i did a thing.

What did I think I was going to be doing this past Saturday night?  

Exciting stuff.  Working on Caroline's transcript that colleges are requesting as she's applying. 

What did I end up doing?

 

Actual exciting stuff. Going to Auburn and getting a tattoo with my 2 oldest kids (one of them got a tattoo, one did not).

[sniveling: the action of crying and sniffling in a feeble or fretful way.]

To quote my very fantastic brother, Lane, "to make a short story longer...."

I've thought about getting a tattoo for a long time...but not just a tattoo for the sake of a tattoo.  I've thought about getting the word "beloved" tattooed on my arm. (For a glimpse into why the word "beloved" click on the "living as his beloved" label to the left)(and listen to the song i am your beloved)

For years, if I've been in the presence of henna, "beloved" was what I had painted on my arm.... I've written "beloved" on my arm in sharpie....my incredibly amazing gift giving husband had temporary "beloved" tattoos made me for me as a birthday gift a few years ago. 

 

So I've thought about getting a tattoo for a while (but, hey, lots of us think about lots of things...) but I wasn't 100% sure of the font or size or exact placement - and my wise sister says that when it comes to tattoos (and possibly other things) "when you know, you know....and if you don't know, don't get it yet."  So I've been not knowing.  

AND my other philosophy (a very important one) is that I wasn't planning to pay for pain.  My plan was to drop enough hints that eventually someone was going to volunteer to take me and pay for it (my top 2 guesses were previously mentioned Amy or Grandaddy)(for the record - I am NOT a hint dropper when it comes to important things)

Fast forward a bit.  Sometime in the past few weeks (maybe months?  time baffles me a bit). I decided that if/when I got a tattoo, it would be the word "beloved" and it would be in typewriter font.  So now I knew....and I was just waiting on my patron....financier...benefactor...

A couple of weeks ago Eli sent me a text that said "Would you want to go get tattoos sometime? I know you've been wanting to get beloved and I think I'd like to get maranatha (in Hebrew)." 

My response: "I'm thinking yes...." (and I am amazed that he is certain of something at 18...took me double + 7 of that to be certain)

Side note (cause I want to say it as often as I can): I really love my teenagers.  I love them.  They are amazing.  I love them.  I like them. I enjoy them. 

Continuing on with the story. Saturday Eli was home from Impact...and was texting with some friends ...and said something along the lines of "some friends are in Opelika getting tattoos...want to go get a tattoo tonite?" The texting continues...."and if we go in the next hour it's free." 

Yes. Yes, I do want to go to Opelika and get a free tattoo. 

So we did.  It ended up being Auburn, not Opelika...close enough...and it was a legit tattoo shop with legit tattoo people.  It ended up being free because the guy (the ridiculously young looking guy in the pictures!) is an apprentice and can't charge for his services just yet.  

AND I love it.  It's just what I was hoping for (though I had a huge moment of doubt in the middle of the night Saturday....it looked really smudged and I thought the free tattoo had ended up terribly....thankfully that wasn't the case when I took the bandage thingy off Sunday morning)

AND I love Eli's tattoo (I'll leave it to him to explain the why behind it if he wants to). 

AND I love how I can have good plans...but God's got better.  I didn't want to pay for pain and I had a plan for how that was going to come to be....ended up that NOBODY had to pay for my pain.  AND it ended up that it wasn't all that much pain.  Seriously.  That was surprising.  The anticipation was far worse than the reality (lots could be said here....I'll save it for another blog...for now I'll just say that I'm glad to have a reminder that the anticipation is far more brutal than the reality).  

Other surprising parts (might not be surprising to anyone else): 1) he used a stencil!  He printed off exactly what I wanted and then sort of stamped it on me and then tattooed over it.  I always thought that tattoo artists were magically gifted with the ability to freehand anything and everything!!  and 2) when they are using a tissue to wipe stuff away during the process, I always assumed it was blood.  NOPE. it was excess ink.  I never saw a drop of blood.

I keep looking at my arm and being surprised afresh that it's permanent. And not surprised that I love it.  There's no other word I want etched on my arm for the rest of my time on earth than the description of who God says I am.  His beloved.  Fully known, fully loved.