Tag Archive for: tattoo

Ink…

I have a multi-faceted personality, if I can be honest with you. I am all sorts of things: introverted and love when I get to interact with my closest circle or those I find a new connection with; both anxious about the how’s, where’s and what’s that accompany my disability and very comfortable in other familiar settings, especially my back porch! I am both a rule-follower and I have a bit of a adventurer, perhaps even rebel streak. I’ve never tried cigarettes but have long thought IF I was ever going to, I was going to be a badass and try a cigar… (my 13 year old daughter’s eye’s popped out of her head as she proof read THAT sentence!)

I’ve long been living with both/and even before I knew it was a thing…

My first tattoo happened in my twenties. My dear friend Jeannine and I ventured into Purple East, which at the time, did tattoos. I felt so brave (and a bit badass if I am really honest) as BJ etched a tiny Jesus fish on my ankle. The backstory….

I was working at the time at an alternative education high school and soon into my job, I began to see how, for so many, tattoos are an external view of the parts of their story that they were willing to physically and emotionally show. When I stopped to realize what a privilege that is, it made me curious about every single tattoo I encountered. It also began to normalize the idea (and importance for some,) of wearing what is most important to you….

I had the privilege after getting my degree in social work to blend a job I adored and being “in ministry,” which as I age, just makes me grin, because no matter what we do, when we follow and love the Lord, we are all in ministry, aren’t we? I so love this idea…. and anyway, I digress.

Because I knew without doubt that my love for Jesus was forever, I decided that I wanted a tattoo, a small ichthus (Jesus Christ, God’s Son, Savior some commentaries translate). I remember explaining my surgery scar to BJ, the tattoo artist, the reason for my ichthus and the call to my parents to tell them about it afterward. I was both nervous and proud as I waited for their reaction, after this adult decision of my own!

I had also decided I wanted 2 Corinthians 12:9 curved around my ichthus which says, “My grace is sufficient for you, in your weakness, I am strong.” It was placed where it was, (as close to that big surgery scar as possible) as a reminder for all Jesus has brought me through, and all he has yet to: the painful, hard and really beautiful. It is a reminder that at my weakest, (or my strongest), he will be my strongest.

I will NEVER forget my first day back to the high school after getting that tattoo. It was late spring, I had intentionally worn shorts. I was expecting the question, hoping to share about Jesus. Because of the separation of church and state, I could not bring it up, but if they asked, I could definitely answer! It came much different as I expected though…

“Miss, what’s that say?” one of the girls half sneered, half curiously asked me.

“Corinthians. It’s a -” I began to answer but was interrupted quickly.

“Well, that your boyfriend?” She emphasized, wide, expectant eyes.

How I loved that moment and will never forget it, ever. It was real and true to the lives these kids experienced. I did get to tell her about my Jesus, my verse and so much more. For the next couple years in that school she would smile when she saw me, introduce me to friends as “Miss Stacy, she loves Jesus,” point out the tattoo or even tell the “Corinthian/boyfriend” story. I loved every moment.

That tattoo faded a bit, but brought about so many conversations as many years passed. In February 2020, there was this, an event and post I wrote just before COVID changed us all, the landscape and how we all all see things… in our weakness for sure.

A few weeks ago in church we had a sermon on “what does God think about politics.” Ben Post spoke eloquently, introduced Ve’ahavta, Hebrew for “and you shall love.” I have been resonating with his words for weeks, the idea of loving God and his people, despite differences. I am a strong believer in kindness, caring for others and giving the grace we would desire for ourselves. E wrote “Ve’ahavta” on my wrist on that Sunday and it felt like it was meant to be there. When it washed off, I asked her to write it again and again. Then I knew, I wanted it there permanently in her writing. Today, she, Jeannine and I went to do just that. (They for support.) I am so thankful for the example of my Savior to LOVE. I hope that reminder to love only gets stronger. I am thankful for the many conversations to come from E’s handwritten reminder. And you shall love indeed. ❤️

I must tell you that even TODAY, FOUR YEARS and A FEW MONTHS LATER, I still, (STILL!) love seeing, feeling and explaining what this means to me. I love her writing, the consistent reminder to love. Just that…LOVE. Love when I see the annoyed cashier… or the client who I need to remind about an overdue account. Love myself and the extra pounds I wish would disappear, and the pups who chewed on my new shoes. And you shall love ( really try to model yourself after Jesus…)

Two Springs later, my youngest sat on my lap, running her finger over E‘s word on my wrist.

