I got a new tattoo
a few weeks ago. I really like it. My grandma doesn’t. She hates tattoos. She doesn’t
understand “Why you young people have to mark things on your bodies.” She’s
cute and l love her so much. And regardless of my tattoo, I know she loves me
Hesed is scripted
on the side of my wrist.
It’s Hebrew for
covenant love or loving-kindness. Capturing the true meaning of the word in
English is difficult. It’s better defined as a life-style. Like the love Ruth
lived for Naomi. It’s the love Boaz lived for Ruth. It’s the kind of love that
has no strings attached, doesn’t think about self, loyally loves regardless of
feelings, day in and day out, in the hard and in the easy. It’s a sweet love,
like the love between a husband and wife. It’s a lasting, never ending love,
the kind of love the Father has for His people. The kind of love I want to spew
out of me like a geyser and wash over the precious ones in my life and those
I’ve learned that
when I am physically exhausted, without realizing it, I can become spiritually
tired too. I start believing lies about myself and my family. I start to feel
frustrated that I am not seen, recognized, or appreciated.
After those thoughts start stirring around for
a day or so, I develop this annoying, entitled attitude.
“I deserve a break.
I deserve to go to the bathroom alone. Or for heaven’s sake can I not just eat
without being interrupted?” I start keeping score. “I haven’t slept either. I’m
just as tired as you. It’s your turn. I just changed that last dirty diaper.”
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