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.

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.

Second Semester Blues

Ah, here I am back again. It's been a fairly typical Friday night here at Houghton. Spent most of my evening with some friends, watching The Fellowship of the Ring, which was a pleasant change of scene/company.

In other news, I rang in my second week back here in New York with a gut-wrenching, completely debilitating, all-out miserable stomach bug. It only lasted around 24 hours but then I pushed it by eating "normal food" (and by normal food I mean some goldfish and a bowl of Lucky Charms) too soon and so was out of class Tuesday and Wednesday both. Not the most promising way to start off a semester. But it seems to have passed now and I spent my down time in bed watching heaps of movies of a certain genre which I won't embarrass myself by relating here, and all in all, if that was the only time I got sick this school year, I'd be pretty alright with that.

I've had a few post ideas marinating in my brain over the past week or so (still haven't forgotten about the much-awaited tattoo post) but I'm afraid this particular one will only be a bit of rambling about my week, the semester, my life...as usual. In the future though, we can look forward (I hope) to some more interesting, varied topics. I have ideas! I promise I have them.

Starting off this semester has been confusing, exhausting and, well, lonely. I talked to a friend about it for a long time last night, why I was lonely, how I could get past it, what was the deal with me and all that- and while I didn't come to an immediate solution, the talking helped. Talking always helps guys. You might want to revert into your shell and just let it stew in your own head, keep it to yourself all stoic and tough guy-like- I know that's my personal tendency- but when friends are available to talk, take advantage of it. And be as honest as you can, even if it's tough. It helps.

I've been sad, lately. I know that's ironic considering I posted so adamantly recently about having a happy New Year. (Note that I also bragged, in that post, about how awesome my immune system was...) I can't explain exactly why I'm sad. At this point I think it's just a part of being me: inherent to the individual that is Lizzie Spaulding is a certain tendency to melancholy. Just how I am. I suppose if I were to really try to pinpoint my sadness it would be, as I said, loneliness. A feeling that something is missing. This could be attributed to a few different things: lack of a best friend here at college (something I have not gone without since the sixth grade really), the absence this semester of a few of my closer friends from this school, and not the non-existence of any sort of romantic relationship in my life, but really the non-existence of any desire or plausibility for such a relationship to come to pass. A realization that to live harmoniously, co-dependently, vulnerably, lovingly, and most of all interminably, with another human being- for me- is just...not. Not me. I don't think. But anyway.

So, yes, it's been a rough two weeks. Contemplating a lot of things. Friendships, missing people, emotional attachment, the ever-changing concept of home, of belonging, of self, conditionality in relationships, sexuality, psychological well-being, medication, our duty to share the gospel, purpose, responsibility, morality, Biblical teaching...to name a few. Also, there's been a lot of schoolwork and work-work and writing, writing, reading a bit, writing some more, and then a bit thrown off by that virus. But I'll get back on my feet again guys.

It's hard getting back into the routine of things. But I'll find it again. And I don't expect to have all the answers by the end of the semester, far from it, but I hope I'm somewhere farther along the road than the place where I am now, and most of all, I hope I make some friends along the way.

Until next time mes amis.

The Top Ten Ways To Turn Off Your Man (Are BS)

I came up with a post topic! (Stave off the tears, I'll keep it brief.)

I want to address, just shortly, the problem I have with certain kinds of articles and/or ads that I have been seeing a lot of on the internet lately.

I'm sure you've been exposed to it too: you go to your Yahoo! home page and the first article that catches your eye is something with a headline akin to, "Top Ten Ways Women Turn Off Guys" or "Ten Things You Want to Avoid Doing In a Relationship". I could give you endless variations, but the gist is the same. There are a million different articles out there trying to tell women what we're doing wrong in relationships, why guys dump us, or don't want to be with us, all the ways we're turning them off and scaring them off and basically just screwing ourselves over.

I find it a little bit offensive, and more than a little bit sad, especially considering the fact that I know there are women out there who read these articles, and more than that, believe the things they tell them.

I know when I was young and desperate, I used to fall prey to that sort of thing. I'd click some article, certain it was going to give me all the secrets to why that relationship didn't work out the way I wanted, why that guy dumped me, what I was doing wrong. Each article gives different, often contradictory advice: you're coming on too strong, you're not coming on strong enough, you don't pay enough attention to him, you give him too much of your attention, you need to be less needy, you need to act like you need him more...the list goes on and on and on. I've read some that have said women are too family-oriented, they are not good enough "home-makers", they spend too much time with their friends, they nag, they don't communicate, they're possessive, they don't attempt (enough) to be attractive, and they are even too religious. All these things and more seem to be the reason that us girls are getting the shaft left and right these days.

Honestly, I think it's all a load of crap. Almost every one of these articles I've read, whether coming straight out and saying it or doing so in a more roundabout manner, encourages "mind games". They don't want you to be yourself or let the guy you're interested in know what you're really thinking. They want you to play "hard to get" but not too hard to get: they want you to hide all your quirks and craziness and shave your legs every single day. Act like you want kids and a family someday, because if you don't he's going to think you're a cold, heartless vixen with whom he could never settle down, but don't talk about the family or a future too soon or he'll go running for the hills.

Basically, suppress everything about yourself, and you should be fine.

