Mike Tatz inked one tattoo on my left wrist and one on my left chest shortly after my 50th birthday. It was my half-century gift to myself. Why two? I loved the gorgeous artwork Mike created but it would have covered my entire wrist.
The rebel wanted the complete tattoo, but she compromised and let the pleaser hide it under her shirt. The pleaser chose a smaller, visible version for her wrist. Both won that way. Story of my life: compromise. Hide the rebel long enough to let the pleaser shine.
But I have always loved the rebel in me. She is fierce and she is tired of hiding.
Photo by John Hain
The first time I cursed, the word flicked off my tongue like a spark.
“You shouldn’t say that,” said my elementary school friend.
“I know.”
Minister’s kids always know. Early on, we learn the written and unwritten rules of how to get through life, even though the forbidden always appealed to me. When you live your life under the microscope as a church leader’s kid, life plays out on a stage. You want to hold secrets in your pocket where no one can see. You want something to call your own without anyone knowing and judging it. Sometimes you just want to curse out loud.
Then you grow up, turn 50 and get permanently inked without anyone knowing and let the chips fall where they may. I see my wrist tattoo, a fountain pen nib, and am reminded of the gift God has given me. I see my larger tattoo with the nib and ink splats, and I smile at the impact of words and art.
I have often wondered: What if God created the rebel in me too? What if questioning the establishment comes from him? What if the very trait I have fought against all my life is exactly who I should have been all along, right out in the open?
Early on, I wanted to rebel against silly rules even if it cost me. That elementary school friend never played with me again.
In sixth grade, I played the trombone because the band director told us that boys play brass and girls play woodwinds. That brass trombone was bigger than me and as a girl, I earned first chair for several years, nonetheless.
I played Stevie Nicks in my car on the way to youth group even after a friend put me on the prayer list for my “sin” of listening to secular music.
I accepted the invitation to preach at student led revival at my Baptist college, even though many of the preacher boys condemned it and wouldn’t attend because women “weren’t allowed” in the pulpit to preach in their world.
It has been a lifelong battle. My church told me to be a good Christian woman. My gut consistently told me that there was more to a relationship with Jesus than all the rules I tried to follow.
I believe the nudge I feel to smash the box that Christians put God in comes directly from him. I believe his beautiful heart loves my rebel heart. He calls to me through tattoos and music and art and all the things that light me up. Legalism never lit a fire in me, and I think that makes him happy.
Meet me at the altar and let’s take off our masks and empty our pockets. Let's dive deep into what he has called us to do because life is too hard not to welcome each other as the rebels we were made to be.
Life’s a journey. Pay attention.
