Body and Soul: of mundane miracles and secular sacraments

Like all good little cradle-Anglicans of my day, when I reached the age of 12 I signed up for Confirmation class. We met crammed into a too-small but oddly symbolic “upper room” off the church balcony. I remember exactly two things from my weeks of Confirmation prep. The first is the lesson where we read and discussed the miracle of the feeding of the five thousand. The minister who taught the class took it upon himself to challenge us with some liberal theology, and pressed the point that perhaps there was more than one way to make a miracle. Perhaps Jesus didn’t conjure extra loaves and fishes out of thin air after all. Perhaps when the members of the crowd observed one person sharing the provisions he had brought, they were inspired – or shamed— into digging into their packs and bringing out their own secret stash of snacks to share. It had never before occurred to me that people might be invited to participate in the making of miracles. Indeed that we might be expected to participate. That perhaps that was how miracles really happened.

I also recall learning about the sacraments. I learned that Roman Catholics recognize seven sacraments, but that Anglicans observe a sort of “sacraments light”—zeroing in on Baptism and Eucharist. Mostly I can still hear the priest repeatedly intone—“a sacrament is an outward and visible sign of an inner and spiritual grace.” Kind of like sharing your picnic lunch with your neighbors to show that you are a community.

After Confirmation I promptly stopped attending church for most of my teen years. There was no noisy rebellion on my part—mostly I just had lots of other ways to spend my time that seemed far more relevant and interesting than my parents’ church. As a young adult I found my own way into a faith that was mine, not just a parroting of my Sunday School and Confirmation lessons. And I grew to appreciate more and more what it meant to do things that were visible and external as a reflection of what was going on invisibly and spiritually within.

When I turned 40 I had a huge celebration. Forty is a milestone birthday at the best of times, but it is often celebrated with a wry sense of doom and despair. (“Oh no I’m getting old…”) For me, 40 was a really big deal because I wasn’t dead. I had, by contrast, spent my 38th birthday in galloping kidney failure, being readied for what was very nearly a one-way transfer into intensive care. Through a series of miracles supported by the participation of various members of the medical profession, I did make it back out of intensive care and into the world, but not before I had battled temporary vision loss, taught myself to walk again, and recovered from brain trauma.

Catastrophic as that particular illness was, it was not the first time my body betrayed me. The truth is my body has a long and tiresome history of betraying me. I was diagnosed with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis at the age of two, and spent most of elementary school sidelined in gym class with painfully inflamed knees. After a teaser of a remission period during my teens, the arthritis came back in full force just as I was poised to graduate from university and start a teaching career. As if my bodily betrayal was not enough, one of my professors heaped coals on the fire of my frustration by musing to my face that “perhaps I should consider a less physically demanding profession” than the one in which I had just invested five years of preparation.

Then, in a whole new set of bodily betrayals, my attempts to have a child were thwarted by repeated failure. My first two pregnancies ended in early miscarriage. Surgery for an ectopic pregnancy went wrong, and I nearly bled to death from an internal rupture. My fourth pregnancy ended in fetal death at 12 weeks, but I didn’t miscarry. Apparently my body couldn’t even get miscarriage right. While I did eventually succeed in carrying two children to term, my eldest was born after an extraordinarily long and difficult labour that resulted in a caesarean. The technical term for this particular bodily betrayal was labour that “failed to progress.”

So by the time I hit 40, my relationship with my body was strained at best. But in spite of all the trouble it had caused me, I was still alive. That seemed worth celebrating. I wanted to make peace with this body that had failed me so many times, but that had also rallied from so many close calls. Like an old Timex watch it took a licking and kept on ticking.

So I got a tattoo. I had been contemplating the notion of a tattoo for about three years, but took a while to decide when, what, and where. Having decided on my milestone birthday as a perfect “when,” I found the “what” while gazing around my living room one evening are realizing that ALL the artwork on my walls bore the images of loons—a creature that has always held significance for me. I chose the image of the adult loon with its baby riding on its back—an image that reflected for me the extent to which my body—and my life—had been marked by my journey to, and through, motherhood.

legAs to “where,” I opted for a spot halfway up the side of my right calf. I reasoned that in this position I could show off the tattoo without getting half naked, but could keep it hidden if that was appropriate in a professional context. I assumed, in fact, that I would want to keep it hidden at work. It oddly didn’t dawn on me at the time that hemlines might rise.

