Rebel Rebel (On Being a Pierced and Tattooed Christian)

Hey there-
I don't know what you're doing as you begin to read this but you might as well stop whatever it is and grab yourself a mug of coffee, or maybe tea if that's your cup, and settle in. Because this is going to be a bit long-winded. That's right people. Finally. Here it is. My take on TATTOOS.

Tattoos. I guess we can begin with an explanation of the tattoos that I have. I can now officially say I have two of them. Both are relatively small, and relatively tasteful, at least in my opinion anyway. They are both done in completely black ink (at this point I have an aversion to colored tattoos; we'll see if that changes in the future). I have a bird flying out of a birdcage on my right foot, which I got done by a really scary looking but awesome guy named Mike at The Underground in Olean, NY. Broadly, it symbolizes freedom. What kind of freedom is up to interpretation. People always ask me if it's "a  real tattoo" because it kind of looks like it's a drawing I did with pen or something, and that can be annoying. Sometimes I tell people it's freedom in Christ. Basically, I've kind of self-imprisoned myself in a lot of things, which I won't get into here. And I guess that tattoo is a reminder that I'm free: God has made me free. If you want to go that far into things. I got that tattoo in September my first semester of college. I was nervous. It hurt. But I love it.

My second tattoo I just got this Saturday, in Raynham, MA. The parlor was called Mandrake Tattoo and the work was done by a BA chick named Annie whom I am now a big fan of. It's also small. The tattoo is located on the uppermost part of my left arm, the very tip of the shoulder. I have the Greek letters for "Ixthus", which means fish in Greek, more specifically the Christian "Jesus fish". If you want a little more back story, during Nero's time when Christians were under heavy persecution and had to meet in secret etc., one Christian would draw half of the fish in the sand with their foot and the other person would finish it off if they too were a Christian. That's where the symbolism of the fish originates. But each of the Greek letters in Ixthus actually stand for something: Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior. I don't take Greek or anything like that, but I like the look of the Greek characters and the constant reminder that the tattoo is to me. I need that reminder.

I actually got the tattoo also because of its significance to my dad, one of the most amazing, godly people I have ever met in my entire life. My dad and I don't agree on everything; that is for sure (not like that's unusual) but we have always had what I would call a special bond. I love my mom, but I would say she and my sister are closer whereas my dad and I are closer. My dad gets me, usually. He has the same sense of humor as I do, he likes my style, he was pretty cool about my last tattoo and my piercings (my mom's the one that hates them), we both love music. Those are just a few things. We have very similar personalities actually. So when I was thinking about my next tattoo, I wanted to get something that would be obviously meaningful, but would also mean a lot to my dad. I felt like he deserved that much. Now there's this old Baseball uniform t-shirt that my dad has from his days as part of the church baseball team in Pownal, Maine. On the back it says Conrad in big block letters. On the front is the name of the church and its location, but in the center is a big Ixthus fish with the Koine Greek characters written inside. Ever since I was a little girl I thought that shirt was so cool, and my dad used to always explain the meaning of the fish and the Ixthus to my sister and I. The shirt is ratty and didn't fit him anymore: I stole it as a pajama t-shirt years and years ago. When I was thinking about my tattoo and decided I wanted something in Greek, it only made sense to get the Ixthus characters, for my dad. I actually brought the shirt to the parlor and the design is directly copied from the t-shirt. So there's the story behind that one.

So what's the point of all this? Well, I like tattoos. I'm eighteen years old, I was raised in a Baptist church with incredibly conservative parents and, let's face it, people are still trying to get over the fact that our forty-something-year-old married-with-kids worship-team drummer has a piercing. That's the way my church is. Conservative. I mean, conservative.

But I am anything but that word.

For years and years I talked about getting tattoos and my mom prayed that I never would. She was raised by a Presbyterian minister as one of five children during the sixties: I don't know if that has anything to do with the way she is now, but let's just say, sometimes, I think she wonders how on earth she could possibly have spawned me. Now that sounds just mean. It's not meant to be. It's just that, while I love my mom and we do get along for the most part, we are so incredibly different. I have been trying to explain myself to her for years and she still just doesn't get it. She doesn't get my sense of self-expression, the way I dress, the music I listen to, the stuff I do to my hair, the type of things I write about, or why on earth I would want to do something to my body like pierce or tattoo it. She hates it.