“Mama, are you going to get a word in my writing too?”

“Do you WANT me to get a tattoo in your writing? What would it be? ” I asked, surprised, but not surprised by her question.

“Yes, I do…” she said thoughtfully, then a few minutes after we both sat in silence, she asked if she could write her word. I knew if it had worked that way for one, it just might for the next….

She carefully, with fierce concentration and her tongue sticking out the way it always does when she is drawing the most important thing, wrote the word… J I R E H.

My heart skipped a beat…

She and I would belt out Jireh by Elevation and Maverick City every car ride to school, it was our anthem and our understanding of Jesus’s own heart. The Hebrew translations, in my limited knowledge says, “the Lord will provide.” It is layered with personal meaning as well as biblical meaning.

“Why that one, babe?”

“It’s our song and when I hear the song or the word I feel at peace.” I hugged her tight and wondered how long it would be until I made the appointment…..

A few weeks and many rewrites later, hubby got home from work a bit early. I spontaneously asked him to call the tattoo place just a few minutes down the road to see if we may be able to get it done.

That evening, my son’s best friend came over, was the first to see it and his smile was one I will not forget. “That is the coolest tattoo ever.” Joel told me. I smiled, knowing I loved all three of my little drawings….

The following Spring, I realized it was just undone, that I wanted words from my boys since my girls had both been so impactful. They were not as spontaneous, both needed some time to consider which word.. But what they came up with was no less important… sweet son and I have spent time watching all the Marvel movies together and most days, somewhere along the way will repeat to each other, I love you, 3000. If you know Marvel, you know. And If you don’t…well, it will be some fun research for you.

Hubby picked the word, adored, a word that even after 22 years together, I still struggle to understand. Am I really worthy of his adoration? And what does it truly mean? And do I show him mine enough?

(Oldest wanted to pick her own word, because technically, ve’ahavta was my own choice. Because it was the season of beginning to look at colleges, she wanted, always home to remind me that “wherever I go, mom, you will always be my home.”

Back to my now favorite tattoo place, and there I was, with my neat little square. It has been about one year exactly of loving those reminders of Jesus, my loves and their own handwriting. There have been countless conversations about my square, (for lack of a better description) and the pure love that comes with each…

You think you know what’s coming, don’t you? It’s a little different than you think…

Remember that trip I took with hubby to Disney in February? One night, as we got settled into the bus to return to our resort, I noticed a woman with a beautiful tattoo all the way up her arm. I sat in my wheelchair, unaware that I was comparing her tattoo and my own lovely square, looking back and forth between us. I don’t think I really thought much more than, to be honest, that hers was pretty, I wondered what the story behind it was, and if I’d been within earshot, I would’ve asked.

Cast member unlocked my chair, wished us good night, thanks us for visiting; rolled me down the ramp. Hubby took over pushing and with the voice of the one who knows me as well as I know myself, said, “I saw you looking at that lady’s tattoo. I can see you adding to yours and having something similar.” I couldn’t see his face as we entered the resort, but I could feel his truth, love and his big smile. I was both dumbfounded and I felt entirely known, even though I hadn’t even thought of it myself….

We talked about it many times during the week in line at Disney, while we nibbled on Mickey pretzels and “plastic cheese” and as we noticed others’ tattoos. We talked about it when we got home, with the kids who were so excited about the idea…which again, surprised me.

