Tattoo Story #7- my family tree (please God don't let me screw up my kids)

All work done by Michael Facchini
at Blackhole Tattoo (West) Beaverton, OR

It took three years to complete, but it's finally done and since I can't share these stories from the pulpit, my tattoos are illustrations of the story God has written with me, and this is one I love deeply, so I will share it here.

It's not a family tree in the genealogical sense, but it holds far more meaning to me. It's about the passing on of more than genetic material, it's the passing on of our faith. There is a lot of pressure on parents. It seems there are so many opportunities to screw our kids up. I think that pressure is felt even more acutely when it comes to matters of faith. You want your  kids to develop their own faith, their own moral compass, their own sense of compassion. You don't just want them to be automatons for whatever you program them with, but you have to share what you believe, you have to pass on your values and your traditions.  So you try your best, and then you are bombarded with ideas and advice about what you should do. Are you doing enough, are you doing too much? How can you not screw up their paradigm of faith?

I grew up as a PK, a Pastor's Kid, and though that seems to screw a lot of kids up, I think it worked for me.  I think it worked because while I got a look at how horrible Christians and the church could be from the inside, I also saw the loving example of everyday faith from my parents. They are followers f Jesus, and you can see that in the way that they love others. They didn't worry about the religious acts of faith, so much. We didn't have family devotion times, times where we all got together and read the Bible every night, or once a week growing up in my house. In fact we had to stop praying at dinner time because my sister and I weren't taking it seriously. I once volunteered to pray for dinner in front of the nuns at my sister's Catholic school, and said, "hail Mary full of grace bless us now while we stuff our face". I think that's when we got rid of every night meal time prayers. We did always go to church even on vacation in Disneyworld, which admittedly was a drag, but but it did teach me to make God a priority.  We talked about the Bible, like people talk about sports teams, we prayed when we felt we needed to, and my parents were incredibly generous, loving and Christ like to just about everyone we encountered everywhere. I understood from a very young age what it meant to follow Jesus and have a relationship with God.  I don't feel like I built my house on the rock, that Jesus talks about in the parable. I feel like I grew out of and around that rock.

My faith roots me in God, and always has, that doesn't mean there are not doubts, questions, frustrations etc. There are times I have wanted to walk away from my faith, abandon my calling, and I have yelled out to God. Doubt informs my faith, strengthens it at times, and forces me to delve deeper into the Bible to figure things out. Often the things that send me running away from God soon have me running right back. I am blessed to have experienced a loving, God full of grace and mercy, that forgives, and reveals himself to me. I am blessed to have parents that could exemplify that.
That is what I hope we are giving to our kids, and that is what this tree represents. My faith, grown from the foundation of God's great love, shown to me first by my parents. It's a faith, I hope my kids come to know and understand. God has always been there for me, my rock, my anchor in times of struggle, my joy in times of celebration and in mourning and my parent's example is how that faith first started to form.

I have also been blessed to have many other adults in my life that followed Jesus with a genuine, compassionate faith, and loved me out of the love God gave them, helping to shape me into who I am.  This tattoo is a nod to them as well. There are so, so many, but the Davis family is where I first encountered a Japanese Maple.  One grew right by their doorway. I loved that tree, and I loved being at their house, it has always been a place filled with love and a hospitality like no other.

As for how I share my faith and pass on what I think it means to live as a follower of Jesus to my kids, well, it's not perfect but it works for us. We don't do regular family devotion times, we don't pray at dinner every night, but I think we are doing a pretty good job of passing on a genuine faith to our kids. We pray as we feel led to, when something is tough, and when things are good. We breathe out prayers of relief, and we giggle out prayers of thanksgiving. Elijah always wants to pray with me before bed, "Now I lay me down to sleep", but I don't know how much of that is actually wanting to talk to God and how much is comforting ritual, either way it's okay by me. We read the Bible together sometimes, or when a question comes up. I talk to Tabitha sometimes about what I am teaching at church and ask her what she thinks, or how she would present it. She knows my favorite Bible stories just like she knows my favorite books from childhood. We named them both after Biblical people that we loved and would love for them to be like, and those are some of their favorite stories, they go to over and over again. They also love when King Solomon talks about cutting the baby in half too, but that's a little different. At any given time there are multiple Bibles strewn about the house. We go to church every week, multiple times (because I work there) and sometimes my kids don't want to go and say they hate it. That has more to do with being stuck there for hours on end as I work, and having to get up early on a tired Sunday morning. They know the people there love them, and they have friends there of all ages. We incorporate giving into our holidays and we talk about the importance of living like Jesus in our daily lives. Questions about God come up all the time as we are driving to school or getting ready for bed.  Like I said, our strategy isn't perfect, but they know that God is an important part of our lives, that church is a place of imperfect people, but it's also a place of healing, love, challenges, and fun. Most importantly, right now, they know that they are loved by God and should love others with that same generous, grace filled love.