It's disturbing to me, it really is, that women feel they have to play these games to lure a man in and finally get him to marry her. I'm not down with that guys. I don't believe in playing games like I did when I was younger. Those games, they always left me just as alone and empty as before.

Basically, I think 18-year-old comedian Shelby Fero* might have said it best in a brilliant little blog post entitled: Go ahead and look desperate.

Obviously this is not me trying to tell you to run up to the guy you have a crush on and tell him you want to marry him. I don't think that'd really be very advisable.

But stop playing games, Girls. And stop wondering what's wrong with you, when guys don't call you back, or ask you for a second date, or break up with you when you thought it was going splendidly. It's not you. It just didn't work out this time, and that's okay. Let's face it: the majority of your relationships won't. You only really need one that will. So please, stop reading these articles and basing your behavior off the things these idiots have to tell you. If you have to win your guy through games and mindplay, is he really the man you want to be married to for the rest of your life?

Maybe I don't really know what I'm talking about, maybe I'll be single forever, never married, never even engaged, but you know what? That's okay with me. I think I'm secure enough in myself to know that it's okay to just be myself with a guy and if he's worth my time, if he actually matters, he'll stick around anyway.

That's just what I think about it.

*If you haven't checked out Shelby Fero yet, do it. Now. Go. Do it. Look through her tumblr archives, look her up on Twitter, read her articles on Cracked.com...(I'm pretty sure she's written for other places too, but I'll let her do her own further promoting...) Just check her out. You won't regret it.

**I realize at the top I said I'd keep it brief. Well I didn't really. But if you're reading this, then I guess you plowed on through anyway. Thanks for that.

The Deal

It seems that, unintentionally, I've begun doing weekly blog posts. I just want you to know now, how sorry I am. I really never meant to do this to you, I never meant to subject you to the inner workings of my mind on a regular, weekly basis. It was so much nicer for everyone, I know, back during the summer when I only posted once, maybe twice a month. Or how about the past year, when I didn't even have a blog at all, after I deleted my first one (I DID have a blog before this, believe it or not, but thank God, nobody has access to it anymore, not even me.) So anyhow, I'm sorry, but I just can't help myself. I've come to the conclusion, this week in particular, that it's just too exhausting to be me, to have to hear the incessant thoughts going on in my own head all the time. I honestly can't stand it. So I need somewhere to unleash it all, and I think that my friends, as much as they love and adore me, kind of want to punch me in the face...

So here I am, blogging my thoughts instead.

I have nothing further to say here, maybe I'll come up with something in the near future (your screams of protest are noted). I just wanted to let you know what the deal was gonna be from now on.

Once again, my deepest, sincerest apologies.

Reasons People Consider My Friendship Valuable (And Why You Should Too)

1. I always have gum.
2. I know how to make friendship bracelets! Not only do they make a lovely wrist or ankle adornment, but friendship bracelets are a physical representation of our love and commitment to each other. I mean, key word here: friendship bracelets.
3. I wear glasses. Everybody likes having a person who wears glasses hanging around, because it automatically makes that person seem dorkier ergo, making the original person seem cooler. Also, everybody who doesn't have glasses likes trying on someone else's glasses.
4. I can spell. Obviously a huge asset to everybody who knows me.
5. I know about one hundred and one ways to use a banana. The best being, in delicious and fluffy banana pancakes. Which you can probably convince me to make for you. If you are my friend.
6. I am incredibly gullible. Like seriously. Very. Very gullible. You know that joke about how gullible is written on the ceiling? Well the first time I heard that joke, I looked. I don't need to explain to you why gullibility is just about the most valuable quality a friend could have.
7. I do good impressions sometimes. Thus invoking the hilarity quotient.
8. I know the difference between affect and effect. If you don't believe me, ask me to use them in a sentence.
9. I am 16% Native American. Which means I can pretend I'm exotic and/or a minority and everybody wants to have a friend who is exotic and/or a minority.
10. I can French braid AND knit. I firmly believe that these two skills will save lives one day. As in, the day when we are all stranded on a Swedish mountainside during a snowstorm. In the event that this situation arises, I will not only be able to knit us a blanket for warmth, I will also be able to french braid our hair so that we blend in with the locals. You know you want to be my friend now.
11. I have tons of music! Most people probably wouldn't say I necessarily have good taste, but at least it's varied. That means I am always available to spice up your music collection when it is need of some spicing. Even though my definition of spicy is often Swedish, depressing, or made up of men who sound like women (Mika) and women who sound like men (Brody Dalle). Or struggling, underground hip hop artists.
12. I shower. Every. Day. No exceptions.
13. I have tons and tons of useless random knowledge. This knowledge is vast, intensive, and pertains to such subjects as Jane Austen novels, Coffee beverages and the world of coffee, names of Lord of the Rings actors, how to build a fire, the Brit Pop and New Wave movement, Woodstock, grammar rules, the Bible, quotes and trivia from NBC comedy, the art of archery, where to watch TV for free online, music theory, secrets to delicious chocolate chip cookies, how to make an awesome mix tape, and 101 ways to use a banana.
15. I carry a purse 95% of the time. This means you can count on me to hold your water bottle, sunglasses, chapstick, car keys, tampons, or basically any other item of a reasonable size and weight that you want carried. Plus, for that 5% of the time when I don't carry a purse, I have superb cleavage with amazing storage capacities.
16. I have superb cleavage.
17. I always have gum. And let's be honest, that's enough to convince most people.