I feel bad for the poor woman, honestly. I mean I've reached the point in my life where I've accepted that my mom and I aren't going to see eye-to-eye on everything, and it's okay. I'm okay with it. I've gotten to the point where I can laugh, actually. At Christmastime I showed her my newest piercing, an industrial, which I had gotten without telling anybody, and which she of course hated, and I got a good chuckle out of it. I joke about how she'd better keep the house decorated for future Christmases, because someday I'll have an apartment in Boston with roommates who are pierced and tattooed, and probably pregnant to boot, (because obviously those things go hand in hand), and we'll be living a life of debauchery and squalor, so I won't be able to host Christmas there. Stupid things really. I tease her. She's fairly good-natured, but I think it really does make her sad. She was looking at a photo of my sister and me at Christmastime, in little red coats: I think I must've been about four years old, and she said, Look at how cute that little girl is, she doesn't look like someone who would grow up and get tattooed and pierced. I don't think my mother ever imagined having a daughter who would do things like that, as conservative as she and my father, and my older sister all are.

I was talking to a few friends about tattoos and piercings around that time, also. One of my best friends wanted to get a belly button piercing but had been very hesitant because her boyfriend isn't a fan. The other friend wanted a tattoo, but made the decision not to do it until she gets married and gets her husband's opinion on them.


I didn't really know what to think of that. I think the scenarios are a little bit different and can't be evaluated using the same measuring stick. I do respect my friends, for caring what their significant others have to say: I think that's a good thing, and a nice thing. But you know what? I'm glad that I don't have a boyfriend or a fiance or whatever hanging around right now giving me all his opinions on piercings and tattoos and the lot of it. Because for me, it's about what I want, and the convictions that I personally have. I have to hope that the man that would fall in love with me and want to marry me would love me for just that- for having convictions, for being the type of person who thinks a tattoo is okay, even attractive, and for just being honest and true to my feelings, as cheesy as that sounds. I think a man I could love would love me back, not despite my tattoos, but with my tattoos, because they're part of me, and part of who I am.

I think that's something that's hard for people* to understand, or accept, that my piercings and tattoos are a part of me, that they could be a part of someone. I was talking to those same friends about the possibility of me getting another tattoo on my shoulder (the one that I just got Saturday). The second friend was very opposed to the idea, warning me that a shoulder tattoo would probably be visible with my wedding dress whenever I get married. Oddly enough, that's an argument I've been given more than once, and one I've even succumbed to a few times in the past.

But after she said that, I realized, that's not a valid point with me anymore. For one thing, I don't even believe I will necessarily get married ever. It'd be nice, sure, but it's not something I'm planning on or building my future around. I plan to be single. I'm not making huge life decisions based on the possibility that maybe someday in the distant far future I might have a husband. Just not my style. If I get a tattoo, I'm getting it so people can see it, not to hide it away in some naughty, intimate location under layers of clothing. The fact is, my tattoos (and piercings) are something I'm proud of, and no matter what day of my life it is: I'll always have them. I'm not going to not get one just so I can look pretty and pure and not scare the elderly for one day of my life. I'm the kind of girl who likes tattoos- if you want to be my friend, love me, get married to me, attend my wedding- you're going to have to be okay with the fact that that's who I am. I'm not hiding it, it's there. It doesn't change who I am, but it does add to it.


I'm proud of that, to be honest. I'm proud, most of all, that I'm actually not trying to consider what any guy in my life might have to say on the matter. I have a history of trying to change myself to appeal to the guy I like or the guy I'm with. Believe it or not I told one boyfriend I was into drinking, because he was, and two years later told another guy that I was completely anti-drinking, because he was.


I know, it's messed up, and it's one of the things I least respect about myself, which is why I'm admitting it here and trying to work on it a lot. It's also one of many reasons I'm glad I'm single now, because I'm figuring out who I am on my own, not according to anyone else. But anyway, in a sense, I'm proud of myself for getting my tattoos, because it's what I wanted and I didn't do it or not do it to impress any guy or something like that. It was me.


(Not to say you shouldn't sometimes compromise with your significant other, or even bow to their standards/expectations in certain circumstances. But that's a whole different issue, not going into it here.)

Basically, my point is that, I like the way my tattoo and piercings make me look, I like the way they make me feel. My parents hate them: my sister hates them: the people at my church would be scandalized: my parents aren't even telling my grandmother...my friends are fairly supportive usually, but they don't always love them either. They razz me a lot about them actually; they make fun of me because I always try to be so "edgy." But although they're just teasing and they know my tattoos are meaningful to me, I know that if I get more tattoos, they probably won't like it. And it's not that I don't care, but in the end, that's not going to change anything. Because this is who I am, and it's not an area in my life where I'm willing to compromise to please others.

I'm still a Christian. That hasn't changed. I've had more than one person insinuate or allude to the possibility that my chances of getting into Heaven have diminished too, because I "abused my body" that way or whatever.


Honestly, I don't know about you, but I think that if people with tattoos can't get into Heaven, well then, a lot of Jesus' best servants are going to be left out in the cold. I just don't see that as something that makes sense at all, even a little bit. It's ridiculous.

