So, I got a tattoo. I had never gotten one before because I could never think of something I felt that I needed on my skin for the rest of my life. I’ve seen some really amazing tattoos, and I’ve seen some really awful ones. I didn’t want to get something I’d regret later. I also have several friends who have let me know in no uncertain terms that they think tattoos are a gateway drug. Someone I used to know asked me once what she was supposed to tell her children about a guy we knew who was covered in them, as she was afraid that his tattoos were going to cause them all to stumble. Sigh.
Well, I haven’t been able to get this tattoo out of my head for the last year. I knew I wanted something to mark this journey I’m on, and I knew I wanted it to be a permanent reminder of the hope I have in Christ. Whether I live another 50 years or die tomorrow–hope is the anchor of my soul.
Hope is the one thing that has remained steady in my life. Hope has carried me through lonely nights, broken relationships, and dire sickness; it has pulled me out of the pit of sin; it has given me a heart of compassion for others; and it has reminded me every day since I met Christ that I have a reason to sing. I would be nothing without it. It wakes me up every day and says that this isn’t all there is to life–there is so much more.
Hope will always be what anchors me. And I love this reminder on my wrist.