That was what the tattoo read. It stared me right in my face as I waited in line to purchase a gas card.
The young man struck up a conversation with another fellow in line.
Their vocabulary was left wanting.
I wanted to turn away and just come back later--but the tractor needed fuel.
So I stood and stewed.
It ticked me off.
Yeah, I know there is free speech. There are even Christian bumper stickers that are annoying. That's not my point.
It goes deeper.
It's a soul thing.
The therapist in me wanted to understand the permanent gesture as unresolved anger issues.
Nope.
I saw a soul that made a decision and he marked himself with that decision.
The praylium in me wanted to battle it--but I didn't know how to start. It might have gone like this;
"Got some ink there, do you mean it?"
"#*@%^* You!"
Nope.
It was right in front of me, written in ink on his skin, what that soul believed. I needed more than a standing in line moment.
So I stood in silence at the convenience store pondering death and resurrection and judgement and what will happen to him and me and what it is that God is looking for. His soul and mine, after all is at the mercy of God--with or without tattoo.
I left there thinking I have to pray more, fast more, receive Holy Eucharist, and confess more often--that will be my tattoo.
(I won't even talk about the other guy who came up to me and said, "Hey, I got some fireworks that will blow you away. You interested? Come out to my car.")
I should have filled the tractor up with gasoline yesterday.