I'm a Christian girl and I have tattoos and that doesn't make me rebellious or, I don't know, dangerous or even stupid or impulsive or naive. I think it makes me someone who makes decisions and sticks to them, who likes what they like, who appreciates art, and who believes that Christianity is about bigger things than the way we express ourselves through our clothes and bodies and decorations.

God is about more than that.

So, what is my long-winded point?

Just that, if you want a tattoo, get one, because you like it, and you think God is okay with it. Not for any other reason than those. It might make people perceive you differently, but it shouldn't change the way you view yourself.

*When I say people here, I'm talking about Christian people, namely.

I Am Not Dead

Hello, hello, hello-

I am not dead. I am not even really close to dead. I just have so many things vying to pull my time away from schoolwork that blogging, sad to say, often gets pushed to the end of the list. That's right. You're a distraction from my other distractions. How does that make you feel?

February break starts Friday though THANK THE LORD. I am flying back to Massachusetts where, upon arriving, I will promptly take a bubble bath. I'm also getting my next tattoo and spending a few nights at Wheaton College where one of my very best friends goes. She'll be doing schoolwork. I, will not. The only thing I will be doing is living it up, wild college girl style. It, will be awesome. (Honestly, I don't know what I'm talking about. I'm just excited to see what a college that isn't Christian, in the middle of a cow field, and covered in ice and snow like our very own pre-Aslan version of Narnia is like. Also, a place where there is something to do past eleven o'clock. Maybe even somewhere to go that isn't on campus. In other words, a place that is not Houghton.)

I'm really freaking excited for break, which actually completely sucks, because whenever you're really excited for something and you've built it up a lot in your mind, it always always lets you down. I really don't want break to let me down.

I don't think it will though: I don't know how it could. My best friend is easy to be with and even when we haven't seen each other in ages, we've known each other so long that we can fill in the gaps in moments and it's like we saw each other yesterday again. Also, I'm psyched that she's coming with me to get my tattoo, and getting her belly button pierced. I love it when friends go with me to get bodily mutilations. It just makes them that much more meaningful.

I am also psyched to see my parents; I should probably mention that. Or, just to be in my house really. And most especially, to see my dog, aka Holly, aka the coolest animal on this entire planet. I miss that dog, so very much. I plan to get my fill of her over this break.

I also plan to eat steak. Hopefully. If I can convince my parents to take me out to a steakhouse because, as always, I am next to broke right now.

And you know what else I plan to do? Blog. I know. You should be super grateful that I am willing to spend my precious free time blogging for people like you. It's because I love you, Dear Readers. I love you lots for putting up with me and my laziness and mood-swings and weird obsessions every week.

It's very possible one of these blog posts will be about tattoos (FINALLY). Since I'm getting my new one, it seems appropriate to finally address the topic and my personal (obviously positive) feelings on the matter. It's also possible that one of these blog posts will be the short story that I promised (if you read it) on my twitter account last week or so. You know what I just did there? I just promised you two blog posts next week. What the frigidaire was I thinking?

So, there you go. I just have to make it through the next five days alive and then I will be living it up and telling you all about it. Save some free time next week to read my lovely ramblings.

Until then.

P.S.
This week, I did four things I have never done before. I watched Shutter Island, which freaked me out, in the best way, and I liked it a lot. (Even though the people I was watching it with TALKED THROUGH THE WHOLE THING NOT TO POINT FINGERS OR ACT LIKE I'M STILL ANGRY ABOUT IT OR ANYTHING JED. MAYBE YOU WOULD'VE UNDERSTOOD IT BETTER IF YOU'D BEEN ABLE TO SHUT UP FOR FIVE SECONDS.) (It's ok, he doesn't read this blog. He has no idea I even have a blog. No worries.) Uhm, where was I? Oh. I played pool for the first time, and I immediately realized there is a reason I have been avoiding the pasttime all these years, and I stopped playing pool. I finished a 38 oz. bag of peanut butter m&m's. Not by myself. Don't worry. AND I made pottery at a real live pottery wheel, and it was awesome, and I plan to do it again, maybe more than once. It's really awesome when your future roommate is an art major and you've just always had all these deep, hidden, unfullfilled dreams of being artistic buried inside of you. It's really very awesome.

P.P.S. That was a really long P.S. Sorry. That's all. See you very soon. I hope. Wish me luck this week!

A Depressing (But Non-Valentine's Day Related!) Post

Oh Blogosphere-

There is so much that I want to say to you, yet so much holds me back. I know that underneath it all, though you seem really friendly and welcoming, you really are an interweb portal to all sorts of unknown people and absolutely anybody in the world could access you at any time. Knowing that keeps me from spilling my guts to you, though I want to. You aren't my diary: I have to remind myself of that often. In fact, I have a diary, or a journal, if you will. I have several of them. I don't need to spill my guts here.

