Anyone who knows me knows that I’m not really into tattoos. Personally, I’m too fickle to do anything permanent to my body. I have 0 tattoos. Will has a lot. I always get a chuckle when people get to know me and then they meet Will some point later, especially if he’s still in work clothes. It’s always the same face and sometimes the actual comment of “oh, I wasn’t expecting that.” Haha! From the looks of us alone, it seems like the typical girl-next-door-meets-bad-boy story. And looking into our backgrounds, I suppose that’s true. At this point, he believes he’s tainted my innocence, but it’s not him. I’m just older and unfortunately a little more cynical. And he’s always had a heart of gold buried under some rough edges, so I can’t take any credit for his sweet heart and thoughtfulness.
Anyway, to the story…. When we lost Judah, we grieved very differently. I cried – a LOT. He didn’t, at least not in front of me. So the following conversation ensued (the sentiment, don’t quote me verbatim)
Me: (unfortunately in an accusatory tone) Does it even bother you that we lost the baby? You don’t seem to care. You’ve shown no emotion about it at all.
Him: Of course I care. I lost a child too. Just because you don’t see me crying doesn’t mean I’m not hurting. What do you want me to do to show you how much I care, get a tattoo?
Me: Yes.
Him: Ok, let’s go.
We didn’t leave the house immediately but he drew up a tattoo (he designed all his tattoos). And the final result is what he calls the most painful tattoo ever – on his ribs. The picture is long before he started working on his dad-bod. Hehehe
There’s more meaning than I’m gonna bore you with but those are Judah’s actual tiny little footprints and in Roman numerals, the day I delivered him.
His name is fitting of what we went through with the devastating blow of his death. We chose to praise God (Judah) even in the pain and we have never experienced such great peace (Shiloh) as we did that day. It was perfect peace that cast out all fear.
Walking through the grief, however, is a different experience. I can’t find words to adequately describe it… I imagine those who have experienced this type of loss understand the feeling and can maybe define it better – feeling completely gutted and overtaken by an emptiness that is so vast it seems endless, but that’s the best way I can explain what I felt. Given that, what was birthed out of that experience are words forever etched into my heart that God spoke to and through the tattooed man I married:
“It’s not what we suffer, but how we suffer, that changes us for the glory of God.”
Such true words. We all suffer. That’s coming from not only me personally, but professionally; I assure you that every single person suffers something in this life. Make it count. Please.
As for the “bad boy” I get to call my own, he’s a keeper, tattoos and all, even if *most* of those tattoos are ridiculous. 😉
random thoughts 