drawing of Aslan the lion, from the Chronicles of Narnia. He is a representation of Christ. This tattoo is a designer label. I look at Aslan and think, “I am God’s design, and He's not done with me yet."

 In this new tattoo, a Big Man is kneeling listening to a little girl talk. He is smiling while she yaks away, and in one hand, He’s holding up a globe. This reminds me that God has time to hear anything I have to say. He wants to talk. He is big enough to keep the world spinning, small enough to live inside me, and loves me so much that He never gets tired of me. 

This tattoo is bright, happy colors, as I am when I remember Who can handle my worries. The Big Man wears purple Chuck Taylor converse high tops, and the little girl (me) wears red ones.

My new ink is a symbol of me trusting Him even more, of laying down worry and fear once and for all. Thank you, Stella Novack. Thank you, Jacob Institute. 

Don’t write to me about being addicted to tattoos, they hurt! Save your lecture about me blowing my professional image, nobody knows what’s under my short-sleeved shirt. And don’t tell me I’ll get tired of my lovely pictures, I’m 56, I only have thirty years until I’m senile and forget about them! 

Just rejoice with me that I trust God now more than ever. Rejoice that there’s Somebody who’s never tired of hearing my voice.