But what can I say, when my life has been spiralling completely out of control, when these past 5 or 6 weeks have been so terribly difficult, when I have spent every day treading water, simply trying to keep my head above the current, and getting splashed over and hit square in the face with another wave of salty sea water every time that I think I've started to make some progress.

Am I drowning?

Is God trying to tell me something?

I feel that usual frustration return to me, the frustration directed at everyone in my life, most especially God, and none of it toward myself, the person that really deserves the brunt of it.

Why are they doing this to me? I ask. Do they mean to be mean? Do they care that they are hurting my feelings? And- why did I do that? It was their fault. They made me do it, by making me feel this way. It's not supposed to feel this way. Why doesn't he like me? I need him to like me, but he'll never like me now, not after what I did. I just want her to be my friend again, my best friend, but the more I hold onto her, the more she starts to slip away. I can't even look at myself in the mirror. I feel sick. If I pass this semester, it will be a miracle. I just want to go home, to get out of here. I need something, something to make me feel okay. I thought I was doing better, I thought I was feeling better. Why, God, when I just walked out of that desert, would you lead me back into yet another one? Will I ever be out of the desert?

It's all falling apart, but when is it not? I feel ashamed, about almost everything about me, everything that I have done, everything that I am. I told a friend Sunday night, "I thought I had more self-respect for myself than this." I really did. But it turns out, I don't.

Why do I feel exactly like I'm fifteen years old again? I'm nearly nineteen; life wasn't supposed to feel this way anymore.

What do I even have? I look down at my hands: they are empty. What do I even have anymore? "It really hits me now/ If this is all I got/ Then I'm alone with nothing."

Monastir said it right. "Life Is Long When You're Lonely."

*I just finished writing this and then realized it was Valentine's Day. I truly didn't mean to be so depressing on V-Day. That's honestly just really hugely coincidental.

*One very good thing about my life recently: one of my most favorite friends came to visit for the weekend, from Buffalo, and I got to see her lots and it was absolutely wonderful.

The Gay Thing

Not necessarily the most eloquent thing I've ever penned [typed] but definitely full of passion:

All I want to say

Is that, I love God. I love people.

I hate it when Christians hate on gays.

I don't get how they think that the Bible backs that up. That being their hatred and homophobia and sickening, close-minded, evil bigotry.

Are you that ignorant of everything going on around you? Are you that ignorant of the God you claim you love?

I know that the Bible condemns homosexuality and people have debated for decades just what is the Biblical viewpoint regarding this hot button issue.

I honestly don't have the answer to that. It is one of the biggest questions I've ever faced and I have to admit I just don't know.

But the thing I do know is that you're supposed to love gay people, no matter who you are. God loves the gay people. God loves everybody. Homosexuality is something many people struggle with and it's ignorant and insipid and infuriating to hear you spout on hatefully about something you clearly have no experience with, at all.

As somebody who has, over the years, known, been related to, loved and lived with several homosexuals, I would have to say,

Shut up. Shut up about the thing that you don't understand. God doesn't need you to hate on the gays for Him. God doesn't need you to pass His judgment.

I hope your besetting sin never becomes fodder for college-aged neaanderthals to spew verbal diarrhea about in the fast-food restaurants of their campuses.

It hurts me to hear people talking like this.

Things I Have Been Doing Lately (Rather than Blogging)

1. Listening to Lana Del Rey's new album over and over again.
2. Reading "Crazy Love"
3. Reading "The Book Thief"
4. Reading Boethius' philosophy...
5. Reading "The Hunger Games"
6. Listening to Sneaker Pimps
7. Trekking through woods and fields
8. Watching the LOTR trilogy
9. Spending hours in Java, drinking coffee, procrastinating on homework
10. Working out (shocking I know!)
11. Sleeping. Always. Sleeping.
12. Writing an inordinate amount of papers.
13. Star tipping.
14. Planning out the new tattoo I'm getting this month!
15. Working working working.
16. Making new friends!
17. Going to concerts.
18. Going to church.
19. Eating peanut butter-related items. (Even more shocking than me working out, I know).
20. Doing my homework (WHO HAVE I BECOME?)
21. Watching TV.
22. Ordering a diva cup. (I KNOW. I KNOW.)
23. Planning trips to exciting places.
24. Not blogging.

*Painting! I forgot about painting. My friend is teaching me to paint; it's awesome.

Sorry about that. I'm a let down. But a whole crap load of stuff has been going in my life. That above is just the highlights/ blogger-appropriate stuff. I'll have a better, more substantial and interesting post later in the week. Until then, Happy February. Do interesting things :)