My E began drawing my story in tattoo form, all the meaningful parts of me and the pillars of what makes me who I am. I love her artwork so very much so that process was such fun by itself. What came out of all it was the desire to share who I am in an outward way that ultimately gives glory to God; gratitude for individuality, for love, the love of family and being content exactly as I am. From the time of Hubby’s comment to the ultimate design, the process was so full of “us.” And it felt so right…

Off to visit JR and Michelle, then a few weeks wait. The timing was perfect though, as my appointment was the Friday before Mother’s Day and just one week before E’s graduation open house. It wasn’t until I sat in the chair, with JR set to go that I realized that this time would be very different than getting my words. I gulped, and we were off….

4 hours later, JR had the bones of the tattoo finished. It was absolutely right. I was in a bit of pain and so much joy as I looked down the first night…hubby was in awe, daughter had hung in supported me the whole time and I just felt incredibly strong. That is SUCH a rare feeling about ourselves, isn’t it? I felt like, YES! Here I am! Let me tell you about my Jesus, my story, my personhood.

The next day I returned to have JR put the finishing touches on my new sleeve, a part of me that now feels like it has always been there.

-Along with my square are the kids birthdays and our anniversary. Next is my anchor, a symbol of many things including my alma mater, my hope, and a few special others. Going clockwise is BOTH/AND; Michigan, a representation of the Wind (an element in which I always feel God’s presence and power) and half of a quote that I share with my oldest daughter. Te amo represents my kids commitment to becoming bilingual and their love. Coordinates for one of my favorite places, my bike (freedom of movement) and then my hero Mr. Rogers is represented with 143 and Mentionable Managable. Up on my bicep is a butterfly in a state of change, the picture for me of Psalm 13. There is so much wrapped up in that butterfly, my hospice work and memories, my Jesus and so much hope. Finally, a windmill and Mickey; Lastly is a favorite quote from Cinderella, one of those life quotes that has just become my regular.

I keep looking at it and smiling…I keep grinning, feeling very unexpected, badass and so content; almost willing people to ask about it so I can tell about any part in which Jesus IS the story.

I told my mom, “I know this is probably not your thing. But I am so thankful, that in all of this life, through all the work I’ve done, I know who and whose I am.” She hugged me tight and said, “I’m so glad.” Me too, Mama. Me too.

Thank you my Jesus, for the so many ways that YOU create beauty, artistry, story. Thank you that you make each of us with unique loves, interests and things that move us deeply. May we always give you the glory. May we be curious about those around us who are willing to share their stories and reach out to hear them. And help us to see you reflected in it all.

Both/And

Psalm 13

xoxo

Redefining what it means to be Badass.

I wonder if you’ve ever watched an event, a TV show, or a person when something about a particular feat that resonates within you. Somewhere deep inside you find yourself thinking, “that is simply, __________.”

You can fill in your own blank. I realize that for some, the word badass may not be the first word to come to mind. For me, 1) I live with teens, so the “normal” around here could be different than yours and 2) sometimes, there is a bit of streak inside me that loves to find the perfect word, the one that fits as an exclamation point, shout of joy or pain or just to emphasize a point that is a bit edgier; never names of God, just to clarify. Those hurt, a lot. But the ones to get my point across with a bit more hutzpah? Yes, sometimes I really like those.

Badass has become one of my very favorite descriptions because it fits so many situations. I’m not sure when I adopted it…it has come to bring a sparkle to my eye, a bit bigger smile, an earnest desire to share how I see a person or situation – with strength and fortitude that moves me.

One of my earliest memories was about 16 years ago…a dear friend’s daughter told me when she was 14 or 15 that she wanted to be a policewoman. My friend was cutting my hair as her daughter came in to say hi and told me her future plans. I motioned her to come closer to me and stated, “That is so badass.” Her eyes lit up and it fit her, that statement. For the next few years and probably still now, when I see this beautiful, spirited woman who DID INDEED become a policewoman and so much more, we smile and both recall the “badass” day fondly.

