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.

Simple Joys and Christmastime

Today I went to a second-hand clothing shop in Cambridge called The Garment District. I bought 11.6 pounds of clothing for $11.60. I bought three more shirts for around $9 bucks each (they were deemed too nice to go into the dollar-a-pound pile) and also, a hat. I love a good hat. And I love a good bargain. Some of the clothes are, well- understandably discarded by others. But I can make them into something cool, I think. I think almost anything can look cool. It's all about the confidence of the person wearing it.

It rained today: it should've snowed. But even without the snow, tomorrow is still Christmas Eve, and I'm glad. I've discovered something about being home that I never used to know. Since college is in New York and the only time I'm ever home is during school break, it's become a lot more enjoyable of a place. The only things I associate home with anymore are hanging out with people I love, sleeping late in my old bed, playing with my dog: just relaxing. It's really lovely. I like being home so much more now than I ever did in high school. I like it a lot.

I drank a lot of coffee today, far too much- I can't really have caffeine anymore since it does terrible things to my body, but I'm indulging because it's the holidays. Currently I'm in my favorite pajamas (my favorite pajamas always consist partially of worn, faded, over-sized t-shirts.) They're not sexy pajamas, my friend pointed out to me. She said she could picture me, married someday, writing, wearing my skirts all day and then getting home to my cold apartment and climbing in bed with my laptop and my oversized t-shirts and my glasses next to my husband...She can picture my whole life very well. Apartments and the city in the winter and simple joys, takeout meals and candlelight and cheap living all around. Book-reading and throw rugs and things that are broken and things that are recycled and creative and homemade and a lot of making do. I think it sounds like an okay picture.

I'm sitting in my bed, surrounded my my secondhand clothes, watching Bridget Jones' Diary, which is a fairly terrible movie, except I love Renee Zellweger and I love Hugh Grant and I love Colin Firth, and I love Jane Austen remakes too, even crappy ones. And anyway, BJD is one of those crappy movies that I love to indulge myself in once in a while. I'm watching it and eating homemade fudge: one of the perks of having a mother whose a 2nd grade teacher: at Christmastime she gets lots of presents from the kids, and one of those presents is always, inevitably, fudge.

I'm also listening, while I write this, to my winter playlist. Right now it consists of Feist's new album, "Metals", particularly the songs "Graveyard" and "How Come You Never Go There". It also consists of Greg Hansard and Marketa Irglova's song "Falling Slowly", The Civil Wars' song, "Poison and Wine", Lana Del Rey's song, "Video Games", Kate Nash's song, "Nicest Thing", Snow Patrol's song, "Set Fire to the Third Bar"...and well, a lot of other music I'm not going to list right now. But it's beautiful stuff, and it's perfect for the mood I'm in right now. (It's not all depressing, I only listed the sadder songs, because they're what I'm listening to now. They seemed fitting.)

I wrote a long post about tattoos and things, and I'm sorry I didn't post it last week like I said I would. It needs editing and such, but I'm off to watch the rest of the movie now, and eat more fudge, and enjoy my new clothes, and enjoy the rest of my evening. I'll post it in the near future, but until then, Merry Christmas to you all. Take baths while you're home, listen to "Metals", light candles, gaze at your Christmas tree, go into the city at night, try to ice skate if you get a chance, wear scarves and hats and mittens, see old friends, hold hands, sleep late, and drink coffee. Let your souls be brightened, because it is that time of year. I wish you all peace and happiness, if only for this holiday. Tis the season.

Meanwhile, if you're desperate for some good reading and this blog has once again let you down, maybe this will satisfy you till I get some better stuff posted up: http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/one-sentence-love-story/. I certainly enjoyed it.