I spent yesterday in Nashville with my sister. I enjoyed seeing the city through her virgin eyes. We ate some truly fabulous hamburgers at Puckett’s for lunch, then made our way down Broadway perusing shops and catching bits of live music. We still had plenty of time to kill before I was to sing in a writers’ round, so we decided to do something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.

I seriously considered getting a tattoo seven years ago. I’d decided on a design, but never had the nerve to go through with it. Actually…that’s not entirely true. I never had a peace about it because I was in a state of total rebellion toward God. To have gone through with getting a tattoo then would’ve been an act of defiance.

Since then, I’ve toyed with the idea of getting one. I knew all along that I still wanted the same design. But over the years, its meaning has come to be more significant in my life.

The design is that of a treble clef with a cross in the center. Back when I first selected it, my reasoning was that my entire life had revolved around music and Jesus. Even in my state of rebellion, I couldn’t deny that.

When I started blogging a few years ago, the design took on much more meaning. It was a symbol of Grace in my life. What once would’ve been a symbol of my rebellion became my blog logo…because I knew without a doubt that Grace had interrupted my messy life and made something beautiful out of it. Jesus somehow remained at the center of my passions.

When Grace granted me the opportunity to tell my story through music last year, I knew something bigger than me was taking place. And throughout the year, as I’ve continued blogging and songwriting, I’ve been very aware that I have a Grace story that must be told. Why? Because people are in the very chains I’ve worn, and they need to know they are not alone and that Grace is available to make beauty out of their messes.

So…yesterday, my sister and I jumped in the car and headed to a tattoo shop. When we arrived, I showed the artist the design I’d selected, but after deciding that it was going to be bigger than I wanted, he modified it a bit. I’d originally thought about placing it on my ankle, but after talking it over with my sister, decided on my right wrist. After all, I wanted it to be seen…to be a conversation piece.

As the artist scraped my skin with the needle full of black ink, all I could think about was the permanent reminder I would have of true freedom in the very spot where chains and shackles are usually worn.

As I sang in the writers’ round last night, I had an overwhelming peace that God is nowhere near finished with me yet…that His ink is still writing the story of my life for others to read…that He still has new songs for me to sing.

I look at the black markings this morning, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude. I’m thankful for Grace…for the opportunities to share my story. I’m thankful that because of such great Grace, He uses my passions even when I did everything to destroy them.

from “Remember” by G. Vinson and R. Gilbert