Him: Your last name is Harris? Like the big whorehouse?
Him: You don't know? Yeah, man. It was nice! Hundred bucks a girl, but they were clean, you know? They were clean! That makes it worth a hundred bucks, you know, dude?
Him: They shut it down though, dude. It was nice, man. Real nice.
Several minutes later he asked me what my tattoo's mean. I explained that one is the Greek word originally used in the Book of Ephesians to describe man as God's masterpiece, created for a purpose in Him. My other tattoo is Hebrew for hosanna, or "I worship you, God! I need You to save me!"
Him: Oh, you go to church, man? That's good, dude. Real good.
All within a ten minute time span, our conversation ranged from whorehouses to holiness.
Prostitutes to the Prince of Peace. Sexual favors to One True Savior.
Sorry. I get a little carried away with alliterations sometimes...
Anyway, whether you think tattoo's are sinful and senseless or beautiful body art, it's undeniable that, today, God used mine to draw focus to Himself.
From the darkness of the world and flesh to the eternal light of Him and His Kingdom...
God uses everything. Even me.
And even ink under my skin.