In the Marketplace (Part 1)

Here's the first part of the story behind my tattoo. I wrote this over a year ago. I entitled it "In the Marketplace". Enjoy and let me know what you think. Please feel free to leave comments I would like to know who is reading.

In the Marketplace
Confession time – oow I just got your attention, didn’t I? Well it is known in my family that for my 30th birthday I did something I always wanted to do – I got a tattoo; a small moon and two stars inside a sun. It only took fifteen minutes to get it. It is located on my right thigh. I had it put there so it can only be seen by others when I wear a bathing suit or purposely show it. My husband, Tom, wasn’t sure about me getting one. Once I got it he liked it. I thought that would be my one and only tattoo. I was wrong!
I enjoy watching the television shows that feature tattoo shops. I like the stories of why people get them and what they are getting. I believe tattoos are works of art (that is my opinion, if yours differs that is okay). Well, Tom started talking to me about getting another tattoo. A friend of mine at church and I had talked about going together to get another one. Yes, people at church can and do have tattoos. Do not judge a book by its cover.
I remember my pastor saying one Sunday in particular, that we need to get out of the four walls of the church and get out in the marketplace. Little did I know what that meant for me at that time. Here is the confession: there are family members that do not know about this tattoo. Well, I guess if they are reading this – they know now (update: I think all the family has seen it now thanks to our beach trip this past June & the family cookout last weekend.) Two days later I, at the last minute, decided that day was the day for me to go get a new tattoo. I had looked on-line at some shops located in towns near where I live. I decided to go back to the same town where I got my other one, but to a different artist. I had read about this artist on the shop’s website. I knew that my cousin had gotten “inked” by him. I called my friend from church and took my kids to my in-laws. I headed off with a picture of what I wanted, Tom and my friend in tow. I had chosen a colorful butterfly. I wanted a cross as the body of the butterfly which makes it a custom tattoo.
We walked into the tattoo parlor (that conjures up all kinds of images, doesn’t it?) Well, contrary to popular belief, it was a bright, cheerful place; not dark and dirty. The young guy at the counter was nice. He had some great tattoos. The lyrics to “Amazing Grace” were on his left arm. He took my butterfly picture and headed to a back room to see the artist.
When the artist emerged we found him to be dark and bruiting; the epitome of temperamental artist. My friend asked him a question; he was not exactly friendly. I remember the look my friend gave me. The artist was positioning the tattoo stencil on my left shoulder blade when I mouthed to her, “Am I making a mistake? Please pray!” The artist had told her that he would not have time to do a tattoo for her; mine would take at least an hour and a half (Whoa!) My friend decided to take our car and go to another shop down the road for her tat.
As I sat on the table I started wondering if I was supposed to do this. The wondering turned to praying. There was a peace, God’s peace. I talked Tom into going to the Italian restaurant next door to get something to eat as I was inked. God wanted to use me there. Okay, religious people out there – you need to know that this man was not about to enter a church. He would turn and walk the other way if you were to approach him in a restaurant or mall to witness to him. God knew someone would have to go to him. I did not think about how I was going to talk to him or what I was going to say. I did not come up with a speech in my head and try to get “religious”. I was just me. I knew the Holy Spirit was flowing because I had a confident way about me. There is a difference in talking with someone and connecting with them. There was a spiritual connection there.