My nieces, who’ve both moved, braved hard things, have found their own identities, created adventures and show me a level of badassery from far away. They both continue to branch out with both their career, geographical pursuits, hobbies and beliefs while also advocating for mental health – INCREDIBLY badass.

Clients who show me hourly how they choose to brave by showing up, engage in care and compassion for self while processing past events, pain and the desire to change sometimes against insurmountable odds, are badass. The one this week, disclosing a long history of eating challenges, self-harm and difficult relationship dynamics, still pushing toward healthier? BADASS.

My husband and son, rebuilding a 1998 Jeep Wrangler, together learning endless new skills AND bonding for a lifetime? Badass.

My daughters, badass in many ways, but currently resonating with the new Barbie movie, pushing boundaries for girls and woman, self – love and empowerment, most definitely. Also, dads who show up, put egos aside, communicate and empower? This is an entirely different kind of badass!

Moms, in the postpartum fog of childbirth, then learning the intense pace of having a child in the NICU while healing? Badass.

Single parents, teen parents, all parents. ALL kids, especially those who hold on to self-worth when the odds are stacked against you. Grandparents who love unconditionally, chose to evolve and continue praying, always.

Those with chronic, life altering disease, cancer and so much more – the nuances are so layered and so are the levels of badassery…

Those choosing life, family and themselves day by day over the battles of addiction and their loved ones who choose, walk and forgive right beside them…do you see how many people and situations in which “badass” could just be the most encompassing description for the most resilient among us?

I could give you so many more examples that come to mind. For me this, is yet another truth, when I really sit back and ponder Jesus’s life, ministry and relentless perseverance of intimate relationship with each and every person. I certainly do not mean any offense, but when I think of Jesus, teaching, being, loving and pushing every single boundary, even death? Even more than Badass. SO MUCH MORE.

I know I could filter, use different language and “clean this up,” but that defeats the goal of being authentic for me. Badass is truly one of those perfect words for me, at least right now. It has taken me a long time to get here for myself. A lot of reframing, redefining, wrestling and finally acknowledging the badass parts inside myself. Maybe you will relate, cringe or see your own inner badass as well.

I began seeing Dr. Hotchkiss in 3rd grade to address some of my particular musculoskeletal nuances of cerebral palsy. I did not know the half. But I was the kid undergoing the appointments, bearing his watchful eyes as I walked, the distant, cold demeanor he had and the pain involved with surgery after surgery. I wasn’t SUPPOSED to understand it all, but certainly DID IT ALL – healing, wheelchairs, re-learning how to walk multiple times, even into adulthood.

My parents would not ever have called me “badass,” because that is just not who they are or the time I grew up in. Support, yes! Love, undoubtedly! But seeing that endurance as badass then? I don’t think the world knew that word as we know it now. I think (and maybe they will say I am wrong,) that life really was more about “doing” and getting through, rather than dwelling on or labeling. At least then. I think that has been part of the American way for a very long time. I’m not sure when it began to change, but I am certain that many kids (and adults) with CP who share their struggles and many victories on social media can surely called badass in so many ways. Though I grew up in an age where we didn’t know or use the word, doesn’t mean people were not badass. Quite the contrary….what joy it is to share my journey here, even the hard parts.

During the pandemic, my mom was sorting and gave me an huge plastic bin of old photos. I love photos and began to look through them with care, a slow pace that the pandemic taught me well. I didn’t have many photos of my youth around the times of those surgeries, instead, vivid memories that I could tell in great detail. When I came across a few pictures of me in the hospital, post-surgery or my early teen years recovering in a wheelchair, I did not know how to feel. Again, meaning no offense to my dear parents, we “got through” a lot of that, have some sweet and funny memories along with the pain, but they were not ever people who would dwell on the most difficult. My mom is so skilled with pivoting into happy when people are struggling, especially grandkids! My dad is not someone to dwell on emotions either. But as I looked at those few faded photos, I felt something new…I couldn’t even name it, YET.

