This is a touchy subject among the Christian world. And whatever view you may hold on the matter, I'm not here to pick a fight or to condemn or to point fingers.
Because, you see, I have a tattoo.
Tattoos - they tell stories. In the traveling that I have done over the past year I have met many a people with ink upon their bodies. Each has an unique story to tell. Every line, tittle, and jot has a history and a reason. I met women in my beloved land of Papua New Guinea who bear the mark of old tribal history upon the weathered skin of their faces. They have come from out of the jungle. They have traveled into the light. Some still scorn them for the marks upon their brows and cheeks. These marks are the signs of witchcraft. Of beliefs of old that have been cracked open by the Light of the World.
Is it so surprising that a culture, that has sustained much of it's traditions over the last century, is visible in threads among modern society? Is it so strange to see facial tattoos when walking along in any major metropolitan area? What may have been looked down upon 50, or even 20, years ago has found a stable place in culture. Because the art of expressing oneself is never to be repressed. Right?
My own tattoo... it has a story. It's a reminder to me to remember. (Funny how we need those, hey?) Life isn't always easy. It's not generally pretty. There's a lot of shoe scuffing, glass breaking, nail biting moments in day to day life. A year ago, my life was dark and bleak. I walked through a season of death and searching in ways my 21 and 22 year old self had never imagined possible. Every day was a struggle to just get up. To face reality and the raw mess that we're left with in the blink of an eye sometimes. After months of pain, sorrow, and self-inflicted isolation from God, a friend helped pull me out of the place I had holed myself up in. I am forever grateful to him. I'm not sure he'll ever truly understand the depth of my thankfulness. As winter turned into spring inside my soul, I found myself with my girl Charlie at a tattoo parlor. I knew what I wanted. Small. Unobtrusive. A reminder. This small mark upon my flesh was a sort of manifesto against the enemy. It was my way of screaming what I couldn't vocalize. "You. Did. Not. Win." It was the closing of a chapter, the opening of another.
I chose the ichthus.
Early believers used this simple fish to identify one another. One would draw an arc casually in the sand, and if the new aquaintance completed the second arc then they knew of the mutual faith between them. It's used today in a more mainstream way, but nonetheless.
Honestly, people hardly ever notice this ink permanently resting underneath my skin. Which is 100% fine. My goal wasn't to announce to the world that I'm a believer of Jesus Christ and that He conquered death and rose from the grave and now sits at the right hand of the Father waiting to come back to bring judgement and then once and for all defeat the enemy of us all. Some people may choose to mark upon their bodies that way. Which is great. Seriously. I offer no sass about it.
So what about future tattoos?
Personally, at this point in my life I have decided to not get any more tattoos. I would love to, but I want to respect myself and the people that I will possibly live with and spend time with in the future. I want to travel the world and the seven seas. I want to be a part of cultures and shine for Jesus in a dark world. Overall though, in regards to tattoos, I want to be respectful. Since I have no clue where my travels will take me, I would rather be conservative. Do I regret having my tattoo? Absolutely not. I'm not ashamed of it or embarrassed by it. I understand the implications of ink upon my body referring to Christ may mean in a foreign land though.
I want to be effective. I want to be respectful. I want to bring life and show the world how life without Jesus is nothing.
::Katie Jean