Elijah's Profile Silhouette

Tabitha's Profile Silhouette

While I don't have a favorite, this piece is a great collaborative of my kids ideas and their Uncle Tattoo Mike's ability to take ideas and make them happen. The signatures are my kids, at I think, their most precious stage of handwriting. It tells you so much about their personalities too, Tab's is careful and thought out, the boy's scrawls up my arm with a backwards J.  They wrote them, our artist transferred them using a copy machine with the stencil ink which is how all tattoo stencils are applied after the artist creates the initial sketch. The tree is a Japanese Maple, my favorite, which are normally short and squat, but had to be tall and gangly like me to fit my arm, which was a challenge. It originally started as just the rock and the tree, three years ago but Elijah was upset there was no grass. He didn't like it floating there, so two years ago we added the grass. There was no room on my arm from the original tree and rock to put a proper border or frame on with the grass, so our artist, Michael, had the brilliant idea to put a silhouette of each kids' profile in the grass to form the border. You can see them in the pictures. AMAZING! This year Tabitha decided that she wanted there to be clouds and sky on the tattoo since Elijah got grass.  Again having no definable border was an issue, but Mike made it work, and I think it has taken the tattoo to a whole new level of greatness. The colors in this thing are awesome. Mike's color saturation is excellent by the way, the skin on this arm seems to not appreciate blue ink, and has had issues healing. The leaves are layered in purples, reds, yellows and oranges, so much color went into those leaves that two years and lots of sun later they are still vibrant. It was amazing to watch it get painted into my arm.

the kid's signatures 

I hope someday they will come to have a family faith tree too, maybe not a tattoo, but an appreciation and an understanding of how their own personal faith developed from the many wonderful people and experiences God put in their life.

I have no monkey, but I like what I've become!

A certain person told me the other day that I was not young anymore, since my thirty fifth birthday recently came to pass. I bit my tongue and didn't let the expletive leave my mouth, nor did I remind this person that they are just a few years shy of twice my age. It's really not the inference of my age that offended me.  It's more the idea that I might become as seemingly irrelevant as the person making the comment, and out of touch. Or it was the idea that this person has suggested to me multiple times that my life is going to start declining now. Here's the thing, if it is, if I am on the road out, I'm actually ok with that, because my life has been so very full. Saying my life is on the decline is a load of crap.  Really I'm not done and I'm not going to go trudging into middle age or old age with complacency and boredom. I was thinking how I really am the person who I wanted to become and then there was the sketch this weekend, on SNL, which I included below, that confirmed for me, I am happy with who I have become.

 I am the person I wanted to be when I was younger, even though some things are missing and some things aren't quite what I imagined.  There are a lot of things I wish I could improve about myself. I'd for sure have less debt, my arms would be toned, there would be ten less pounds on my frame, I would keep my big mouth shut more. There are a lot of mistakes I have made, words that I have said which I so wish I could take back. Tragically I don't have a monkey or a house in Santa Cruz, I don't even live in California, things that used to seem so essential to the perfect grown up life. There are other things I really am disappointed in though. I haven't been back to Uganda in 14 years. I never was able to build a tree house for my kids, I don't even have a real backyard. I have no guest room for my parents to stay in.  I don't have a sister I call everyday, or even once a week, a month or a year. I rarely see my nieces and nephews, and my kids don't know our East Coast roots at all. Then there are the things that seem to disappoint others or become the object for their criticism or jokes; everything from my hair, my minivan, my tattoos, my townhouse on the wrong side of town which people refer to as an apartment, to my career that has never grown to a giant church. All of these things may disappoint me and others, the mistakes, the debt weighs me down at times but in the grand scheme of things, they seem silly, obnoxious even. 

