My Wings

way more awesome than my original idea

I recently fulfilled a long awaited life goal: getting a tattoo of wings on my back. And when I say "long awaited," it's been at least 10 years that I've been thinking about it (so, yes, starting when I was around 13). I originally only asked for basic black and white angel-type wings, simply because I couldn't think of what colors I would want. Brandon Heffron and Dan Claessens of Beloved Studios collaborated and came up with this amazing design; they each picked a side and worked on me in tandem (two people tattooing at once actually hurts less, I think). It took three sessions for a total of 11.5 hours: the first was the black outline, the second was most of the color, and the last was adding the highlights, shadows and finishing touches. You can take a look at a picture from after the first sitting to see how quickly they worked.

I had multiple people (other tattoo artists and customers at Beloved) come through to check out my back as it was getting worked on. They were amazed at how big and epic I was going for my first tattoo. Apparently, teeny tiny is the norm for your first, but I didn't want piddly little chibi wings on my shoulder blades. Visitors would comment how painful it must be and how hardcore I was. Actually it really didn't hurt that much (except for at the end of the second session). I may look delicate, but I have a really high pain tolerance. Getting a spinal tap, having lots of blood drawn, breaking numerous bones and enduring several EMGs over the years has helped me build up my pain endurance.

"So you sat through multiple tattoo sessions for some colorful wings? Aren't angel wings kinda cliche?" you might be thinking at this point. Sure, it is a common tattoo motif, but my wings have a long story behind them and hold a lot of meaning for me. The super short cliff notes answer is the wings are a potent symbol of hope and God's grace and mercy in my life. The Lord of the Rings length version (which I will edit here, don't worry) starts sad and dark but ends hopeful and triumphant. Brandon and Dan don't even know the history behind my wings, but they added elements to the design that illustrate my story even more.

I have told few people what I'm about to tell you, but I think it's time I share this more publicly. I am a living testament to the reality of God. I know God is real, beyond a shadow of a doubt, because of what I've gone through, the good and the evil.

I was repeatedly sexually abused by my best friend's older brother when I was a little kid (under the age of 9). I won't go into all the details (frankly, because I don't remember everything), but I know I was molested at least several times over the years. Anyways, I completely blocked those memories, didn't even recall that it had happened....until it all literally came crashing back into my consciousness one winter night when I was eleven. I didn’t know how to talk about what had happened; and as a kid, thought that I would get in trouble if I said anything. So I didn't tell anyone about it for years. I got really depressed and had what I later figured out were panic attacks at night. It took me hours to get to sleep sometimes, fear and shame and panic would knot my stomach. When I moved into my own room, I had to have a night light by the door; I couldn’t walk down into the basement without a light on, because the dark would feel so oppressive and scary. Some nights I just couldn't turn to face the wall because I felt like SOMETHING was lurking outside my door and would get me if I let my guard down. As a 14-year-old you don’t want to admit to anyone you’re afraid of the dark.

I just wanted the fear, shame, guilt and utter loneliness to end. I hid it really well though—friends, family, no one knew the pain I was carrying around. I just didn’t have the words and tried to stuff the memories away as I went about my daily life.

Occasionally from when I was around 11 to maybe 15 years old, I would have these dreams where I would be flying. I usually don't remember my dreams, but I can recall these ones in crystal clear clarity. I always felt better when I woke up from a flying dream, it was like a little candle lit in a dark room. I would feel some quiet hope that the darkness and pain wouldn't last forever. But eventually the feeling would pass and I'd just feel the heaviness again.

And it’s not like I was a walking wraith or something. I went to school, church, youth group, babysat for people, took Driver’s Ed, normal teen stuff. I did have fun and have many good memories from my early teen years…but there was always this burden I was carrying around that I couldn’t get rid of. And at night, there was nothing to block out or distract me from the overwhelming fear I felt. I tried to pray it away, but what I needed to do was reach out to someone. I couldn’t deal with it myself.

The summer I was 15, I had come to the end of my rope. I just wanted to give up, I couldn’t take it anymore; I felt so isolated and alone. Sometimes I forget what a low place I was in then. The night before I left for this two week trip, I remember just being at my absolute wit's end. I wrote down a prayer (which I still have somewhere), just crying out from the depths of my heart. Pretty much I was like, "God, if you don't help me right now and do something to change this, I'm done. I can't do this, I can't carry this weight anymore. I don't know what to do or where to turn, but you need to do something over these next two weeks." And He answered that prayer far more than I could have imagined. That trip literally saved my life.

If I hadn't gone, I don't think I would be here today. God opened the wounds of my heart and started the healing process. I had an amazing youth leader that talked with me for hours every night. If not for her, I wouldn't have started dealing with my past. I told her what had happened to me, and she just hugged me and let me cry. I realized what had happened to me wasn't my fault, that I didn't need to feel guilty or ashamed. To just open up and tell someone and be accepted not rejected...my heart had been crying out for that.

