For most of my adult life, I’ve wanted a tattoo and no one in the world knew except for Josh. We’ve had casual conversations about it before, but given my propensity for tears, it isn’t something I ever thought I would follow through with. At some point last year, I told him that I wanted to do it. Not kind of or one day or maybe, but really-really-in-real-life-actually get a tattoo. He joked that the only way I would ever get one is if he kidnapped me and drove me to the tattoo shop. I had no intentions of getting inked while on our family vacation. I always assumed I would do it on a trip with Josh and that it would be highly researched and heavily planned. Instead, we took a spontaneous trip to random shop and my sister just happened to have her camera in my car. I say first tattoo because I’m smart enough to know that never is too big of a word. I have no plans now to add a second one, but it only took thirty-six years to convince myself of the first one, so it’s possible I’ll get another for my 72nd birthday.
Most of our vacation was spent carrying the girls back and forth to the beach, climbing trees, navigating bike trails and playing mini golf. It is a lot of family time in close quarters and, eventually, we wanted to go out for a nice dinner that didn’t involve bubbles or crayons or live entertainment. My parents took the kids out for ice cream and fishing pier adventures while we drove to dinner with my sister and her husband. We had been debating all day about where to go after dinner, but when we got to the restaurant we still hadn’t made any definite plans. Kamin and I put our name on the reservation list, grabbed a delicious watermelon margarita and did some window shopping, while the boys hung out in the shade. By the time we found them after, Josh had a big grin on his face and pointed to a building across the street. My exact words were, “I’m not going into that sketchy bar.” He pointed to another building and I said, “Oh. Who’s getting a tattoo?”
I spent the next two hours at the restaurant, sweating bullets and way overthinking things. My dinner was fine, but I was trying to adjust to the fact that we were heading to a tattoo parlor afterwards. I didn’t say much and decided that I wouldn’t suggest we not go, but if the boys forgot or came up with a new plan, I certainly wouldn’t remind them of their earlier suggestion. I can’t remember why, but after dinner Cory decided he needed to change shoes. We headed back to the campground and prayed we could extricate them without waking the whole place up. I was planning to walk to the restroom, but we saw a snake in the road, so I had them drop me off at the door instead. When I walked back outside, there was a car alarm blaring and I remember thinking, “What idiot sets off their car alarm, after dark, in a campground?!” My brother-in-law. We were in tears as he tried (unsuccessfully) to turn it off and couldn’t control our laughter when my parents tried to assist. It wasn’t until after we sped away that we realized he never even grabbed his shoes. I know none of those details matter at all, but the whole episode served to shut my brain off and keep me from being preoccupied about the TERRIBLE PAIN AND TORTURE I WAS ABOUT TO ENDURE.
Even though things turned out quite well for me, I wouldn’t recommend following in my footsteps. Josh quickly googled tattoo parlors in our vicinity and we picked one based solely on ratings and internet reviews (it happened to be the one he pointed out earlier in the evening). In hindsight, we probably should have planned a little better given the permanency of the situation, but there are so many things I love about that story and those memories, that I wouldn’t do anything different if I got a do over.
There are many reasons I knew I wanted an arrow tattoo. A post it note on my desk: “Her prayers are like arrows, piercing the plans of the enemy.” Favorite verses: “He has also made me a select arrow; He has hidden me in His quiver (Isaiah 49:2-3).” “Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them (Psalm 127:4-5).” The more I read those words, the more little arrows appeared in my life. Every time I saw one or read another passage, it was further confirmation that I knew exactly what I wanted. I typed these verses for myself in August of last year and they’ve been in my draft email folder ever since. Then on September first, I read this post from Rachel and had to laugh out loud. She writes, “An arrow is such a simple tool, basically useless on its own. In the hands of a skilled Archer, though, it can go so far and hit a target and actually have an impact. My life is like that– useless on its own, but in the hands of the One who made me, I can actually go the distance and have an impact for His kingdom because He is the one sending me.”
Arrows aren’t meant to be hidden in a quiver, but released into a fallen world where they have the opportunity to make a huge impact. I am an arrow and I’m so proud to be crafting and molding little arrows of my own. I want my girls to be world changers — brave and strong and unafraid to share the love of Christ at every opportunity. I want to be a world changer and a bold example for them to follow. The tattoo is small and unassuming. It isn’t perfect or elaborate. We didn’t make a stencil or create a digital design of any kind to follow — I drew the arrow on my arm with a sharpie marker. Josh says his favorite part about the tattoo is that it’s imperfect and irregular and obviously hand-drawn. Just a simple outward sign of the brave, bold girl I wish to be.
I was so surprised by how little pain there was. I’m well aware this has as much to do with the location of the tattoo as it does the simplicity of the design. Either way, I was pleasantly surprised. Although I’ve labored long and hard and recovered from two caesarean deliveries, I’m not exactly pain tolerant. I was much more concerned with the immediate pain than I was the eternal ramifications. The outside of my wrist stung just a bit, but I never teared up or had any trouble for most of the session. All in all, it took about fifteen minutes, and I was joking with Josh or talking to my sister for most of it.
For what it’s worth, Josh and Ella think I’m the coolest mom around. Everyday for the first week or so, Josh would wake me up by saying, “So, you have a tattoo.” I was afraid he would regret taking me, but I think he loves it just as much as I do. Sophie isn’t quite on board. She cried initially and told me she didn’t want to have a mom with a tattoo. A few days later, she asked if God could “get rid of that thing” whenever I got to heaven. I tried not to make her feel bad for having an opinion, but we have since talked about using kind words and how it’s okay to disagree about things. I am happy to report that last week she crawled into my lap and told me that she thought her mind was changing. She is the sweetest girl and I think she’s been afraid of hurting my feelings!
I will point out that I work in a pretty conservative office and although we don’t have any specific rules about tattoos or piercings, I always want to be respectful and err on the side of caution. While I do love the placement and would have gotten it there no matter what my job was, having it wrap around my wrist makes it much easier to conceal. I almost always wear bracelets or a watch to work and I’ve actually had several compliments around the office. “Hiding” it on a daily basis isn’t a necessity, but I do plan to wear a large cuff for important meetings or courtroom appearances just to be safe.
DO YOU HAVE A TATTOO STORY? I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR ALL ABOUT IT!
