I glorify the Lord with my body. Daily. Frequently. All the time.

I recently intensified my body’s glory output with some script, a little ink and time invested in a leather chair without my shirt on. It was awesome. I got Ps. 34:5a tattooed to my chest. It’s basically amazing.

It’s been a few days now and I can’t get used to the idea that I’m going to see this in the mirror every morning after I shower. This is potentially another 78 years, if I live to be 105 (sick). Just so that everybody knows the gravity of my decision, please picture my chest at 105 years old. The color of my tattoo will fade. As I age, it will follow my skin as gravity does whatever it does to old men. The chest hair will probably turn white and get creepily long. I’m completely ready for this.

I made a decision and it left a permanent mark on my body- kind of a large one. That’s a big deal, right?

Sure.

It’s smaller than getting married. It’s less significant than leaving or staying at a church (both of which require effort). It’s less life-changing than getting or losing a job. Won’t change me nearly as much as any of my relationships have. It can’t possibly piss me off as much or make me as happy as some of my friendships have.

I can cover my decision up with a shirt.

How many choices can we say that about?

The tasks we commit ourselves to might not leave permanent, visible reminders. I’m fine with this, especially when IĀ  consider how stupid people can be. We can choose to remember particular seasons, events and problems or we can forget them. Sometimes, it’s better not to have to recollect the terrible things we see and do. It’s always worth remembering our victories. Regardless, we should try to understand the significance behind our actions and know that many of them have the chance to impact our lives permanently.