The reason I use pendulum.and.fire as a user name online is from that trip. The name of the worship time we had one night was called Pendulums and Fire. The point was that most people are like pendulums--they swing back and forth between being hot and cold for God. We need to be like a steady burning fire, a hot ember even. It's not what our "feelings" are but Who our hearts belong to that determines our Christian walk. We need to grab onto God and not let go, no matter what. That night has stuck with me since that summer in 2002. I felt God's presence like I never have in my life. I could literally feel the weight of the Holy Spirit filling that room, filling me. It wasn't just a "mood" or a "feeling," Jesus touched my heart that night and I have never been the same since. Whenever I feel doubt about God's presence in my life, I just point myself back to that night. If I never experience anything supernatural in my life again, that one night is proof enough for me of who God is and that He is near. Satan has tried to drag me down to where I think God isn't involved in my life or doesn't really care, but all I need to do is look back on that night and see the truth.

So, my life was completely changed. I came back a different person. Some people get on an emotional high (and I would see it all the time in youth group) and then when the conference is over, within a week or two it's back to business as usual. My youth leader friend commented about that over two years later: she said, "You never came down from that because it wasn't an emotional 'high,' God brought you to a new place."

My wings are a testament of God's healing grace and love in my life.

They are also a reminder of Isaiah 40, especially verse 31: "but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint."

And over the last 7 years as I've had to deal with health problems, my wings also speak to me of the hope I have for the future. That one day I (and Andrew, my brother) won't be sick. Andrew won’t have multiple diseases, innumerable drugs to take, illness to endure. I won’t limp around with wasted legs and painful joints, having to ration my energy. We will run through the fields of Heaven, never worrying about having to take drugs or getting tired out from walking up stairs. If I didn’t have that hope, this life would be completely unbearable. What is the point of a life of pain and sickness and misery and then you die, and that’s it? No, I have a hope and a future! Jesus said there is something to look forward to after death, and I believe that with all my heart.

So, my wings speak to me of the past, where I have been and where God has brought me from; they speak of the present, God's grace and sustaining power for what I endure today; and they speak of the future, a hope in what is unseen and not yet, a glorious resurrection and ultimate healing. That is the story my wings tell. 

Stepping off the cliff

I've decided to take the plunge and apply for grad school! I graduated with my Bachelor's in Fine Arts in Dec. 2008, so I've had some time to establish myself as an artist and grow in my art style. But I'm ready to take the next step in my life. I'm currently working at Half Price Books and it's a super nice job for retail....but it's not a career job for me. Some people might be satisfied with working a random job to support their art making, but I want an arts related career. Specifically, I want to teach art at the college level....but you need a masters for that. I don't want to keep putting off what I really want to do with my life, so I'm going to stop making excuses and being afraid of the unknown. It feels like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff getting ready to jump off. I could fall and fail miserably...or I will fly and soar to new heights. I read this in an article yesterday and it stuck in my brain: "I learned that failure is an essential pat of developing truly powerful ideas." So even if I fall flat on my face and I don't get into school at least I'm moving outside of what's comfortable and safe. I don't want to just stay where I'm at, it's time for a new chapter in my life to begin! 

A broken tree

The tree out back broke recently. Cracked right down the middle, like it got hit by lightning. But it didn’t. It simply cracked because it’s brittle. A highbred variety prone to being too stiff to withstand high winds. The day before I had just been admiring how tall it had gotten. My Dad planted it the summer before our neighbor, Mrs. Hanninen, died from cancer. I had laid my hand right on the spot where the tree would splinter apart. I looked up into the leaves as my Mom shucked corn from our garden. The sun played across our faces, and my Mom picked bugs off the cobs as we talked about nothing in particular. She was the one who remembered when the tree got planted. She and Mrs. Hanninen would talk across the fence as they hung laundry on the clothes line. I don’t know what they chatted about, I was too busy chasing bugs and running through the tunnels of drying clothes, leaving dirty hand print streaks on the clean sheets.
The crosshatching lines across the trunk reminded me of my hands, which are pretty lined for someone so young (I’m 24). Trees’ bark is a lot like human skin—they get stretch marks too. The tree had grown so fast its bark had split in places, like a tomato can rip open because the skin can’t keep up with how quickly its insides are expanding. The little tears had already scabbed over; new bark was stretching across the cracks, and would, in time, give the tree more character. Now, I’m just hoping it will make it through the coming winter. My Dad said he’s just going to let it be and see how it fares. If it survives, the tree will be stronger for its ordeal, and if it dies, we’ll cut it down and use it for firewood. I’m hoping for the former outcome though: I’d like to sit underneath that tree someday with my kids and trace the years on my hands as we talk about nothing in particular on a summer day as the tomatoes on the vine burst their skins.