Tattoos and Scars

I do not have three tattoos. Not two. Not one. Not any. I never got a tattoo. I kind of wish I did because I think a few tattoos would help me remember where I came from. I forget. I forget the road I have traveled and where I have been and why I am who I am. Tattoos are a choice; a conscious decision that is permanently inked into a person’s skin that will most likely stay with them to the grave. On the contrary, most scars are not a choice. Scars are the result of simply living ; living in a world where people get hurt. I do have a few scars. My scars mark an event in my life and they remind me of what’s happened to me, the events that I essentially did not get to have an opinion of whether I wanted it to go on record in my life. But my scars are a part of who I have become. When it really comes down to it, I think I need some tattoos to go along with my scars, so that I can have a constant admonition of the choices I have made.

Interestingly, I have invisible tattoos that have been permanently embedded on my heart by my poor choices. Sadly, I assume the lonely task of taking an account of the rescues and heroic missions that God’s merciful and loving hand has offered to me along life’s highway. I mistakenly feel the weight of an innocent victim when in actuality I am the offender who repeatedly denies the Redeemer’s hand reaching to rescue me from my self-pity. Woe is me, I have sinned. Woe is me, I have been offended. But that’s all.

Instead of excusing my invisible tattoos and ever-present scars as burdens, I must not forget what God brought me through and how He saved me and granted me the freedom to publically share hope with other people.

Come to think of it, maybe I ought to get a tattoo to remind me and others that I have a my own rescue story.

What has God saved you from? What would your tattoos signifying God’s grace look like? Does your love for God heighten when you remember where you would be without Jesus?

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October 8, 2010 - Posted by Rebecca Jill | Loving Jesus, Processing | processing, sunny~side~up

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The Little Girl Who Lost Her Curl

Beccabee SunnyMe. My name is Rebecca. When I was a little girl, I was called Rebecca of Sunny Brook Farms on countless occasions. I always returned it with a great big cheesy grin, teeth, gums, and all. So it is no surprise to put Sunny beside my name Rebecca. That nickname truly reveals a great deal about who I am.

As the oldest and only daughter, I was nestled into my strong traditional Christian family which included my two younger brothers. At the age of twelve, my family settled in Birmingham, Alabama where I met my best friend and future husband, Stephen Figert. Through many obstacles along life’s fascinating highway, Stephen and I were eventually married and we moved to Indiana in 2004 for Stephen to pursue his PhD in Spanish Literature. Eighteen months later we unexpectantly began our family and welcomed our first son, Easton, who is now five years old, into the Figert home. Since then, we have also welcomed our daughter Anya, who is now three, and our youngest son, Fisher, who is now one. Unless another unexpected blessing enters our life, we have reconciled ourselves to being a happy family of five.

For six solid years, I feel like “life has come fast”! As the fog settles and the whirlwind subsides, I am trying to find my barrings again. So, here I am; I’m no longer a little girl, I’ve lost my curls, and I’m becoming something. I just hope I’m becoming a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend who, above all, loves Jesus.

Curly Days
[My hair] represents the spinning of our planet, the curling of ocean waves, the spiral movement of sea shells, the spiral movement of climbing vines, and everybody knows the tornado moves like my hair grows.

*excerpt from I am African American I am Black by Victor A. Brady
Straightening Out
I thought that I had wavy hair
Until I shaved. Instead,
I find that I have straight hair
And a very wavy head.

Wavy by Shel Silverstein

Becoming

For those of you who have naturally curly hair, you know what it's like to work for long periods of time to straighten your hair. Once you complete your work, you look into the mirror expecting perfection and beauty, but the product can be summed up as a puffy, frizz mess. This was my story, but as I quickly approach the big 3-0 and have acquired three finely crafted arrows in my quiver, I peer at my reflection in disbelief, because I have lost my curls. I used to work for hours to get rid of them, but in time, my body has changed and my curls are no longer apart of my defining characteristics. People from my past ask "Where are your curls?" I tell them that "I gave them to my kids." I hope that's not all I give to my kids, I hope that's not all that I lose and I hope that I continue to change in a way that Jesus will say, "That's very becoming!" I invite you to come, change, and grow with me, becoming a sure and surrendered child of the King.

I've Lost My Curls

it's becoming