I'm pretty much the person I wanted to be when I grew up. I mean, I don't have a monkey, or a house in Santa Cruz, but those things aside, I have been beyond blessed to be able to live out my dreams and kick through my bucket list. It is not lost on me how incredibly awesome that is. I am very,very grateful. I have an amazing family. My kids rock, even if my daughter wanted a boring belt without studs or skulls on it the other day. They are caring, funny, adventurous people, and I get to raise them with my best friend. I am graced with the joy of living with Valentine everyday of my life. I am humbled by that alone, and yet there is so  much more. I live in a very tall house, taller than the trees I used to want to be in. It's a warm home with running clean water, so much that it can overflow and damage the thing. The house is filled with human monkeys and crazy dogs, including the giant dog of my childhood dreams. There may not be a swingset in the non existent backyard but there is one in my kitchen, and although there is no guest room, the house is often filled with friends. I got to have the career I wanted, the one God called me to in junior high. So many students have allowed me to be a part of their lives and their journey of faith, and some of them are having babies now. It is incredibly humbling to have been allowed to speak into the lives of young people for over seventeen years, and challenge them to chase after Jesus. So what if I drive a messy minivan to cram all of them in, my kids, and the kids that come into the doors of the church, it is great! I may not be working at a big name church, but I have heard of the big impact that I have made in the lives of students, which is unbelievable to me. God has given me so many adventures, friends and fantastic memories.

I know how I got there too, and it wasn't just because I'm awesome. It was often in spite of who I am, and it was due in large part to God and the people He has graced my life with. I followed Jesus as close as I could, and when I lost my way He brought me back and gave me second, third and fourth chances. He turned my mistakes and heartaches into opportunities, eventually. I was also born into a family with amazing parents, and had a village of friends that helped me grow up, or get as close to grown as I ever will. I had multiple mentors that challenged me to pursue the passion God gave me. I don't talk to my sister much, but I have adopted a bunch of brothers and a few sisters that are there for me everyday.  I am incredibly lucky to have had all of this and I became the person I wanted to become because of God working in my life and so many wonderful people. 

So I may be thirty five, but I am not depressed that half my life may be over. It was a really good half, enough for a full life, so who knows what the next part will bring. Now I get to dream up who I want to be when I am 70, if God let's me make it that long. That is cool. That is so exciting. My hair could be white then, so it would be so much easier to put colors in it. I could get really bright colors without bleaching! I could get a monkey when the kids move out (because they seem messy, and two kids, Val and I are messy enough) and be the crazy old monkey lady. I could do youth groups and lead retreats from my jazzy power chair with an entirely new generation of kids! The millenials kids, I can't wait to see how they turn out!!! I will continue to spend time with young people, helping them to see God's love for them and be who he created them to be. I'll just sleep for the day or two after the all nighters at church, or the snow retreats. I will continue to listen to new music (except dub step). I could play pictionary with my grandkids as they try and guess what my tattoos used to be. I will get to have those medical tests the hypochondriac in me has always wanted. I will get to see the inside of my colon, and really cool pictures of the inside of my boobs. We will get to freak nurses out with Val's more comedic tattoos. Maybe I will have finally been to Hawaii and checked off the last of the fifty states. Who knows how many great danes I will have had by then.  We could put a saddle on a great dane for the monkey! I'll be older, so people won't question my sanity, they will just assume it is gone.  If I could have all of those great adventures, before  gaining the wisdom and knowledge that comes with age, what is stopping me now? 

What is stopping you? Are you the person you wanted to be years ago, or are you someone even better? Seriously, you might not be that person, but the person you are could be so much more. You may have had better experiences and grown through more amazing challenges, than that childhood person you dreamed of ever could.  What life experiences have you triumphed through to be that better you? What heartaches have shaped you for the better? Maybe it's not the life you thought you wanted, but what adventures have you had that you never even dreamed of? Is there a new dream, a new turn your life could take? Who says your age has to stop you?

Maybe my grandkids will visit me in my treehouse in Santa Cruz someday, or a village in Uganda. If that's the case, there better be a monkey.

http://youtu.be/ve80DrDB2Yg

Tattoo Story #6 - Emergency Tattoo

Disclaimer: I don't think tattoos that aren't well thought out (for years if you are in your 20s, months if you are over 30), are the best idea. This one was an exception. I have Val's permission to post, to be honest about what we are struggling with, to open a curtain of stigma and fear, and maybe in the next week or so, I will post more on this topic. Given the title of this blog though, this seemed a fitting way to start, while the ink is still fresh and the tattoo is starting to heal. Hopefully healing continues...

We battle an illness in our house that is chronic, can be debilitating and at times is life threatening. It’s a triple threat of OCD, anxiety and depression. I say we, but I’m just the support person. I’m not the one who has to suffer at the hand of a genetically inherited illness, that while classified as mental, has real physical causes and effects. It feels physical too. It comes with a crushing weight of fear and sadness, and though I may not be the one with the brain wiring and chemistry that is off, I feel that.

This illness sucks the life out of us sometimes. It exhausts us when it goes on for weeks at a time.  It isolates us from others as we fear what they will think of us, what label they will put on Valentine or on our family. Sometimes as we struggle to deal with it together it even makes us battle each other.  It sucks soooo bad, but there is more to our lives than this awful, gut wrenching cloud of sadness.