My mom, with such good intent, wanted to get rid of those pictures, probably so difficult as a parent to see, let alone remember. But I couldn’t let her throw them out. I held them, looked, put them away, looked again and then could not look away.

I have no problem telling you that I, as a therapist, see a therapist. I believe every person walking this earth COULD benefit from a therapist. When you’re a therapist, in my opinion, it is imperative to do your own work. It was to her that I brought one of those pictures. I couldn’t put it away, but my heart was still raw by looking at it, for there were parts of me that were transported back to that wheelchair. A both/and that said, “talk with your trusted person about this one, something is stirring.”

She looked at the picture I handed her, after my conflicted feelings tumbled out of my mouth and maybe my eyes in the form of a few tears.

“What do you see?” She asked as a good therapist is known to do… (I answer questions with questions ALL the time too.) I described the pain I had been in, some of the trauma, then waited for her thoughts.

She smiled the gentle smile I’d become accustomed to and asked, “yes, those are about you in this picture, but what do you see?” She asked so gently. I simultaneously was frustrated and wanted to hug her for the care she exuded. (See the new T-shirts in the both/ and T-shirt store regarding the both/and we may feel with our therapists.) I know this on both sides, as a client AND a client therapist.

“I don’t know….” I stammered, hemming and hawing. I did not have the ability yet to be with that seventh-grade girl. I just know I couldn’t stop looking at her in those pictures.

“I see strength and courage,” she said softly; “how she persevered…” instantly, the tears filled my eyes and I could feel a cry rolling up from the depths of my body. Never had I EVER considered that those days were anything more than awful, terrifying and that I had not been brave enough….

Here in this sacred room where I had shared some of my deepest fears, shame, changes and hope, things were changing in this instant, as they had a many times before during my hour with my therapist. With the soft, caring tone she intentionally used and that achingly poignant question, she altered the view I had of that photo (in reality, that time in my life) and began to help me permanently change it.

I have become so proud of her.

A few weeks later, I sent her an email, telling her how badass that little girl was and “I just never knew it.” She applauded this perspective, agreed with me and asked me to think about other times “I was a badass.” Some big seeds, planted and watered.

I have played with the word, smiled about it, shamed myself for “being arrogant,” adamantly disagreed in my own mind and then tried to be kinder to myself. It took a lot of time, emotional tug-of-war and intentional self-compassion to begin caring about myself, seeing my own resiliency. But it wasn’t until I began riding a new recumbent around that same time, that I began to embrace and LOVE the idea of being a badass. Another perspective shift, this time from my husband and kids.

When I got my new bike, I was and felt much slower than my much younger kids. Still, the freedom and movement were new and beautiful gifts. I felt a bit sassy on that bike and battled through my negative self-talk to give permission for joy.

My husband began riding with me and as I gained strength, he started upgrading my bike. He turned my 7-speed cruising recumbent into a 21 speed as I got stronger. He surprised me that summer with a hidden, beautiful moniker. “Badass.” With every ride, his belief was right in front of me, on repeat. I smiled, grit my teeth, cried some days, but I could not NOT see his reminder to me. Every ride. Every single rotation of my left, then right leg. And with every ride, the reminder began to wash away any other belief I had about myself. I finally owned, “I AM BADASS.” My kids felt a little rebellious, excited and nervous, when we told them it was ok to say, (at least in this context, not at school!)

My husband is ridiculously smart, talented and knew this reminder was important.

I’ve been building that belief since. Some days, it is easier than others to hold on to that semi-new belief, while also believing the fire (and honestly the FUN) of those words. I LOVE, love, love the idea of being so able and strong, resilient and capable, not fragile. The truth of 2 COR 12:9 that says, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” It is a complex thing, to find your worth…

To believe in yourself, means overcoming the multitude of reasons we range from self-loathing to mean (rarely kind in our own minds, remember that 80% kinder to others than we are to ourselves statistic?). It requires a level of badassery all of its’ own. But the journey to both healthy self-esteem and the knowledge that we aren’t worthy and NEED Jesus Christ is a beautiful one. I believe with my whole self that we are worthy of both, freedom from the bondage of low self-esteem AND the delight of feeling badass.

