Beloved

At the beginning of my second year of college, God began to strip away my cover by removing other idols in my life that were taking his place. It was a really tough time in my life, and I fought him hard for control. He stripped away my boyfriend of 4 years, he stripped away some pretty solid friendships and guided me into new ones, and then also began to uncover some of the really deep-seated flesh patterns that had governed me up to that point. I remember one night in my dorm room, after soaking my pillow with tears, crawling out of bed and curling up on the floor, face down. I told God right then and right there that if there was anything good left in me, he could have it. If there was anything he thought he could use for his glory, it was his. If he could pick up my pieces and form them into something usable, to take me. It wasn't necessarily that I trusted him to do any of those things - I just really felt he was the only option I had left.

To say he taught me a lot that year doesn't even scratch the surface. I think that year he just loved on me a lot. I liked the idea that the Old Testament sets forth about gathering "stones" as a way to honor and remember God's covenants. Following that example, I set out in search of a ring that would serve as a reminder to me of his deep love.

I found what I was looking for - a silver band, with the verse from Song of Solomon 6:3, in Hebrew, inscribed on it. It was perfect...almost. I wanted to wear it on my ring finger, as a symbol of my relationship with Christ, but it seemed a little heretical to think that one day my husband would one day "replace" this band with one he was giving to me. To me, the symbolism of that just didn't make sense; my relationship with Christ would never be replaced by my husband, it would be magnified.

I settled on a (gasp!) tattoo. One I didn't tell my parents about for nearly six months. I took the Hebrew words from that ring and had them inscribed on my ring finger, in a place that would one day fall directly beneath my wedding rings. To this day, I still love it. I love that it serves as a "remembering stone" for the time when God pulled me out of the pit. I love that what it says is eternally true: "I am my Beloved's, and my Beloved is mine." I love that I serve a God who doesn't just teach, but sometimes just loves. And even when I fight his love during a moment of rebellion, that tattoo remains, serving as an ever-present example of his steadfast love for me.

(Disclaimer to my children: This is by no means your future justification for getting a tattoo or piercing or whatever else might be intriguing to your teenage mind.)