I made a commitment. I had said, in Nepal I will get my tattoo. Its at the end of 6 months, Ive made it halfway on this journey, its perfect.
So I stood in a tattoo parlor waiting for my turn in the chair. I am very sensitive to the atmosphere around me, I was thankful that what I saw was clean, bright and well kept. The lady behind the counter was friendly and patient with me as I went through fonts looking for the exact one I wanted for the word I was getting. I chose one. I go in to meet my tattoo artist who then gets to work.
I thought I was pretty B.A. going into that place, ready to get my tattoo that I have wanted for a couple of years now. But now sitting in that chair, my heart was pounding as I tried to gage my expectation of the pain.
He starts and I pull out my Ipod and quickly put my headphones in. It feels like I am getting a shot. A 10 minute shot where he doesn’t stay in one place, but drags the needle. I have 3 Advil in my system. I had been told by most people that it didn’t hurt that bad. Some said they didn’t feel it at all.
I felt it all.
Suddenly, maybe a letter into my tattoo, I realized that I wasn’t a B.A. I was a wuss. The pain got worse. My blood pressure rose. I wished I had taken my jacket off before he got started. Could I get it off now? Probably not. What if I caused him to mess it up? It wasn’t worth it. I left the jacket on.
I know it sounds silly of me, sitting in that chair as I paid someone to scar me, to wound me, to cause me pain… I did it to myself so why should I ask for help, right? But I wasn’t proud. I began to pray. I was encountering just how mortal and susceptible to pain I was. And my fist instinct was to lean on Daddy.
So I put on my worship music. And as the music played and the pain threatened to occupy all my attention, I told Him how beautiful He was and how thankful I was for the cross…. The cross.
Wait. The cross. That was pain. Pain He chose. And it began to wash over me, a new understanding, albeit a very small glimpse but miles in comparison to the reality that Jesus chose the pain, the cross, the torture. He knew what He was walking into and the moment the pain started I now believe I know exactly where His mind went.
His mind went to Daddy. Saying how beautiful, how holy, how wonderful and faithful He was. And then He thought of me when the pain worsened and said, “You are worth this to me. Up there, I will be thinking of you. You’ll be mine soon.”
Thats what he was thinking. “You’ll be mine soon.”
The tattoo man finished. My leg felt raw and sore, like I had been badly sunburned. He wrapped it up and I walked out of there. The word, Journey, forever apart of me. Why Journey? Because it reminds me that my life is a journey home that can only be walked out step by step with Jesus. Then one day I will see the One my heart desires and I will fall on my face before the One who’s scars paid for me.