There are good parts of our life, really good ones. Friends, people who don’t look at Val like he’s crazy or me like a drama queen when we tell them what’s happening. Friends who may not get it, but they get us and they love us no matter how sad or scary things get. Friends who know what’s wrong just by looking at my face. Friends who clear their higher paying tattoo client schedules to fit us in and put a tattoo on my husband’s wrist, so he won’t obsess about cutting it and he can battle those horrible thoughts.

Whatever is good, noble true etc, whatever is praise worthy and excellent. It’s an edited for skin space version of Philippians 4:8. It is beautiful script but tiny, and packed into a small space, it breaks some standard tattoo rules. It isn't a tattoo for aesthetics or art, It is a tool for coping, for healing. We will think on these things. We will think on these things when the fears of suicide seem to overwhelm us.  We will think on these things when we cannot get out of bed or off the couch because there is so much sadness.  We will think on these things and we will fight like crazy against this suck.

I will fight for you Valentine Hellman, because you are totally worth it. My life is better EVERYDAY because you are in it. Everyday that I can hug you, that I can laugh about our kids, or the ridiculous new horse of a dog that you were generous enough to let me get, my life is better. Every time I get a text from you, even if it’s one that tells me you are struggling, my life is better, because you are a part of it. You amaze me with your strength, with your ability to work and provide for us even on your worst days. Everyone that meets you (well the ones that are worth your time anyway) thinks you are wonderful, and you are the best part of the Hellman family. You are sweet and creative and sensitive and kind. Your playful spirit brings wonder and excitement to our house. You may struggle with depression, but that is not who you are.

All work done by Michael Facchini
at Blackhole Tattoo (West) in Beaverton, OR

That’s why I got the tattoo too. I am on your team. I will grieve with you and I will rejoice with you, and I will never give up on you. Ever. Your tattoo faces in so that you can read it. Mine faces out, so you can read it.  I know others will read it too. I know there will be questions. I Thank you for letting me share our story. Thanks for letting me reach out for help as I support you. Thank you for being bold enough to help others find a voice too.

Actual text of tattoo: Whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about these things.

Tattoo Story # 5 - Trying To Be Hopeful

All work done by Michael Facchini
at Blackhole Tattoo (West) in Beaverton,OR

Along with the balloon (see tattoo story #1) this tattoo has more conflicting emotions than any other. 

Some friends had a baby last week and of course everyone was interested in the babies name. It didn't occur to me until two days later, that I have a nephew with the same name. I have never met him, nor have I met his brother. I wouldn't recognize them if they walked up to me in a room. That realization was devastating. How could I not make that connection with my own family?

While I have a few fond memories of my sister, I have a truckload of painful ones. Memories like sitting alone in the rec. room of an inpatient facility for troubled kids as a nine year old, as my parents went to yet another therapy session with her. Memories of my parents and grandparents fighting about what the next best step was for her. Memories of my niece being ripped away from us and the stable home we provided as she was taken back to uncertainty. Memories of the #2 worst day of my life #1 also being related to the balloon. 

I won't share the details of that day. I can't, a blog is far to public a place for such things. Sufficed to say it was devastating. She made a choice that ripped me apart inside.  I know that choice was not made lightly. I know that choice was born out of crushing pain, and fear that she was dealing with. I don't judge her for that choice, but it was devastating none the less. 

That day I made an unconscious line in the sand. I tried to be there for her in the aftermath, calling, checking in, but slowly, I found myself checking out too. I was checking out of my emotions for her, for whatever her future was to hold. I was locking away parts of my heart that were already bruised and battered and trying to shield them. 

I know she is not a bad person, she struggles with things I will never know about. Life has not been easy for her emotionally and there are things going on in her brain I can't even begin to fathom. I'm a sinner too, not immune to bad choices.  I am saved only by the grace of Christ, I live by grace, and she needs that grace too. I just don't know how to share it with her anymore. I don't know how to get past all the bad choices, all the things that have happened. 

All work done by Michael Facchini
at Blackhole Tattoo (West) in Beaverton,OR

I got this tattoo, not long after that day. It is always in front of me. Even as I type the wing peaks out from underneath my forearm. It is a reminder that my sister is precious to God too. He takes care of the birds, so how much more precious are each of us. It may sound silly, but it helps. It helps me to switch off the anger, the hurt, and see her as a precious child of God, free to receive the same grace and mercy that I rely on. Broken and bruised just like me.  This tattoo and the balloon it holds in it's beak are the two tattoos I have that have never healed right. My arm just couldn't hold all the ink well, and infection set in. Even when touched up by our amazing artist, they still have spots and imperfections, scars that won't disappear.  I'm sure the emotional scars will never be erased either. 

