Ink

When I was 16 I admit I dated a "bad boy".  He dropped out of high school, had a criminal record, was an alcoholic and had a tattoo. I will admit, reluctantly, that he wasn't the best choice.  From that relationship, I secretly wanted a tattoo.  I never discussed it and I never acted on it.  Tattoos were not socially acceptable and I wouldn't have had a clue or the guts to figure out what it took to get one.

Fast forward to my 40's.  Tattoos are much more socially accepted.  However, at 44 I didn't want to appear to be going through a midlife crisis or be accused of trying to act like I was still 20.  But I began to drop hints to my husband and my kids that I really wanted a tattoo.  I think they were shocked at first, but then this past mother's day, they gave me their blessing.

I knew right a way what I wanted.  So I went on Google translator and put in the word "redeemed" and translated it to Hebrew.  I printed it out - sent it to a tattoo artist for a price.  He told me to be careful with Hebrew because each mark could change the meaning of a word.  So I took my print out to a pastor and asked him if he would translate my Hebrew word to english.  He told me it meant "defiled one".  OK - NO! I'm not having "defiled one" permanently inscribed on my foot.

This past weekend, I finally got up the courage to join the world of ink.  It's just a little tattoo. But I am really excited. I didn't go with any Hebrew words.  Instead I put my husband and my initials on my wrist.  I will admit, somewhat reluctantly, that I feel like a "bad girl" - but I can tell you, regardless of what I put on my arm, I know that I am not the "defiled one".  I am REDEEMED!