On Unfinished Stories, Death, and Chocolate Milk

                I got my first tattoo several weeks ago. A few days before I turned twenty. It says “unfinished” with three lines between the prefix and the word. Like this: “un///finished.” It’s a symbol for me of a few things: 1. My story is unfinished. I have more life left to live as long as my spirit breathes inside this body and I want to remember that if I’m still breathing, I still have a purpose. 2. God finished it all on the cross (tetelestai, gk. – “it is finished”). Hence the three lines for the three nails Jesus took. 3. Everyone else in this world is loved by God, and He finished it on the cross for them too, and while they still breathe, their story is unfinished too.

My tattoo was sort of a way of saying goodbye to my teenage years and whatever, but it really is important to me. I really do want that message to be permanent and visible to me for the rest of my life. I put it on the inside of my wrist so that I see it every single day. There is no way I can miss it without closing my eyes the whole freaking day or tying my hand up in a scarf or something. It’s visible and it’s there. I want to make every day count like it’s the last day of my life.

Over three months ago now, a Christian homeschool mom in my community shot and killed her 17 year old son, her 12 year old daughter, and then herself. I knew the kids and the mom. I had been in plays with the kids. The son was one of my brother’s best friends. I still can’t find words to explain the shock of knowing that all of it happened, because that's not something you ever want to read in just two or three sentences, let alone cope with. There's no way to romanticize a murder-suicide of a dear friend. I totally believe that mental illnesses are medical problems that need more awareness and treatment. No questions asked. I also think there are deep emotional and spiritual elements to them too in many ways that need awareness and care. This mom; she ended up deciding she wanted her story finished. She didn’t want to keep reading and see how it goes.

It’s even more heartbreaking because in books, you’d usually want to keep reading at the most scary part or the most dangerous part of the story. You want to find out where the hero wins the battle and where they overcome what is dragging them down. We like reading those stories. They are some of the most powerful and inspiring to us. 

We live day to day, though, and if we see no change, we project that onto our own future. That nothing is going to get better. This is how it is. I want to read my next page of my story right about now. It’s been a rollercoaster for a while. I’ve gone through long spiritual droughts. I’ve walked through emotional pain and emotional numbness. I have lived in isolation and wondering if I am going to see the next day. It didn’t work itself out in the short few sentences I just wrote, like you might think in a story. It’s been years of a process. I’m only 20. 

There is so much left of the story left to write. And I have chocolate milk in my fridge right now, so I want to pour myself a glass and enjoy it! And keep reading the story God’s writing in my life. I have so many things I’ve already learned and still have yet to learn. I’m all too aware of my defects and shortcomings and character flaws, but those are just some of the things that make me, well, me.

Oh, but don’t get it mixed up at this part. I’m not the main character. I’d like to think I am, but truly the main character is the author of this story, and that’s Jesus Christ. I believe that He is real and He works in my life. If you don’t, that’s okay, I’m not offended! I hope you’re not offended that I believe that, and act accordingly with that belief.

See, if God’s the main character, His story is still playing out too. And it’s so cool that His story includes us in, like, actually important ways. His story is unfinished, but the outcome will be the same because of the cross. He defeated sin and death and Satan and evil in general with two pieces of wood, three nails, a lot of blood, sweat, tears, and a sinless life. Oh, and a love that spans generations, that overlooks rejection, that ignores blame and slander, that breathes life into anything that even comes close to touching it, and that totally gives us all a second chance to live our lives – for His glory and our blessing.

I almost got a second tattoo when I went in to get my first one – a vine of flowers. They symbolize new life, and milestones I’ve gotten to. Maybe someday I’ll actually go and get it done, but I got really lightheaded twice during my first one and almost passed out. Character flaw, maybe? I don’t really care.

Read along if you’d like. The stories I post here are never very linear – they could include ramblings from really any point of inspiration in my life that I could care to share about. Sometimes they will be light and sometimes heavy, like life. Sometimes you’ll hear a poem in the making in the way I write, and other times I’ll be straight and to the point. Here’s the point I’m gonna make now. Don’t get this twisted: it’s not my story. It’s His. And I’m gonna write what He tells me to and I’ll write it for His glory, not mine.