Low Pain Tolerance
Almost five years ago, I got a tattoo. I wasn’t alone. Bible Study Brother and Cousin were there. As a matter of fact, Bible Study Cousin got the exact same tattoo in the exact same spot. The crazy thing is that I had always been vehemently opposed to tattoos. Until, I started getting this itch to get one.
My good friend that I refer to as Princess just knew I was having some kind of crisis. Not only did I get a tattoo, but I also dyed my hair. It was crayon red. Not burgundy or plum…red red. Maybe I was subconsciously rebelling against the “system” or people’s expectations, but it wasn’t a conscious act. I just wanted something different, and I decided that my tattoo was going to be the something different.
There is one little catch though. I have a low pain tolerance. That’s probably part of the reason that I was so against tattoos. Just thinking about a needle piercing my skin over and over again was enough to make a tattoo far off my radar. My faith played into my aversion to tattoos as well. I was always taught that tattoos were sinful. Our body is a temple of the Lord’s, so we need to honor it. I also couldn’t think of a single thing that I thought was important enough to have etched on my body forever.
Bible Study Mama was passionately against my tattoo plans. She tried to threaten me, but it didn’t work. She tried to appeal to my low pain threshold. I didn’t care. I was determined to get this tattoo. So off to the tattoo parlor, I marched.
I can’t lie. When I walked in there, I was nervous…petrified even. I had just gotten my bi-annual flat iron that I described in “I Whip My Hair.” The tattoo parlor was clean and cute. Our tattoo artist was friendly and professional and prepared to do her do. I decided that I needed to go first, because there was a very real possibility that I would back out of it.
We were the only novice patrons in the place. Everyone else was there to add onto their already impressive body artwork. One guy advised me to just relax. He assured me that, after I had my first tattoo, I would crave more. I took a deep breath and rolled/climbed onto the table (I’m SHORT people). The tattoo artist positioned my foot, and my transformation began.
Listen, IT HURT!!! But I didn’t say a mumbling word. I didn’t grunt. I didn’t groan. I was silent. I just took the pain. Remember that bi-annual flat iron I mentioned earlier? It slowly reverted back to my afro. Why you ask? Because I was profusely sweating. Sweat was pouring down my face unto my shirt. Bible Study Cousin let me know that I was freaking her out because I was being so quiet…and I’m sure the profuse sweating didn’t help. Less than five minutes later, the tattoo was complete.
Ohhhhh, I haven’t described exactly what my tattoo is, have I? It’s the word “Faith” with an infinity loop and a cross. The “I” in faith has a tiny heart instead of a dot. As I sit here typing about my experience, I’m having so many revelations.
I sat silently through all of the pain and anguish that it took to get the word faith permanently positioned on my flesh. I didn’t murmur or complain. I took the pain until the work was completed. That’s the season I’m at in my spiritual life right now. God is searing faith into my soul, and I can’t lie. It’s uncomfortable. I keep sharing that I want to tap out because sometimes it seems unbearable. This just reminds me to hold on until His work in me is completed. #wepreach
