When I was growing up, my dad was a pastor. One thing we did consistently, almost every single night, was have a family worship night. Most often after dinner, all of the children that were home that evening would gather in the living room and sit around on the floor or the couch singing from a hymnal, listening to my dad give a lesson, and then do a prayer circle of whatever prayer requests we could remember from our family and community.
The format my dad used for his lessons changed and adapted a few times over the years meeting in the living room. My early memories are of him just discussing some Bible story, or biblical topic. A bit later - as most of us got older, probably - he started reading specific passages from the Bible and discussing them in more depth. But on a rare occasion, he would have something he wanted to talk about that wasn’t directly from the text. That is where this story starts.
I still remember this day clearly. He gathered us all together and didn’t open his Bible. He wanted to discuss something else. As it turned out, he was reprimanding us. I don’t know if he was speaking to one of his children specifically, but the message was clear to all of us and is still stuck in my head some 10+ years later. His message: we were selfish.
Despite not remembering the exact year this happened, it stuck with me. So much so that I thought about it constantly in college. No one ever wants to be thought of as selfish, so I decided to make a conscious effort to not be that way. I knew that when I went to college I could redefine myself. No one there knew me, so I could become whatever kind of person I wanted. I decided that I would try to base my life on one particular Bible verse:
“Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.”
- John 15:13 -
I was going to do anything I could to make sure no one could describe me as selfish anymore. Obviously I wasn’t going to be literally laying down my life but there were other ways to live that out. It became little things like valuing relationships with other people over whatever was at the top of my to-do list. Staying up all night with a friend so that they would stay awake to study - even though I didn’t have to study. Loaning a textbook to a classmate the night before a due date when I also hadn’t done the assignment, but knowing I could do it the next day before class. Simple things, but doing what I could to be selfless.
The tattoo wasn’t a reality for awhile after that, though.
You see, I went to school about 2500 miles away from where my family lived. So this inspired self-development was happening far away from them. It happens anytime you no longer live around certain people, but those college years are even more impactful - especially when you’re surrounded by people that are vastly different than those you grew up with. Despite the progress I thought I had made, the people that knew before from before college didn’t seem to notice. It didn’t matter to me that they didn’t notice, but what began to sting was that most people just assumed I was the same person I had been as a teenager.
I specifically remember the day I got the tattoo done. It was in early 2017 and I was coming home from a rough day. I had been feeling the itch to get a new tattoo and knew exactly what I wanted done, but just wasn’t feeling like driving to a studio to actually do it. I walked into my house to find a couple of my siblings hanging out and within ten minutes of being inside, a comment was made about me and about what kind of person I was. Except, the comment wasn’t true. It may have been true seven years prior, but not anymore. The sibling that made it didn’t think much of it, but it stung knowing that for years I had been trying to shape myself into a new and better person and my family couldn’t see it. They saw me as the 17 year old James.
It didn’t matter that I knew I wasn’t that person anymore. Someone - that is supposed to know me well - still thought it and it threw me into a spiral of downward thinking that maybe I hadn’t changed at all. Maybe it was just in my mind. But I knew that wasn’t the case, and I wanted to have a constant reminder of that.
I almost immediately walked out of the house and drove to a shop. The artist didn’t have anyone else there so we jumped right into my piece. As he repeatedly scratched a needle of ink over my skin, our conversation wandered. He was interested in this story and as we spoke, I could see his mood shifting. He was kind and welcoming when I arrived, and over the hours sitting in the chair I noticed a new emotion coming over him. Still kind, but now pensive. Pondering.
After finishing the tattoo, he looked at me and thanked me. I was taken slightly aback due to the fact that all I had done was sit there and take pain. If anything, I should be thanking him for his artwork. But then he proceeded to open up and explain that he had stopped going to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings a few months prior. He wasn’t on good terms with his family, especially his son. He told me that after our conversation, and hearing the story behind my tattoo, he felt inspired to return to AA. Not only that, he was planning on reaching out to his son who he had not spoken to in almost a year.
Love equals sacrifice. And what better representation of self-sacrificial love than to give up one’s own life, as Christ did. So, in an effort to represent Jesus’ sacrifice I chose to make this tattoo a tree - a dead tree - placed right over my heart.
