tattoos. . . plural even

i love tattoos. so much of the time they represent a milestone in the host's life. . . a pictorial of a watershed moment. . . a memorial to a person, a pet, a dream.

i was at a beach 9 years ago when i noticed a young woman reading a book while sun bathing. from time to time people walking along would stop and talk to her. she didn't seem to mind the intrusions - she would chat for a few minutes and then dive back into her book. this really intrigued me. was she someone famous? was she selling something? what was the deal with her?

just as my imagination was beginning to kick in i noticed that the book-woman was now conversing with a bunch of people and the conversation was beginning to look like some kind of weird dance. . . an arm was extended, then a another. . . and then another and another. . . what were they doing? then one person turned away from the group and even book-woman stood up and joined the clump. . . then the person turned back to the clump and began speaking for about 3 minutes then a lot of questions seemed to pop up and they were answered with more arm movements and half twirls. . . and then suddenly - i got it!!!

it WAS an interpretive dance troupe involved in performance art on our little local beach. . . how exciting!

nope, it was actually people admiring body art, listening for the inspiration behind the tattoos - sharing bits and pieces, important bits and pieces of lives lived.
it was camaraderie.
it was trusting complete strangers with life stories.
it was fun and deep and as fleeting as the waves on the sand.

we all walked away, not knowing each other's names but having shared a sacred moment where we were not defined by the cars we drove, the addresses of the places we called home, or even the very clothes on our backs. . . we were defined by the shared experiences of loss, and hope, and living in the moment. we were humans connected by ink.

well, they were connected by ink. . . i didn't have a tattoo to show. . . but i knew i had a story to tell.

i got my first tattoo shortly after. a cross that couldn't be taken off and on at whim. a cross that came with a small amount of discomfort - nothing, absolutely nothing compared to what the Savior endured. a cross that reminded me of the cost, the sacrifice, the love of Creator God for humanity.

i know tattoos are not for everyone. . .

but sharing our stories is. . .

what are you doing to share yours?