Tattoos - Love 'em or hate 'em?

I was on my favourite forum this evening and got drawn into a discussion about tattoos. Love them or loathe them.

There seemed to be an array of opinions:

I hate them, they look horrible, trashy, cheap, always wanted more, small and subtle only, cool design then, would no doubt be a little bit shit now, I love them, could never decide what to have, etc, etc.

For me the last one is the most important. I love my tattoos. I like the idea of a half sleeve floral design but wouldn't have it done...unless...it meant something to me.

My first tattoo is the least fashionable or indeed exciting as a piece of art. I chose AΩ because at the time I felt a cross was a Christian symbol misused by fashion. I wanted a sign of faith rather than the possiblity that the cross would be misinterpreted as just decoration. I was reading my husband's study bible and in it he had a bookmark with the design on it. I looked up the passage. "I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending." Yes, I thought that is my faith! I popped across the road to the tattooist and 15 mins later there it was on my arm. With the benefit of hindsight, I realised that when I had been shown it in the mirror I was so nervous he could have tattooed anything and I wouldn't have noticed! The tat was really lower down my arm than I would have liked, nevertheless I was very proud of it and still am. It has been the trigger for numerous convesations about faith and that was my aim.

My second is my husband's name on my shoulder. Not long after our infertility was diagnosed, he bought me my eternity ring. I wanted to return the favour and give him another lasting symbol of my love. I realise to some it appears cheap and tacky (and I have been told this) and I really, quite honestly COULDN'T GIVE A SH*T, because that doesn't change the meaning to me or to my husband.

Then when little bear arrived, I didn't want to add his name. Only because I felt more than one name on me and would read like a war memorial! We used to read a series of books to him at bedtime, and these books had a recognisable character - Little Bear. I decided to have Little Bear added to my other shoulder.

My fourth tattoo is by far the best designed and most visually attractive, it's Dad's memorial. I spent alot more on this and went to a great artist. When had my first tattoo, Dad's only comment was "Oh, if I had one I would've had a shamrock". So I had the cross I didn't want the first time around, and inside it a shamrock. As another link to my Dad's Irish identity I added "le gra go deo" underneath or "with love forever" in English.

They are my tattoo stories and have deep meanings for me. So when I am older and my arms are not what they were I shall not be showing them off, but neither shall I be ashamed of my tattoos. As age will not diminish the reasons behind each one of them.

Fragrant or just plain smelly?

What's your favourite smell I wonder?
Smell is such a big thing for us all, we can be drawn to or repulsed by smells. We can find them comforting or concerning, attractive or not so attractive. Each person has a different view of the same smell.
Fresh coffee, roast dinners, the smell of the grass after it has rained; these are all appealing to me. I wouldn’t be surprised if they also feature on many other people’s lists too. They may make me smile, or salivate but they don't comfort and console. The smells which have this affect on me are less likely to be shared with another living soul.
When I was a child I had a cuddly bunny rabbit who had very long ears. I used to take this toy to bed, and with my thumb firmly fixed in my mouth, my two first fingers would hold her ears to my nose. Yellow bunny’s smell comforted and reassured me, and for a long time I would continue this ritual at night (and occasionally in the day if poorly or sad) . The rabbit sniffing continued way longer than the thumb sucking, and although I never suck my thumb these days I don’t mind admitting that a cuddly rabbit’s ears still get the occasional sniff!
Another very homely smell for me is that of a church. Now, before you call in the medics and have me assessed, may I just point out that I do not actively sniff anything. I merely step into a church and the deeply familiar smell makes it feel like a homecoming. This applies to any church, large or small, medieval or modern, cathedral or kirk, incense or none (although the lingering smell of incense is an added bonus for me).
When I was a child we sang the odd worship song, I mean odd as in occasional but one could also apply that word to some of the lyrical content. The Graham Kendrick track, May the Fragrance of Jesus used to make me titter. What is Jesus’ smell? We would ask ourselves. If we don’t know the answer to this, how will we know when it fills this place?
As far as I am concerned, for me an aspect of the fragrance of Jesus is the smell of home-coming. The smell I encounter when I step on Holy ground, and Jesus draws me to him and says “S, you are mine, you are safe and I love you” This is not the only place to experience this love, and so experience the fragrance of Jesus, in many ways for me it is the most obvious. It is also only one of my God given senses at work in it.

