I want a tattoo. I’ve given this a good bit of thought.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get up the guts to allow the needle to
work on my skin …
but I’ve thought a good deal about it. It might look like this …
or it might say “DON’T DO IT” above of the line
and “bea(you)tiful” underneath.
I want to create cut marks across my wrist with ink.
I want to be reminded that there are hurting and injured women
who struggle and strive.
They inflict injury on themselves …
they hurt themselves
because they hurt.
I want them to see my arm
and ask me if I’ve been a cutter.
I will tell them,
“No, but I marked my body so that you would ask,”
so I can take them by the hands and look into their eyes and say,
“If nobody has ever told you, you are beautiful. You are worthy. You are special.”
I have never taken a razor to my split my skin
blood running down
liquid life being lost …
but I can almost u.n.d.e.r.s.t.a.n.d it.
Because I’ve never been enough –
And for years, I didn’t like myself.
Now that I am single, I feel less pressure to
try to be m.o.r.e.
Now … I set the standard.
I love myself through and through.
I love the skin I’m in.
I am happy and content.
And I know … that I a.m beautiful.
But, there are those
that do not know.
Nobody has ever told them.
And I want to tell them what nobody told me:
You don’t have to be thinner, smarter, stronger …..
You are beautiful … just like you are.
No matter what anyone has told you,
you are beautiful.
If not cut marks,
I’d like two or three small leaves and a portion of the verse
written on my wrist … sort of curling around like a skin-clinging, ink bracelet.
The words would say,
“the trees of the field shall clap their hands”
I want every opportunity to declare that His glory is wonderful and awesome
and to proclaim the verses that say the rocks will cry out (Luke 19:40)….
and that the trees do proclaim and sing to Him.
All creation points to Him.
How do people miss this?
When an EMT comes to your rescue as you
lay on the road
or in a ditch
or in our kitchen …
the first thing he does is reach for your wrist
to look for a pulse.
My other tattoo of choice would be the words
to be placed there upon my tender wrist skin.
Yes, my driver’s license is marked that I am an organ donor.
But, what if it is not near!
What if my purse was thrown from my car as I flipped.
What if my children are there and they don’t remember to tell the doctors or EMT ..
“Mom wants to save lives – don’t let her body go.”
I want to make sure.
I want to know that they know.
I want “organ donor” scrawled in ink
across my pulse point …
the first place that a doctor, nurse or EMT would reach
if I was sprawled out across the ground with injury.
Will I be brave? Will I take the time and energy to make one of these statements … come to life? I don’t know. But, if I had the guts and the money and the gumption, I’d have one … or all three … of these penned on the living, growing, regenerating paper of my life.
And so … I ponder back on the words of our guest pastor on Sunday.
“Hear … Heed … Hurry”