Every tattoo has a story. Weather it is meaningful to someone, or just the story of how they got it. Mine has both, and that’s why I love it so much.
Ever since the thought of having a tattoo crossed my mind, I knew I wanted a cross. I wanted to show the world that Jesus is my King. I didn’t want anyone to be able to doubt my faith. It is also a reminder to myself of what I live for. Pretty simple meaning.
When I decided to get it, I went to Chicago with one of my friends. My parents said I could get a cross as long as it was only an inch in height and length. I had every intention of sticking to that rule. But after meeting with the artist I realized getting what I wanted that small wouldn’t work, there is too much detail. So after waiting for a couple hours (there was a long line), I decided I needed to get what I wanted because I was going to have it for life, not my parents. (They ended up liking it, so it worked out well!)
Once it was my turn, it was about 11pm. I was nervous and exhausted. It took about an hour and a half to do and I was falling asleep during it! The guy that was doing it was a very interesting fellow, in the middle of the tattoo he asked me if he could stop for a cigarette break! (as if I wasn’t waiting long enough!) Also, you see that orange that’s in the cross? I didn’t ask for that! I told him no color! I didn’t realize it had color until about a week after I got it, I’m not sure how I missed it! The color has grown on me, but needless to say I won’t be going back to that guy ever again, ha!
I get many questions about my tattoo, what it means, why I got it. Honestly, I don’t want anyone’s opinion on whether or not they like it, like so many people offer. Its my body. Here’s my story.