It happened. I got a tattoo.
If you missed the big news on Instagram yesterday, here’s a picture of the beautiful thing.
I had been thinking about this particular one daily, since about the middle of April. I envisioned it on my wrist, but never got the guts, or the $60, to get it.
This week, I decided enough was enough. Hannah, Heather, and I went to Inkfluence in Lubbock and a very sweet guy by the name of Lance (who had GREAT sleeves on both arms) helped us out.
Five minutes tops and I had the forever-kind-of-ink on my arm. Forever.
After the high of “WOW I ACTUALLY DID IT AND IT LOOKS PERFECT AND IT’S ALL I EVER WANTED” passed, I was laying in bed reading, casually glancing at it wondering, “Should I have gotten it? I want it now, but will I want it in 20 years?”
Then, sweet Jesus started giving me pictures:
My tattoo on my arm, as I board the plane to our first country on the World Race, and the plane/train/boat ride to every subsequent country after that.
My tattoo on my arm, as I board the plane back to America in August 2015.
My tattoo on my arm, as I move to a new city, finding a new job, new church, new community.
My tattoo on my arm, as I stand before the Lord and say I do to forever with my husband.
My tattoo on my arm, as we embark on our first year of marriage, or our 50th year of marriage.
My tattoo on my arm, as I give birth to my first child, or my third.
My tattoo on my arm, as I sit rocking that baby at 3am that refuses-to-sleep-ever.
My tattoo on my arm, as I deal with the teenagers that have taken over my house and my car and my fridge and my heart.
My tattoo on my arm, as I walk with friends through health, sickness, hardship, despair, joy, and every other emotion life brings.
My tattoo on my arm, as I walk with the Lord to dark places, to places I can’t see.
My tattoo on my arm, as I obey the Lord, without hesitation or backsliding.
My tattoo on my arm, as I lay my own life down, knowing in confidence that the life I pick up in Christ everyday is worth far more than anything I could contrive.
My tattoo on my arm. To be brave. To find my bravery in Christ and not in my own strength. That’s something I’ll never regret, something I’ll always love.
