So the last post was a complete lie. All in the innocent fun of AF Day humor. But this post is completely true. All in the name of humbleness.
I am taking off my pride. And – it – ain’t – easy – folks.
I am a fool. I have done something foolish. Nevermind the reason behind it. Even if I could justify it in anyone’s mind, it was wrong.
I became wrath.
Two days ago it was suggested in an offhand ‘meant nothing’ sort of way that I cover my Memorial Tattoo for my sister’s upcoming wedding – either with make-up or a shawl. It was not suggested by her (the bride). It was by another one of my sisters. I guess my sister (the bride) asked her (the one who is not the bride) to see if she could find something to cover her (the bride’s) own tattoo that is at the base of her neck so it won’t show during the wedding. Her fiancee isn’t such a tattoo enthusiast and thinks they are tacky — a common feeling among many people in our society.
To say I flipped out is very much an understatement.
I have been hearing Pastor Mike talk from time to time about matters of the heart. He has said a few times about how we know what is in our hearts during the moments when we are pressed the most. What comes out in those times is something we need to really pay attention to. It’s important. I know this and I believe him. However, I thought my heart was just fine all things considered. Yes, I am a sinner. But I thought I had changed enough inside that the mountains of dirt that were there when I first believed were down to small little ant hills by now. Sure I have bad thoughts at times, but I thought I was doing pretty darn good at keeping a lid on it and dealing with it through prayer — giving it to God so-to-speak. Not that I thought I am perfect — not at all. But I didn’t think I was this bad.
Two days ago all that changed.
Wrath. Wrath is defined as strong, stern, or fierce anger; deeply resentful indignation; ire. That is what became of me when I read the e-mail that merely suggested I consider covering my exposed tattoo. I cried, I yelled, I cursed, I slammed things, I freaked out. Wrath. Complete wrath.
I prayed. I prayed for God to fix this. I prayed that He would do something. I didn’t think He would take her side. Never did I think He would come after me. I sincerely thought I was perfectly justified in what I did. My reaction seemed completely understandable considering the reason behind the tattoo. And this sister of mine knows how important that tattoo is to me. She reads my blog. She got the phone call the day I was crying off and on a few weeks before we moved.
Let me explain it like this — the tattoo is the ONLY thing I have left of that baby. That’s it. I did not take it lightly when I decided that’s what I wanted to do. It is not a tattoo that I got after a drunken night of partying. It’s not a permanent reminder of my crazy early adulthood. It is a representation of a baby that I loved and had hopes and dreams for. That baby already had a name, depending on its gender. And now I don’t even know its gender. The tattoo is a representation of a tiny human blessing and answer to heartfelt prayers. And, it represents heartache and loss and suffering. It represents love and sacrifice.
So for someone to ask me to cover it up for any reason whatsoever is like being stabbed in the heart over and over and over again.
But I doubt she had any idea. I believe she had no intention of causing the pain that she did.
And I thought I had healed more than that.
And I thought I was nicer than that.
And I thought I was more righteous than that.
And I thought
And now I think I behaved like a fool. I believe my mouth portrayed the condition of my heart. I have behaved like a hypocrite. I have disappointed God. I have done so many wrong things.
And I am ashamed.