Well Oiled

New Tattoo

Recently, I got another tattoo. This tattoo is much more visible than my last, but that’s the way I want it: on display. The ink spans the length of my forearm, turning the skin on my left arm into a canvas that bears the image of a sword.

May the record show, that it’s not a lame sword - the kind with a bejeweled hilt of gold, whose blade is dull and whose purpose is to hang above a fireplace. This is a sword that needs to be oiled and sharpened, one designed to be worn on a warrior’s hip: a sword designed to cut flesh and shatter bone.

If you’re a reasonable person, right about now, you’ll be wondering, “Why? Why does it matter that this is a ‘real’ sword… and why in the world would you get that tattooed on your arm?”

Well, the answer, in part, is that it looks cool. I’m now 43.1% cooler now that I have a visibly edgy tattoo on my arm. However, all of the reasonable people reading this will have once again sighed and exclaimed, “Why!?” The real reason - the ‘why’ for my tattoo - takes a bit longer than a two-sentence quip designed to draw in a reader.

Story Time

The sword, whose image my left arm carries, was forged for me when I was born. My Dad had one crafted for me, although I wouldn’t know it was my sword until I was 18 years old. For the first 18 years of both the sword and my own existence, we both remained in the care of my father. Although both of us required work, the sword was admittedly (much, much, much) much easier to tend to (like, a lot easier).

Regardless, my old man intentionally chose to have a sword crafted that would require work. If it wasn’t cared for and maintained, the sword would rust and become unusable: more dangerous to the wielder than the foe. So my father faithfully oiled and cared for the sword, praying over me, his only son, every time he did so.

The prayer, although I never had the blessing of hearing it, was simple. It was my earthly father, approaching the throne room of my heavenly father, asking for the deliverance of their son. That I would be a man after God’s own heart: a virtuous warrior filled with the holy spirit, whose heart would be madly in love with God.

Like the sword, my father faithfully cared for me. Gently sharpening and oiling my heart of stone. Intentionally installing in me the values of strength, honor, sacrifice, and faith.

I now believe my father was oiling two swords, one for me to wield, and one for our God to wield: both meant to be used in the expansion of the kingdom of God.

Big Shoes

I wouldn’t call my Dad’s shoes small. He’s a beast of a man, whose heart has been set ablaze for the gospel. As a result of a deeply personal relationship with God, he has become a well-oiled sword in the hands of his king - a tool fit for expanding the kingdom of God.

Looking back, my Dad’s goal was never to make it so that I could fill his shoes. His goal wasn’t even to shape me so that my shoes someday make his look smallish. His vision was bigger than that. He wanted to raise me in such a way that I was equipped to be a kingdom-minded man, so that when I someday stand before my God, I may have the distinct pleasure of hearing, “Well done good and faithful servant.”

Well Oiled

My Dad had a sword forged for me, a real sword, as a symbol. A symbol of manhood. He wanted me, wants me, to be a warrior for the kingdom of God. A well-oiled instrument that is used for protecting the weak, and warding off evil. There is, however, a great warning my father reminded me of growing up, “A true warrior doesn’t want to fight but is willing to when he has to,” or, “He doesn’t start the fight, but finishes it when he has to.” Being sharp, and well-oiled, capable of doing great damage, is a burden and a privilege (some might call it a double-edged sword). Knowing how to keep it sharp, and how to swing it, is only half the battle. Knowing when, and why, to swing your sword; that’s what marks a true man.

So that is why I got that sword tattooed on my arm. I wanted a constant visual reminder of what it means to be a warrior: a virtuous character in the story in which God has placed me. It is a reminder to be strong and very, very courageous.

Thank you, to my fearless Father, for showing turning me what it meant to be a man after God's own heart.

“Blood was shed that you three might breathe the good air of life, and if that means you have to miss out on a Zibzy game, then so be it. Part of being a man is putting others' needs before your own.” - Andrew Peterson, On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness.