Well, I'm back safe and sound from my scheduled break, thoroughly rested and absolutely bursting with stories to share! It is my prayer that this time off and the lessons learned up at "camp" will allow me to uplift and encourage others along the way. I know just where to begin...
Before we even hit the road to go serve at the Christian camp up north, I was already in turmoil, worrying about whether I should wear shorts or the three pairs of pants I packed. The tattoo on my ankle seemed to be throbbing with the anxiety it produced as I wondered the whole way there whether I would be taken seriously or not. I believed, from experience, that I would be "accepted", but I wasn't sure whether people there would give me a chance to serve Christ as they do because of what the tattoo seemed to say about me. The thing is - everything the tattoo "said" was true. At least is was true for the years that I rebelliously galloped off the path Christ chose for me.
I got my tattoo when I was seventeen years old. I paid for it in cocaine. The guy upstairs did tattoos out of his apartment, so we struck a deal, got high, and that was that. It was also twenty-five years ago. Now I was a 43 year old grandmother who wanted to share Christ's love with others, and I just knew what "they" would be thinking. "They" would smile and welcome me to their Christian camp, put me to work in the kitchen, hidden from the "real" ministry and disapprove of my lifestyle with their knowing glances behind my back. My tattoo would scream out that I was a poor role model and someone who needed to be watched. I knew the sad truth was that whatever they were thinking, it couldn't be as bad as what really transpired to get that tattoo on my body.
I made it through the first sweltering day with my long pants on, and eyeballed the waterfront area wondering how I would get from the beach area to the water without my ankle being seen. The second day seemed even hotter. By the third day, I dejectedly made my way to the office to confront the situation head-on. I knew I wanted to talk to the director's wife because I didn't want people discussing my dilemma up the chain of command. If she told me to either continue wearing pants, or even to pack up and go home, at least she would be the only one who would know why - I hoped.
Mustering my courage, I blurted out the fact that I have a tattoo, and would she like me to wear pants in an effort to be a good example to the teenaged staff and campers. Karen looked at me and smiled. "We don't judge people here. You must be boiling hot! Go put some shorts on!"
I weakly began to tell her how I knew it looked bad, and how I've changed so much since then, and how I now considered the tattoo to be a scar that reminds me of a former life...breaking into my apologies she simply said, "You can talk about it in your testimony", gave me a wonderful, warm, loving, motherly smile, and that was that.
I don't think I need to say much more here, do I? If you are the ashamed one reading this, please know that there is love in the arms of God! I pray you will find His children to be as loving and forgiving as He is! If you are a child of God who tends to "read a book by it's cover" in an effort to justify your prejudice against others - stop it! You are breaking their hearts, God's heart, and preventing yourself from having truly loving interactions with others.
That's all :)
Dear Heavenly Father,
May I always remember that You are the only One who knows the hearts of others. May all my interactions be peppered with love, no matter what, because you have not only required it, you modeled it. Thank you for your amazing love and grace in my own life! Teach me not to hoard it! In Jesus name, Amen.
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