Hopefully this holiday season, our paths will cross; I will meet my new nephews, and we will have grace with each other.  She will forgive me for not reaching out to her more, not taking the time to be a part of the lives of these kids, and I will look at her and not see the painful memories. I work at having hope that we will make new ones. I'll make sure to wear short sleeves, so the bird is right there staring at me. Hopefully she will find a way to fight through her fears and the obstacles in her life to make better choices, and take responsibility for the things she has done. I try to be hopeful things will change for her in good ways and she will live into the full potential she has as a child of the amazing God. Maybe she already is; her name is Hope after all. 

Tattoo Story #4- It's got nothing to do with luck

All work done by Michael Facchini
at Blackhole Tattoo (West) in Beaverton,OR

As the phelbotomist put the blood draining needle in my arm on the claustraphobic bus turned blood bank, she asked me if 13 was my lucky number.  I get asked this question on a regular basis, as I knew I would. I have after all, an orange and yellow star emblazoned on my arm with a 13 in the center. That 13 has nothing to do with luck though, and everything to do with a good choice, covenant and a God who can get you through anything.

13.5 years ago, I made one of the best choices ever, I married Valentine. He made the same excellent choice in choosing me.  We continue to  make that choice everyday, and have for these 13 plus years.We had a whirlwind long distance relationship prior to that day in May, but we knew for certain that we had chosen well. Val and I met in line for the bathroom at a show that some friends were playing, and he happened to be in the opening act. We realized we had a lot of fun together. We could make each other laugh with our twisted, sarcastic, bitter humor. We enjoyed a lot of the same things, and we just loved to be together, though we were hardly in the same state. So we didn't wait year and years to get to know each other, we just knew and we dove in and made a choice. We got to know each other very quickly as we traveled in a van with 7 other people for much of the first years of our marriage, sharing a bench seat together. We moved in and out of various apartments.  We finished college, started our careers and most importantly, or life changing, had two kids. Over the years we learned a lot about each other, some good, some bad, but somehow we always managed to have fun.We made a good choice, but it wasn't just a choice.

We made a covenant. We made a covenant with ourselves and God that we would stick by this choice for good or bad. It is a sacred promise. Thankfully, we both made the same promise and commitment. Whether times are fun or not, we are in this together, till death do us part. We work at this choice, together. There were no easy years, every year had it's own joys and struggles.  Each year on our anniversary though, we both knew we had made the right choice in making this covenant and choosing each other. We are committed to that choice too, whether we happened to like each other at the time or not. Marriage is a choice, every day, to live with and submit to each other. Some days we are good at that, a lot of days we aren't, but we still choose each other. Some see that choice as a shackle, but to me it is freedom.  There is freedom and peace in knowing that I get to spend the rest of my, or his life with him, with the person I want to be with most everyday.  No matter what, unless it's death or debilitating brain injury, we have each other. Why would I not want to be with the person who loves me most in the world? We entered into this contract together and we both take it very seriously.

The God that we entered into covenant with has our back too.  He keeps up his end by helping us through, and between the two of us, we can usually see how he is working in our lives. He is there for us, so it's not just us alone. We have a third party, and intermediary, someone to turn to, when that other person is driving us nuts, or when neither one of us has the strength to encourage the other.

Work on the right done by Michael Facchini
at Blackhole Tattoo (West) in Beaverton,OR

On our tenth anniversary we got the sugar skull tattoos.  Sitting in a tattoo shop as two artists give each person a tattoo at the same time may not be romantic to a lot of couples, but that is part of what makes us perfect for one another.  To us it was special, it was a one of a kind (they match but they are each different) reminder to each of us, that we made the right choice for till death do us part. We had stars put on for every year of marriage, and each year we celebrate by adding another.

Our thirteenth year was particularly difficult. Deaths, Illness and floods made for difficult days together. Just as we would clean up the mess for one thing, we would get slammed by something else. At the end of the day though, that same sick sense of humor would get us laughing, and God brought friends to our rescue on more than one occasion. We survived all of it together and we wanted to celebrate that with a special star, a victory star.

