The Story of a Tattoo ( Or How I learned about Agape, and also, ironically, how to tell people to piss off), Part One.

I want to weave a bit of a story today, about unconditional love and self worth and trusting your own path. But also about tattoos and people calling me a skanky whore and getting the courage to tell people to get stuffed if they treat me badly. So I think that covers all the bases, yes?

There have been a few pivotal things that determined my decision to become a Christian. Some I’ve talked about. Others are a bit too ephemeral and private to share. And some just wouldn’t make sense to other people.

But the Important Moment that I’m referring to today happened in a dream. I know, I know. Ugh. But given that I am 80% sure that I have experienced genuine premonitions in dreams, I chose to trust this experience as legitimate. If you rolled you eyes at the very mention, then you will really really dislike this post. And possibly me, due to the fact that you will find it cringeably awkward . You’ve been warned.

To summarize, I felt the total and complete unconditional love that God has for me.

That old thing, hey?

Trying to capture exactly what it was like is impossible, of course. But I knew that God saw all of me… and loved me despite it. But not even ‘despite it’, because there’s judgement in that, and there was no judgement, there was just utter and complete agape.

So of course I woke up in tears, because how else do you deal with that? It was wonderful and huge and everything but it was also a bit terrible and heartbreaking because there was also the realisation that I had never, and would never feel anything like that on earth.

So, me being me, I couldnt just appreciate something for what it was, I had also to mourn it for what it wasn’t. Luckily this little tantrum on my part was short lived. As I’ve said before, I dream a lot. I’m used to my dreams. This was not a normal dream. Even the dreams that were, in hindsight, premonitions, felt like a normal dream at the time.

But this didn’t. And it wasn’t.

I can still remember the aura of what happened; the memory of it, if you like. But as for recapturing the actual feelings? Nope. I don’t think it’s even possible to do that. All the love that I have to give goes to my children, but even then it is just grey compared to what was lavished on me. Recreating that, or re-remembering it just isn’t possible. Well, not humanly possible.

But I believe that what I felt was real, and also impossible to describe, although I have tried to. And I think that I’ve done such a sub-par job of telling it that I’d really like to just delete it and give up. But I also think that its important to try to describe indescribable things.

Because sometimes words are all we have, even if inadequate, and we are a race of story tellers, after all. So we just have to do our best.

Next up; I decide to create a visible symbol of God’s promise to me, and get called a skanky whore in the process. I’m almost completely sure that I’ll be able to make a lovely deep connection between agape, my friends comments and my not-perfect-but-understandable-given-the-circumstances behavior. If not, then I will have just needlessly talked about myself for two blog posts. Fingers crossed, hey.

 

 

10 thoughts on “The Story of a Tattoo ( Or How I learned about Agape, and also, ironically, how to tell people to piss off), Part One.

    • I’ve been googling the heck out of it; I’d never heard of them before so thanks!. It looks like McGinn’s books aren’t available on kindle, dammit, but I shall keep looking.

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