Reflections on the Quiet Evening

http://asbojesus.wordpress.com/2011/04/25/1007/

At the Quiet Evening last night (and very successful it was too) I started to think and read and pray. The quiet gave me the opportunity to encounter God and let Him lead my thinking and reading, and communicate with Him through prayer.

Written in the journal I use for this purpose was a quotation from Francis Dewar's book Called or Collared, which I have been reflecting on over the past few weeks:

"We need to be constantly seeking to transcend our projections...in our search for the living God, and in opening ourselves to be searched by God."

Now, I don't know about you, but for me the easier part of that quote is the part that requires me to search for God, the tricky bit comes when I recognise that in order to achieve maturity as a Christian, I need to allow God to search me. Why is this tricky? Well, all of us, without question have the "dark places of soul" which the poet Patrick Kavannagh described. The area of our inner self which remain hidden from view. The aspects of our personality which we do our level best to hide from our neighbour and certainly do not want to reveal to God.

The thing is, there is no point attempting to hide anything from God, no matter how much we would like to. God already knows.

My favourite Psalm says:

¹¹ If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
¹² even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you. Psalm 139

 God's omnipresence is not to be feared. His grace is freely given, and his forgiveness offered to me and to everyone else who seeks it. He stands like the father of the prodigal son, with his arms open wide to welcome us home, as his arms were open wide once for all upon the cross.

"God help us to find our confession... Lead us into the darkness that we may find what lies concealed; That we may confess it towards the light; that we may carry our truth in the centre of our heart; That we may carry our cross wisely and bring harmony into our life and our world. Amen" Michael Leunig

So that was some of my conversations with God, last night, I hope you found it useful. A little note for anyone who read last night's blog entry - we got a cup of coffee and it was indeed lukewarm!

I adore Thee

I have been really touched/effected/moved by the words of Stainer's Crucifixion this week.

It has challenged and comforted in equal measure.

I cannot fully describe the feeling inside me as I listened to the hymn below on my Ipod this afternoon. I have highlighted the parts that speak particularly to me this Holy Week.

I Adore Thee, I adore Thee!

Glorious ere the world began;

Yet more wonderful Thou shinest,

Though divine, yet still divinest

In Thy dying love for man.

I Adore Thee, I adore Thee!

Thankful at Thy feet to be;

I have heard Thy accent thrilling,

Lo! I come, for Thou art willing

Me to pardon, even me.

I Adore Thee, I adore Thee!

Born of woman, yet Divine:

Stained with sins I kneel before Thee,
Sweetest Jesu, I implore Thee,

Make me ever only Thine.

"Me to pardon, even me." Thanks be to God for this and this alone. Amen

Thank you for the cross my friend

"And once again I look upon the cross where You died, I'm humbled by Your mercy and I'm broken inside."
Matt Redman: Jesus Christ (Once Again)

I have blogged on worship songs before, and this one touches my innermost being much more than most. Even though this is only Palm Sunday, Jesus' triumphant entry into Jerusalem, I am already conscious of the cross.

I suppose this is because on Palm Sunday the church joins in and cries "Hosanna" with the crowds of the day. The church waves her palm branches, and parades around the grounds singing "All Glory Laud and Honour" (badly!). It's so easy to join in the crowds welcoming Jesus into Jerusalem. It's so much harder for me to accept that I betray, deny, and scream out "crucify" with the same crowds later in the week.

Holy Week moves me to tears. I am truly "broken inside" as I stand at the foot of the cross on Good Friday.

Even though this year, with a child who is too young to cope with most of the Holy Week liturgy, my only observation comes through singing Stainer's Crucifixition on Good Friday, the cross is uppermost in my mind this week. 

It was during the vigil on Maundy Thursday 15 years ago that I claimed this faith as my own and truly said "Yes Lord, I believe". Not "I believe because that's how I have been brought up" or even "I believe because I trust my parents to decide for me" Purely and simply "This is my faith, Yes Lord I believe"

So my question this Holy Week comes from Stainer's Crucifixion

"Behold Me and see: pierced thro' and thro' with countless sorrows, and all is for you;

For you I suffer, for you I die.
Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by?"