I made a great choice over 13 years ago, and our marriage has nothing to do with luck.  I have an amazing husband who loves me.  I never make the bed, I leave messes behind me as I go about the business of workaholic youth pastor, and I continue to tattoo my body.  He may not like the messes, but he puts up with me, and he loves each new tattoo I get. While they turn some people off, well, let's just say for Val it's the opposite. He loves me, he makes me laugh, he fathers our children well, he works hard to provide for us no matter how hard, or annoying the job may be. He perseveres through depression and anxiety to be there for us.  He also gets ridiculous tattoos so that when he is old and decrepit we will still have something to laugh about, he lets me put swings up in the kitchen, encourages the addition of my dream dog/horse to the family and allows painted chalkboards on the walls. He encourages me to be my best self, he challenges me, and he makes me laugh, just about every day. I didn't get lucky, I made a damn good choice, and so did he.

tattoo story #3-redeeming the ugly Twig of my past

All work done by Michael Facchini
at Blackhole Tattoo (West) in Beaverton,OR

 Not a day goes by (when it is warm enough for my leg to be on display) that there is not a comment about this piece. Often the comment is, "I don't like tattoos, but that one is BEAUTIFUL".Comments and compliments, normally often me a little uncomfortable, but I delight in that one. This tattoo is, as Valentine calls it, my plastic surgery.  It was meant to erase some of the pain I have felt about the way I have looked since junior high, and some of the physical "scars", and help me be less embarrassed about myself. Yes, that is shallow, yes it is vain, probably a bad example to young girls everywhere, and I don't recommend everyone get tattoos to cover areas, that they are embarrassed by, but, it's my blog and my story, so reserve judgement and take a walk down memory lane with me for a moment. Let's look at an ugly duckling of sorts, and channel your inner junior high student.

I was always the tallest kid in class, and silly as it may seem, that was difficult. Teachers complimented me on my clothes, because we shopped in the same department of the store. When my friends were still in osh kosh, I was shopping at the Limited. Pretty soon my legs were too long for the junior section too, as different lengths weren't yet widely available yet.This was also when everyone was pegging their pants (rolling and folding) making them even shorter. So I came up with my own fashions, shopped in women's clothing stores, and thus, stuck out even further. My principal, at our 5th grade graduation, said, "we have to promote her, she is taller than all of us now". Ouch! I know this could have been a lot worse, I didn't have to struggle with things like being disfigured, of a minority race, or differently abled, I was just freakishly tall at a young age. At the time to me though, it was huge, my brain couldn't fully grasp the concept of it being, not so bad.

As I grew taller, I got skinnier and skinnier and skinnier. For some that would be a dream come true, but for me it was awful. Guess what girls, skinny girls feel self conscious too.  I was a lanky, lumpy thing who was taller than all the boys, and all but one of the girls.  When I finally did get breasts, some in my own youth group told me I must be "stuffing" because I was too skinny to have them.  They referred to me as "twig"." Hold my hand so you don't blow away twig, it's windy". Don't worry, I was a smart ass and dished it right back, but inside I was suffering. I felt awkward, as we all do in junior high.  I felt like I stuck out in an ugly way. Guys my own age weren't interested in this girl that towered over them, I was a joke.  I related more to the older taller people, which led to a different sort of problems. I got the attention of much older guys, and some of my much older sister's friends, but I didn't fit there either. I felt like I didn't belong anywhere, and I am sure most everyone can relate to that. It's what the junior high experience is all about, and it's painful. You just want to fit in, to belong and yet you see all these things that you think make you a misfit.

There were lasting physical effects from growing so tall, so fast. I got spider veins, stretch marks, scoliosis and more, and yes I know I could have had it so much worse.  When I sat, I had a position that made me feel less conspicuous.  I crossed my legs, then twisted them around each other again, so my feet wouldn't stick out. I still have a tendency to sit like that today, but it only made the veins worse. The blue and purple veins were all over my legs before high school, and they only worsened later on in life. This leg was especially bad, and I hated wearing shorts forever, because of the veins. I looked at my leg and instantly felt ashamed, and insecure, and just like that person in junior high, even a decade later. I didn't want to have them removed with expensive painful surgery, but I wanted them gone.

For my 31st birthday, I went to our much beloved artist, and asked for a cherry blossom branch, and two birds (one for Valentine and one for me). I wanted a transformed twig. That small request turned into this amazing piece.  The male bird is beautiful, and the female is just ordinary.  I love that. She doesn't stick out as much, she almost blends in with the branch. She would just be one of many birds in a flock, just a face in the crowd. The branches fit my leg perfectly, and the flowers are incredible. It doesn't cover my veins, but you don't even notice them when you see my leg.