My former pastor often shared this quote: The gospel is this: We are more sinful and flawed in ourselves than we ever dared believe, yet at the very same time we are more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope.” –  Rev. Tim Keller from The Meaning of Marriage: Facing the Complexities of Commitment with the Wisdom of God

 Every day, I get to watch the transformation from shame, low self-esteem and self-loathing to redemption, belief, self-compassion and “loving yourself just like you love others.” (a paraphrase of Mark 12:31). I began to process that verse quite a while ago as I saw a trend of “putting others first ALWAYS (the emphasis from MANY clients over the span of this career.) My hope is that the perspective of this verse including caring for ourselves AS WELL, allows us to love and care about each other and ourselves in the best manner.  Most of the time it is hard for any of us to argue when we flip it, but all too often, I think we focus on others and let the as yourselves slip by the way side.

In my minds eye, I imagine The Father, Son and Holy Spirit each and all, enjoying how we are created, loving our dependence on God and the fulfillment that knows WITHOUT GOD, we are lost. Once again, please forgive me if it offends, but the very act of loving and trusting, trying to hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.” (Hebrews 10:23,) is not without some brave hutzpah of its own!

To witness the sheer weight, agony and chains of self-doubt lift, replaced with a spark, a firework and incredible strength of seeing ourselves with even a small bit of how God himself made in us is life-changing and beautiful for me as a therapist, even if someone does not know or ascribe to who God is.

The very small comparison for me personally, is the joy I feel when I watch my kids feeling so strong and ready when they compete in various sports or perform, prepare for a test or follow the call of Jesus. When they flash me a “Mom, I am ready and I am badass,” smile, I know, that no matter any outcome, they are feeling exactly right in how God made them and HE is WITH them.

Badass indeed!

A few weeks ago, two dear friends took me out for dinner. It was pure joy, the laughter, the support and the pizza pinwheels. They shared a smile and as I was trying to figure out why, one handed me a colorful little box. “Just because we love you.” I opened the box and found the perfect gift: A cursive, dainty, badass necklace! It is full of beautiful reminders, to the care of sisters and the grace of God that says, “we see you and will remind you even if you forget.” They are WITH me….

A perfect gift. 💗

So, here’s the question…

Is badass a word that means something to you? If it is that particular word or maybe another, who or what makes you feel strong, capable and ready to take on the world? That is what badass is to me. It is feeling both strong, brave and capable and if you believe in Jesus, holding the truth that you are lost without him.

I believe with all my heart, mind and strength that God is within us, before us and behind, always for us. What amazing reasons to embrace our strength and if it feels right to you, your own inner badass. There is infinite room for growth, humility and pointing back to God and his goodness. Remembering where true strength comes from and holding our own worth and strength, that to me, is absolutely breathtaking.

I am thankful for it all – parents who are badass in their own way, who love and give and care tremendously; medical professionals who are skilled beyond what I can comprehend, possess the badassery of holding change in their very hands; each and every person who inspires me, (far too many to name), the journey and those who walk it with us, everything learned and gained even on the hardest days. Most of all, I am thankful to my Savior who models fearless, unwavering passion and pursuit without EVER giving up on any of us.

Whatever words embody your strength, capability and tenacity, I pray you see and feel his love, always. I pray that you are surrounded by those who make you feel badass and remind you when you can’t see it for yourself.

Both/And

II Cor 12:9

PS: On my ankle is my first tattoo, a small Jesus fish with II Cor 12:9 arched around it. I deliberately placed the reminder of God’s sufficient grace in my weakness about ½ inch away from a surgery scar. I think even before I knew it, I was working out what it means to be badass. It is one of my most beautiful reminders. I hope you look for and find your reminders as well, as often as you can.