It all started on January 7th, 1998, otherwise known as my eighteenth birthday. The day I could buy a pack of cigarettes, a lottery ticket, get charged as an adult, and even get a tattoo. Amazingly, (and because I had pretty protective parents), I didn't go to jail, buy a lottery ticket, commit a crime (that would come later), but I certainly did check myself out of youth group early that night and make my way over to the only tattoo joint in town, unbeknowst to anyone. The result was an homage to my love of the hippy way of life, or what I thought I knew about it because of pictures I had seen of my dad when he had a white-man afro. Anyway, I ended up with a tattoo of a peace sign. It was about the size of a quarter and I managed to keep it hidden until one of the dozens of people that I had shown it to during school opened their blabber mouth to my mom while a chance encounter in Walmart. Lets just say that there was a good reason I had been keeping it hidden and move on.
As I drifted through the last of my teenage years and rolled into my twenties, my life became a mirage of what i believed to be a very cool lifestyle, only being tempted into believing that I was invincible and my motto was "Go big or go home." The liquor was hard, the drugs were harder, and the bigger the tattoo, the cooler I thought it was. It wasn't until the crash of 2001 was I able to look back and see how messed up things really were and then shame started to seep in. I enrolled in school and so there was somewhat of a forward progression of my life, but the tats kept me attached to this stereotype that I had become. By the end of this specific era, I had much of my back covered in a mosaic of ink, symbolic of the various stages of my life until that point. When I gave my life back to Christ in 2006, I realized just how aware I was of the artwork that adorned my body, keeping it covered up much of the time because my heart had changed and I felt like I had to hide some of the regrets of the past, tattoos included.
When I started feeling called into ministry, I was very aware of the stigma attached to people who had tattoos and remember always being guarded when I could feel my hair part ways, exposing the footprint of my life represented by ink that was sprawled out on my back for the world to see. For me to wear my hair down, well, it took guts if I knew that I was going to be at church, or even in the presence of other church goers. I feared judgment to the point that I would not go up to the altar at church because that required me to lean my head forward to pray and my hair might part ways, exposing what I desperately tried to keep hidden. How sad to think that someone who so desperately wanted to cry out to God while kneeling at the foot of the altar, but wouldn't because the guilt and condemnation of her physical appearance,kept her fists clenching the chair in front of her to keep those chains locked tight that would lead her to freedom.
When I was given the opportunity of a lifetime to work where God has called me to now, I remember the first time that someone saw the secret I was so desperately trying to keep hidden. My hair had been pulled up and fastened with a pencil holding it in place, when I felt a hand touch my upper back. I was busted. I looked for the words to explain myself so that I could give an explanation to the person who had discovered the tip of the glacier that led to its entirety that I had hidden for so many years. It was then that I was met with open arms of affection, acceptance, and praise for what God had brought me through.
I no longer needed to hide the scars of my past because they were the successes of a Savior who had saved me in my darkness and carried me into the light!
I think the reason I am writing this is because I know that there are others like you who feel the old curse of sin and too, are holding on to it for fear of judgement or rejection. What I will say to you now is that satan is trying to keep you from surrendering your story to God and breaking free from the binding chains that would have you believe that you are just some old wash up unworthy of your own redemptive story. God is calling you out and saying that He is made strong in your weakness. That whatever you are holding on to that keeps you from taking hold of the life that he has prepared for you, you must let it go and give it to Him.
Without Him, you will fall. But with Him, you will soar.
By the way, some of the most Godly people I know have tattoos. They drink. They cuss. They get mad at their kids. They get irritated while driving. They struggle. Do you want to know why they continue to win hearts to Jesus? Because they are real, and being a common-day disciple means stripping off our Sunday suits and showing people that we ALL fall short of the glory of God, yet His grace extends beyond our grasp of understanding.