All work done by Michael Facchini
at Blackhole Tattoo (West) in Beaverton,OR

It is undeniably gorgeous, and it makes me feel the same way.  I don't see the ugly spider veins, or the horrible feelings of rejection, embarrassment and pain. The tattoo helped me see my beauty.  I know I am beautiful without it, but it took this to open my eyes to the rest of me.  I am not the tallest girl around anymore, far from it. I am grateful now for the height I have. When I do feel insecure about the way I look, I just have to look down at my leg. I still hate sticking out, which I know is ironic, because my tattoos make it easy to pick me out of a line up.  But now I get to choose the way I stick out, and I am proud of the things that make my appearance different. Living in Portland, I get to hide them a lot too. I can stick out for just a few weeks of sunshine, then go back to lots of layers of clothing and hide them all away.  There are still days, more than Val would like, when I bemoan my appearance, but thankfully, those days are fewer, and not nearly as crippling to me as they used to be. I can appreciate those parts of me now, and see the beauty and strength within. My fashion sense, my tattoos, these are all good things that came from those ugly duckling years, things I can be proud of, regardless of what other's think.

You might not agree with my appearance choices, but let's be honest you have things you do to make yourself comfortable and battle your ugly twig demons too. Tattoos may not be liked by everyone, but they can be very powerful, transformative and healing. Rather than detracting from natural beauty, they can help some of us appreciate the beauty that has always been there and the beauty within. We all feel ugly at times then and now. Media certainly doesn't help us feel better about ourselves, so we turn to other things. Makeup, hair stuff, clothing, even razors, help us change or enhance our appearance all the time, just like tattoos. They help us camouflage what we don't like and show off what we do. We create the look we want others to see, and hopefully it  helps give us confidence.  They help us express ourselves in ways we are comfortable with. What makes us feel comfortable though might not be stylish in the eyes of others. When we see someone whose appearance is offensive, weird, or unusual to us, we need to remember there is an insecure junior high kid in there, just trying to feel comfortable in their own skin.

All work done by Michael Facchini
at Blackhole Tattoo (West) in Beaverton,OR

Tattoo Story #2 church, love and brokenness

So there is a large piece on my back that had very humble beginnings.  My intentions were for this piece to honor my family and that other member of my family that raised me along with my parents, the church. It was meant to represent the story of my family and faith, my commitment to the people God has given me and called me to through brokenness and beauty. The tattoo itself and the process of getting it, taught this church nerd, a lot. As I work on the message I will be giving Sunday on the sixth anniversary of serving my current church family, my brain keeps taking me back to that tattoo and my experience of getting it.

It started as a cheesy little sacred heart with a green "Gumby" cross, ten years after getting it, it was faded and embarrassing. It didn't reflect the beauty of the commitment and love I have with Valentine, and with God, like it was supposed to.  I didn't want to cover it though, it was a part of me, I wanted to add to it.  I wanted to add my kids in some way, because they grew out of those original commitments. I also wanted to add the church, because in adding the church I was honoring my parents who raised me there, and the family of God I had been raised in and called to serve. One of my favorite things about churches has always been the stained glass.  The church is a beautiful thing, but it is also broken, because although it comes from Jesus, we messy people are carrying it forward. There is pain, there is quarrel, but there is also healing and comfort, and love.  All those jagged pieces fit together to make something amazing, like stained glass.  I wanted to see this little tattoo transformed, but I had no idea where to go.

One night while out on a family walk around the neighborhood, we passed by a tattoo shop and some of the artists and piercers were outside, and they welcomed us to the shop.  We were just passing by, and paused, surprised because we had never noticed it before, and they were really nice, introduced themselves and told us to come by sometime. They didn't hand us a coupon, or try to sign us up and sell us something, or make fun of the silly tattoos we already had, or treat us like we weren't as cool as they were, all of which I would have been nervous about had we walked in on our own.  It was casual and open, and just nice.  Do you see where I am going with this? It was a bit like I would hope people feel when they happen upon our church.  The welcome I want people to receive, that feeling that it's okay if you haven't been in a while, or you have never been, you are welcome.

Later I went in and handed the artist an idea, and I was given back a masterpiece. He showed me a sketch and it was nothing like I had pictured, but it was everything I wanted. Then we started the process of putting it on my skin.  It was supposed to take three hours, but the first sitting ended up taking six and a half.  Once he started working, it just took more time, as he poured more of his artistry into it.  It wasn't easy.  I equate tattooing with scraping a sunburn, and the parts on top of the bone, well those vibrate with pain, but somehow I sat through it.  I went through more than i thought I could handle, and when my body started shaking and could handle no more we stopped. Along the way, through the pain, we had fun.  A friendship was forged, and an amazing work of art was born.  He took my little idea and worked into something amazing for everyone to share in when they see it.

