How I woke up with a tattoo today

I’ve never been a tattoo guy. I don’t dislike them, they just aren’t my thing. Well, at least they didn’t use to be. That’s where this story begins.

For each of the past several years, I’ve set aside $500 for Erin and James to go on a summer adventure together. It seems a bargain to encourage them to bond as they transition from teenagers into adults.

The rules are simple.

1. You have $500. 
2. It is only for the two of you, no friends or romances allowed. 
3. Have fun, stay out of trouble, and don’t come home until the money is gone.

They’ve listened to the blues on Beale Street, ridden a zip line at Lake Travis, and undoubtedly done other things that dads don’t get to hear about. They smile when they tell the stories and that is priceless.

This year, I decided to try the same thing with my siblings. I was a bit anxious bringing it up to Kelly and Preston. It had been many years since we hung out together. In some seasons, we barely communicated. We each had our own, busy lives and relied on occasional family gatherings to catch up on family news.

It wasn’t always like that.

I remember when we were young kids. We were tight. When we faced something spooky, whether it was a dark room or a crowd of strangers, we stuck together. We would stand side-by-side while we cautiously moved forward.  Whatever was out there, we knew that nothing could separate us.

We were great friends back then – crowded into the back seat on long road trips, sharing hand-me-downs, exploring the woods behind our house, and playing at the park during dad’s softball games. It lasted through our college years.

Somewhere along the line, I compromised our bonds in the name of growing up. When I should have been building on our strength together, I took for granted that they would always be by my side, like they had always been.

I miss the good times we’ve had together, but even more, I miss being close-knit parts of each other’s lives.

Finding the way back isn’t easy. It requires courage to be vulnerable and take the first step in restoring relationships that I have let gather dust. It is hard to admit your shortcomings and face the people who were affected by them.

When I mustered my courage and asked them both if they wanted to get together this year for a few days without anyone else for a Sibling Weekend, they were both as excited as me.

We talked for a little bit about what we should do but nobody had any real ideas. Then Kelly said, “I know. Let’s get tattoos!”

I did not see that coming.

Like I started with, I’m not really a tattoo guy. Preston has great tattoos and so do my kids. Theirs are really cool. I just never understood the point. What picture do I need to see all the time, inked into my skin as a part of me forever?

Now I’ve embraced the idea. I have a permanent reminder that the people in my life are a blessing that shouldn’t be taken for granted. They are valuable to me and the busyness of this life won’t distract me again. Maybe I forgot that one time, but I will remember it now!

In the two days since we kicked off Sibling Weekend, we have hugged and laughed. We even went someplace scary. And we walked in side-by-side, just like the old days.

So this morning, I woke up with a tattoo.

Regrets? No way. Sure it will last forever, but so will my connection to them. This time, I’m holding on tightly. I’ll be by their sides whenever they need me. When we go back to our homes, we carry a physical symbol of our shared heritage and a reminder to prioritize the people we love.

My walk with Jesus has made me value other people more. He is teaching me how to love others the way he does.

I imagine Jesus as God was raising him from the dead. God brought him new clothes to put on, then carefully cleaned the blood from his matted hair, and removed the purple swelling from his eyes. As he moved to wipe his hands over the scars and make them disappear, Jesus stopped him to say, “Wait, Dad. Leave those. Those are the mark of your perfect love. I want to keep them.”

Jesus has reminders, too.

For now, I gotta go. It’s time for breakfast and Sibling Weekend isn’t over yet. I don’t know what today may hold, but I know who I can count on to be at my side, just like always.

Epilogue

Why this tattoo, you may ask? 

The cross is a symbol of Jesus’ grace, given to me and meant to be shared with others.

This particular image of the cross was adopted by St. Patrick, who carried the love of Jesus to people who had previously enslaved him in a beautiful land that was known in ancient times simply as Erin.

My tattoo is the third part of a logo Preston designed. He has the Cross of St. James, I have the Cross of St Patrick, and James has the symbol Chi-Rho used by Emperor Constantine.

The band underneath is a warrior’s symbol of loyalty. It matches my wedding ring.