Sighs and Hallelujahs Stories and thoughts about the adventures of life without arms

Tattoo Artist

After seven long years of pursuing my graduate degree, this June I will finish with a Master of Arts in Christian Studies from Mars Hill Graduate School. This is certainly different than the counseling degree that I pursued from the outset. Working full-time (or more) throughout this time period, my schooling has led to great personal growth -- but I leave with no discernible call to switch careers immediately.

It's in this context that I wrote this free-verse as a final creative project for a class on moral discourse within the counseling setting. I struggled with what the lessons learned meant for me, considering I am not planning on employing my skills in a therapeutic context.

It was years ago that I began this journey.
I thought God was calling me;
calling me to become a counselor –
a guide, a companion, a friend
to kids and families in need.
I knew far too well that children with disabilities and their families
faced a mysterious and lonely path.
Maybe I could help.

Working full-time and driving to Bothell for classes,
I began to study for the plan that seemed so clear.
Up to this point I had minimized by disability;
just trying to be “normal,” to fit in.
It seemed as if God’s light had shone
and that my career path was becoming more clear.
But, then, it all changed.

I’m not sure if God ever called me in the first place,
or if He changed His mind.
Either way, the practicums and classes
had me living out of my head 24 hours a day.
It was not a healthy place for me.
Granted, I had always lived out of my head.
But, now I had so many others’ shit to worry about.

In order to save my sanity, I had to act.
This was about self-preservation.
This was about not destroying myself while helping others.
I could not pursue this as a career.
I would simply continue my fundraising work
and would finish classes as I could.

With mounting student loans,
I still wanted something to show for my money.
A switch to an easier Master of Christians Studies it was.
Honestly, this was a financial decision.
One where my life wouldn’t have to change,
but where I could justify the expense of a graduate degree.
Or, so I thought.

This is the mysterious thing about God.
I’ve never understood how He directs us down different paths,
all along knowing our destination
would be slightly west of the original plan.

I entered this last year of study with “just finish” as my goal.
No career plans, no big celebrations.
“Get your degree and give yourself some free time,” I told myself.
But, something has changed.
Something or someone has compelled me to tell my story.
To tell of the pain, the joy, the challenge and the overcoming.
To tell my story so that others might be helped.
To tell my story in order to get out of my own mind.

I’ve given up knowing where the path leads.
At times I think I see glimpses,
glimpses just far enough ahead to see where to take the next step.
So, that’s what I’m doing.
Writing.  A step.
Being in community.  Another step.

Yes, every so often I think I see clearly.
Speaking would be a step.
Writing a memoir, another step.
Communing with those families in need, getting me farther down the path.
But, then, the fog comes in
and I am more and more convinced that my role is to just be.

As Loder says so eloquently,
“It’s not just the big stuff, the big people,
but every person we meet, every choice we make,
every act we do, every word we speak
that matters enormously…
God is always using someone around us
as needles to tattoo grace and mercy and hope
and joy on our makeshift lives.”

Lord, let me tattoo others
and may I let them mark me for a lifetime as well.