When we are part of the family of God, we contribute our idea, our talent, our knowledge; we hand it over to the master artist, and with the whole body (see my last post if this imagery is lost on you), we allow God to shape it into something amazing to share with the world.  We let God work through us, as broken as we are, and we change the world around us, we continue the work of bringing heaven to earth. Well, when we are at our best we do.  Sometimes we are in the process of breaking down and we need renewal, or sometimes we are fading and in need of a touch up.  We are always a work in progress and we will always be broken.  My favorite part of this tattoo, is the cracks in the brick border.

This tattoo led to many more of my tattoo ideas being turned into amazing realities at that same shop.  In the hours I have spent there, I have always seen the people that work there treat people with the utmost respect, and I have seen some crazy people come in there. Each one is treated as a valued customer, worthy of service, no matter what the service asked for.  They won't make fun of you until they really get to know you, until you are part of the extended family.  They will listen to your ideas, and they will help you make the changes you want to make, so that you feel better about who you are.  I have seen them refuse people's requests only when their safety was at risk.  I hope that when people come to my church, they have the same experience.  I hope that when people visit, they are inspired, to continue to allow God to change them, to help them be the amazing people God created them to be, and to work through them to change the world.  I hope that if they enter embarrassed, they leave knowing that they are beautiful creations of God and he is doing restoring works in them, and empowering them to do big things.  I hope those things are happening, and I am committed to work on making that a reality.

Stained glass addition work done by Michael Facchini
at Blackhole Tattoo (West) in Beaverton,OR

This tattoo reminds me of what church is and what it can be, and it inspires me to be it and bring it.  Be a follower of Jesus and an active part of the work he has started here and bring the kingdom of heaven down to earth, and that, not my tattoos, is what I will be talking about Sunday.

Tattoo Story #1: Cameron's Balloon

All work done by Michael Facchini
at Blackhole Tattoo (West) in Beaverton,OR

My tattoos aren't an act of rebellion or my way of trying to be cool. They are symbols of my faith, the people that I love, and things God has taught me. Each one is a testimony, and I used to share them when I spoke, but people got offended.  So, I will share the stories here, where you can choose to read them or not.  And if you are worried about your kids getting tattooed because of me, don't be. Chances are they are rolling their eyes at me, they can't get one until they are 18 anyway, and if they did want one, I have probably already talked them out of it. Today though, is all about Cameron, so I thought I would share the story of his tattoo.

A year ago today, we lost Cameron. It was quite possibly the worst day of my life, and the lives of many of the people I love. I got a phone call from my friend telling me he had died. Words can't describe the anquish and horror of that moment.  He wasn't my child, my brother or my nephew, I hadn't grown up with him, but he was one of mine. As a youth minister, every kid in your group becomes a part of your heart, your family. Wading through this awful new experience of lossing one of our own, was gut wrenching, as we gathered our students to tell them. The days that followed were so busy with mourning and comforting, I felt like I was crying out to God every five minutes for strength and direction.

This tattoo was to honor Cameron, and it was designed by two of my other students. I am priveledged to have this balloon, inspired by Cameron, planned and plotted by Graci and Shade, and drawn and given to me by our artist friend, Michael. It connects me to all of them, especially Cam, and I treasure it. Memorial tattoos have a beautiful way of allowing you to celebrate, mourn and reflect on someone everyday.  The act of getting the tattoo itself causes you to pause and live in the moment, and gives a physical manifestation of the otherwise ambigous pain.

The image came as I tried to grapple with someone so young dying so suddenly. As ridiculous as it may seem, all I could think of was balloons. Kids want them so badly, but you know they are only going to last an hour, a day maybe two at the most, if they even make it home.  Then there is sadness and anger when they float off or are popped. They are frustrating for me, but for my kids balloons are pure joy, while they last. I could refuse to let them have balloons and save us all the frustration, but I would rob them of that joy.

Cameron was our balloon. He brought a ton of joy and laughter to our group, to me.  His smile and his giggle lit up everything we did together. He cared so deeply for his friends. He would bring them to youth group, and rat them out, when he felt they were in danger.  He was awesome.

Just like a balloon though, he didn't last long.  He left us way too soon. It was painful, it still is. But if not having this pain, meant never knowing Cameron, I would take the pain everyday. However briefly we had Cameron, he was precious. 

So I have a balloon, to remind me of that precious boy, and to remind me to be grateful for the awesome moments. I am reminded to be grateful for the people in my life and the joy they bring me everyday, and for the joy from those I have lost. I see it everyday, and it brings me more happiness than pain.

God knew Cameron wouldn't last long, but he gave him to us anyway. God gives and he takes away (or allows it to be taken) and though I don't understand it or always like it, blessed be the name of the Lord.