Category Archives: Aging

What I Have Done

“You did WHAT?”

“Why?”

“Why now?”

These are the questions I have been getting, the questions I expected to get. Getting a tattoo was kind of a big move for me, but not a rash one. I have seen some beautiful and meaningful tattoos on people “like me,” forty-something and entrenched in family and career. I had seen a lovely tattoo on the arm of a woman I know from church who is 20+ years my senior. About ten years ago, I thought, “If I ever come up with something I’d be happy about having on my body for the rest of my life, and can figure out where on my body I’d want it…I would absolutely get one.”

Years passed and I couldn’t think of anything I thought I could be happy with permanently. I knew some things I didn’t want: no jokes or cartoons, no butterflies (nothing against butterflies, they just don’t speak to me), no symbols of other cultures or letters from alphabets I don’t use. I didn’t urgently want a tattoo, so I didn’t worry about it: I just let the idea drift in the back of mind. Then one day, I was browsing through Pinterest and saw some tattoos that were quotes from books and my interest was fired. Words were a natural choice for me, a writer, and they could be so beautiful in form and meaning. But, what book? It took a surprisingly long time for me to realize that the Bible was the best source, considering I have been reading from the Bible since I was a child, had taught from it in Sunday school for years, and at that point had been reading it almost daily for nearly a year.

There had been a significant shift in my outlook, my focus, and in my direction in life that started as I began reading from the Bible and doing daily devotions. While I never stopped believing in God, for a long time I believed that I was a mess, hopelessly letting God down, and the best I could hope for was to try to convince everyone else that I was fine and try not to bother, or rely on, God too much. I wasn’t fine. I was panicked and numb, angry and grief stricken. My life was awesome by the standards of many and all I could see was my epic failure to realize my potential, or to connect meaningfully even with the people I loved the most. Not fine at all. My sister (who thought I was doing okay,) suggested I check out Jesus Calling by Sarah Young. It was a revelation of reassuring scripture and interpretation that challenged and transformed my faith journey. I have read critics of Jesus Calling who describe the devotions as “New Age-y” and not biblically sound, but my experience was that those messages helped heal some very hurting parts of me. Leaning on scripture and faith that what I was reading was really true, I took some risks in work and relationships. I relaxed my grip on my impossible standards for self. I trusted. I edged toward wholeness.

If the Bible was helping heal me, then what words would I choose from it? At first I thought “for I am fearfully and wonderfully made,” a fabulous contradiction to the awful story I had been telling myself for a long time. Knowing I was choosing something forever, I played with it. I wrote it on my forearm. The location was good, I could look upon the verse easily, and share openly, but wouldn’t be obvious. I didn’t want my tattoo to be the first thing people noticed about me. I liked “fearfully and wonderfully” a lot, but decided it wasn’t my forever verse. Romans 15:13 is one of my favorites, but it was too long for the location, and I couldn’t come up with a short cut I liked well enough. Same with “For I know the plans I have for you…” “Be still and know that I am,” is awesome and meaningful but didn’t feel right. Then it came, a message that is repeated many times in many ways throughout the Old and New Testaments. “The LORD your God is with you” In these words I know that I am never alone, and that with God’s presence comes power: power to forgive, pray, act, give thanks, rejoice and love, even when I don’t feel like I can or want to. These were the words. And with the words, all at once, came an image of a dark bird perched on the branch of a tree. The living tree symbolizes the living God, and the bird is me, choosing rest and refuge.

Stephanie resizeFinding the studio and artist was almost a comedy of miscommunications and awkward connections, but finally there was a click when my vision met the skills of Stephanie from Electric Dragonland in Hopkins, MN. I had to wait three months to see her rendering of the art, and another month after that to actually get the work done. It took two hours on a November afternoon in 2015. It wasn’t as painful as I had thought it would be, but then I had imagined myself bursting into tears and running out the door a few minutes into the work, too. I love it.

I get a mix of reactions to this thing I have done. Most people are indifferent. A few shake their heads. Many admire the delicacy of the art and wording. I am delighted that I really don’t care what others think, good or bad. It feels like something I have always had, under the surface, now revealed. It has given me an opportunity to share my faith. It has reminded me to calm down, when my thinking has shifted into bad old rutted tracks.

I got a tattoo.

It is a reminder to me and a message to others.

I got it now because I have come through some trials and can claim the enduring truth that God is with me. And also with you.

tattoo edited

~Peace~

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Cliché

I hate being a cliché.

It wasn’t that long ago that I would have started with the PMS stereotype, in which along with the flood of rage and raw emotion I also felt like cringing for being so predictable, but now that I am kind of cranky, bitchy and a little paranoid all the time, this stereotype is less relevant. As I tell my husband, I am now empowered to tell it like it is more than three days a month. How is that not a good thing?

A few years back, when I was trying to be a good pet owner and help my cat get some exercise, I took him out on a leash regularly. I found the experience boring. To entertain myself during the long stretches of time Cat-tabulous wanted to sniff a twig or watch a dog sleeping in a yard a block away, I brought along my crocheting. To protect my face from the sun, I wore a floppy hat. I was one ugly cat sweatshirt (okay, and maybe five cats) away from being a crazy cat lady.

Crazy Cat Lady School

Oh, I still take the cat out (#catonaleash) but now I look MUCH less crazy, scrolling along on my smartphone in a baseball cap. Yes, that IS TOO much less crazy.

In the past year I have found that I fit two new-to-me dreaded stereotypes, the 1.) out-of-touch older parent type who tries to have culturally relevant conversations with the younger generation and FAILS painfully (I managed to get Seth MacFarlane mixed up with both Seth Rogen and Seth Meyers in the SAME conversation,) and the 2.) horrifying older person who pulls out a photo of herself with a celebrity and shows it around at a family gathering, and then forgets and does it AGAIN WITH THE SAME PEOPLE AT THE NEXT GATHERING.

This is a blurry picture of Bill Nye the Science Guy and me.  Yeah, we were hanging out at the Minnesota Science Museum last November. We do that.

This is a blurry picture of Bill Nye the Science Guy and me hanging out at the Minnesota Science Museum last November. We do that.

(Note to Reader: Now that I have officially shown off to the world, I have retired that photo from my phone. You will have to return to this post to relive my brush with stardom, because I won’t be able to show it to you when I see you at the grocery store, Thanksgiving Dinner, or the cat supply warehouse.)

How many steps is it from where I am now to becoming a doddering fool? I am looking forward to the phase where I no longer care, because the sooner I start enjoying the slide, the happier my declining years will be. I picture me cackling, with many, many cats.