Permanent

I’m gonna tell you a story I promise you’ve never herd before. How do I know you’ve never heard it? Well because it happened to me and I’ve never ever told anyone about it until now.

When I was younger, perhaps 6 or 7 years old more or less, I came across a sharpie, otherwise known as a permanent marker. I was told that if one took a ‘permanent’ marker to something, it would be permanently marked. Makes sense right? When I was younger, well actually still as far as I know, my dad has always been adamantly against tattoos. One time after asking him if I could get one he told me something like “A tattoo is permanent. It will always be on your skin forever.” And then something along the lines of that he wouldn’t let me get one.

You can probably at this point tell where this is going. Later I came across something similar to a sharpie, but it was an off brand (something I was well familiar with) except it simply had “permanent” embellished on the surface, no “sharpie” not even a “BIC” anywhere on it. I held it in my hand a moment, “permanent…” I was going through one of this times when I began to despise my name so I wrote the name of my favorite ‘imaginary friend’ on the inside of my left arm. I looked at it and smiled. As far as I knew, I had a tattoo, something that would last forever. As the day wore on I forgot about my newest “creation” and went back to obsessively playing “Roller coaster tycoon” and eventually it was swim time at the lake.

Perhaps it was the joy of my favorite part of a hot summer day, following my friends around after swim time, or a good slushy from the snack shack, but somehow my ‘tattoo’ slipped my mind the rest of the day. As I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling something in me clicked. I turned to look at my arm. My eyes, foggy with sleep simply confirmed that something was there. So I rolled over and fell asleep, no big deal. The next morning I rushed down to play carpetball as soon as I heard the trumpet playing. I usually could beat all the girls and a good bit of the boys due to my ‘genius’ plan of sleeping in the clothes I was to wear the next day and having short enough hair that it didn’t matter much if I brushed it or not. As I scooted into one of the first matches of the morning I noticed my “tattoo” was faded quite a bit, I couldn’t barely make out what it said anymore. I told myself it was simply a morning fog and by the tome recreation was over I’d be awake enough to see clearly.

When that time came and I finished taking a gulp of luke warm water from the fountain I wiped my mouth and looked at my arm again. This time I was astonished. I was fully awake, no excuses, but my arm was clearly devoid of a tattoo. I even checked my other arm to make sure I hadn’t been mistaken thinking it was this arm. After a good look at my arm, I noticed a faint black smudge bearing the remains of what had once been my tattoo. Heartbroken, I rushed back up to the cabin and threw the sharpie up against a wall and stepped on it, not satisfying my frustration I carefully slipped out the door and threw it on the dirt road hoping somebody would run over it. Satisfied, I went back into the cabin and resumed my game. Later that evening I found the mercy to pick up my marker. I would never call it permanent again, though when I was alone I referred to it as a “rip-off” or “good for nothing”, but it still served it’s purpose for drawing, doodling, and the sort.

There were several points in my life where I was forces to realize that not everything I was told was true. In fact, I came to the realization that most of what I heard was rationalization and lies. With that glued in my head, I became more stubborn than I already was. Nobody was telling me the truth unless it could be proved that they were, but I’d let on that I believed them and monitor their reaction.

Some things in our life we are told are permanent. Perhaps a bad decision that is haunting you and you’re told it will “forever” but that’s not any more true than saying my permanent marker tattoo would last forever. With the right measures and retracing it every now and then, I could make it stay there for a very long time, as long as is cared for it to stay anyway. Also had is known what I was doing and wanted it gone, I could’ve gotten it off a whole lot quicker. Choices effect how long something stays. Only God is forever. Nothing will change that. Remember that. Even your relationship with Him is dependent on you actually wanting one. He’ll never stop trying, but it takes you being open with Him to let Him in. Make sure you’re rubbing soap and water on the bad marks and retracing the good ones. You chose what stays on the “arms” of your mind.

Perhaps everything isn’t as it seems.

Live long and prosper, Tori Lynn.

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