Tiny Heart Tattoo

I think I’m going to get a tattoo. I’m not the tattoo type but there’s something that’s been on my heart these past several years and getting more and more prominent. Tattoos are supposed to be permanent reminders of something special or import, right?

Love.

That’s what’s important and what I want to remember every day. Not the cheesy, fickle, ever-changing poetry kind of love, though. I mean the kind of love that makes a good mom, wife, and friend. The kind of love that puts others first. The kind of love that grows in you the more you give it away. The kind of love that is given even when it isn’t deserved, pours out even when the source feels empty, stretches even when it’s already tight, expands even when constricted, is contagious and genuine and forgiving.

The Jesus kind of love.

It gives and keeps on giving, even after being rejected and undervalued. It’s like a boomerang that comes back to you in some way, big or small, every time you throw it out. It existed before the world was formed, in fact, it’s the reason the world was formed.

The story of love starts with God, is full of God and ends with God. Because love is from God, the supply never runs out. The more we give, the more we receive, pressed down, shaken together, pouring over. (Luke 6:38)

So I want to get a tattoo. A tiny little heart on my wrist or hand so that every time I type, I’ll see it. When I hold my husband’s hand or rub my children’s backs, I’ll see it. When I wash the dishes, change a diaper, prepare a meal or wave hello to a neighbor, I’ll see it. It will remind me why, how and for whom I do everything.

I hope it doesn’t hurt when I get it… but then again, even when it’s uncomfortable, love is always worth it.

“We love because He first loved us.” 1 John 4:19

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