Rising from the Ashes

I’ve always been slightly obsessed with ravens. There’s something mysterious about them…something dark but intelligent. There’s an Indian myth that the sun was once falling to the earth in all its fiery glory and a dove flew up and caught it…put it back where it belonged in the heavens, thus saving the world from destruction. By gripping its little teeth (or beak, or whatever birds have) into the blazing sun, the dove was charred and turned black, becoming a raven. I’ve always thought that was the coolest story.

At a tattoo shop in Houston, TX one extremely hot & humid day, Linda and I decided that we should get tattoos together because we were great friends and at the time we weren’t sure when or if we’d ever see each other again. Being the bipolar people we are, we didn’t put a whole heck of a lot of thought into the occasion until we ended up in that shop. (Somehow I ended up in tattoo shops quite often on a whim). Anyway, I looked over the flash on the wall about a million times and this bird kept jumping out at me. It is the only piece that I haven’t covered up that came off of a wall. It was a phoenix. I thought it looked a lot like a raven, so I went for it…and some scraggly looking guy poked ink into my chest 9 million times and now its there for the long haul.

The phoenix is a Christian symbol of the resurrection and eternal life. To be completely honest with you, I had no clue that was the case as I was going through the worst tattoo pain Ive yet experienced….I just thought it was cool. In fact, I didn’t know that until fairly recently. I got that tattoo almost 7 years ago.

Why am I going into this long explanation? Well, when I am feeling as wretched as I have the past couple of days, sometimes it helps to look at that tattoo. It means a lot to me. I got it in my rebellious “I’m free and I’ll do what I want to with my body, thank you very much” period in my life. It reminds me of an interesting time in my life that I survived somehow….like the dove survived the sun. Also, it gives me a sense of hope…like rising from the ashes when everyone (including myself) counted me down for the count. It also has taken on a spiritual meaning…a reminder of the gift of Jesus, his death, resurrection, and the strength the Holy Spirit gives us when we feel like a waterlogged baseball. I used to think of the tattoo as dark and mysterious like the raven, but I don’t anymore. It reminds me of incredible strength. It’s a reminder that we can rise from the ashes even when in the deepest, gates of hell depressions.