My great-aunt was abducted by Gypsies as a young girl in Lebanon.
When she was finally returned to the family, her little forearms had been inked with a flower pattern.
We loved her dearly, but it was impossible for us kids not to act bewildered by the spectacle of a little old lady with tattoos.
The heart and mind are easily swayed.
When we make a statement with ink, we’re telling the world that something, whether it be art, or a spouse, or whatever, means enough to us to be permanently displayed.
My opinion is different.
I have no ink.
However, when I see someone with too much of it, so as not to judge, I say to myself…I hope the world sees me with more tattoos than them.
In my mind I declare, my lips are tattooed with God’s praise.
My hands are tattooed with pages of Scripture.
My eyes are tattooed with all things beautiful.
My forehead is tattooed with the Holy Spirit.
My tongue is tattooed with the Body of Christ.
My sinful soul is tattooed with Christ’s blood.
Don’t let Gypsy fads impose their will on you.
If someone is going to take you hostage…let it be Jesus.
You too will grow old.