To my surprise, I gradually became less and less concerned with when it might be “appropriate” to let my tattoo be visible. I started wearing shorter skirts to work and not caring who saw the tattoo. Somehow, making my body a canvas for this work of art made me more comfortable in my own skin.

I didn’t think about the tattoo as a sacrament at first. Over time I began to realize that what had felt at first like an act of belated adolescent rebellion held a much deeper significance to me. Curious about what motivated other tattoo bearers, I read and heard deeply touching stories—tattoos marking the death of a loved one, tattoos marking a significant life event or choice, tattoos remembering a lost friend, tattoos marking a battle with disease or addiction, tattoos enshrining a powerful memory. I came to understand that I had marked my body in this way as an outward and visible sign of a truth that I couldn’t really put into words, but that I carried deep within me.

Between my 40th and 45th birthdays, my inner truths underwent a profound transformation that culminated with the outward sign of divorce. Searching for the right ritual to mark this transition, I knew it was time for another tattoo.

This time I approached the tattoo more consciously as sacrament. This time I also knew immediately and intuitively what the image would be. Another loon, but in the aggressive stance—wings upraised—of a loon that is charging an enemy. I’ve been charged just so by a loon, while inadvertently canoeing too close to her nest. They are powerful creatures—and bigger than you think—especially at close quarters in their threatening “don’t mess with me and my babies” posture. This tattoo is quite large, and is centred between my shoulder blades. I have to twist and crane in the mirror to see it myself, but I am always conscious of it—always sensing that it pushes me forwards and gives me strength.

Someone once remarked that the image reminded them of a phoenix rising—an apt coincidence, since the inner transformation that the image was crafted to represent was very much a rising from the ashes of my failed marriage—an emergence of new life in the wake of grief and loss.

Now into my 50’s, I continue to negotiate a tenuous truce with my unreliable body. Most recently, my left hip joint has betrayed me utterly, and for its troubles been banished from my body once and for all in favour of a slick new titanium and ceramic replacement.

It’s hard not to call the outcome of this surgery a miracle. After taking painkillers day and night for I don’t know how long, within two weeks of being rolled out of the operating theatre I no longer needed any pain medication. None. Is it a miracle that the research has produced a prosthetic hip that works and an effective process for inserting it? Is it a miracle that my surgeon was skilled, or that his team provided me with such a comprehensive preparation?

I went into the surgery knowing exactly what I would need to do to contribute to my healing: I would need to haul out my own resources and apply them to my healing process. Provide my own loaves and fishes. Perhaps it’s enough of a miracle that after all the times my body has said “I quit,” those resources are still there.

Maybe I should get another tattoo.

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Honestly Daily Prompt, I sometimes feel like you are stalking me. This is not the first time you have posted a prompt just AFTER I have posted something relevant to that prompt. So although this was originally posted on November 23, I am linking it to the December 1 Daily Prompt: “Tattoo…You?”

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About Muddy River Muse

Writer. Reader Educator. Manager. Mother. Dreamer. And dedicated riverbank walker.
This entry was posted in Change one thing, Health Matters, Memory Lane and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

48 Responses to Body and Soul: of mundane miracles and secular sacraments

  1. Anne Marie Roloff says:

    Amazing – thank you for sharing Anna!

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  12. segmation says:

    Sounds like your tattoos are beautiful and colorful. Cheers to you getting more tattoos!

  13. Twist says:

    I relate to your Tattoo journey. Got one myself lately and the weird thing was that I thought of it more before getting it. Since the Tattooing I’ve just been aware of it without the obsessiveness I had.
    Your body seems to have been a battleground. I don’t empathise but my Mum’s the same way. I can only say that its hard to suffer and hard to watch suffering but I pray its all uphill from here.

  14. Congratulations! My body has not been so at war with me as yours, but by 40 I knew I was “in for it”….I fell and ruptured five spinal disks! But still, about that time, I felt most alive…and shortly thereafter got my own first tattoo. Epiphanies in ink!

  15. Barbara Backer-Gray says:

    Great post! Thanks for sharing. I especially like that you feel that the loon on your back is pushing you forward, even when it’s not visible.

  16. Dani says:

    Lovely post, Anna.

    And very sorry for your losses.

  17. Is “age” the question with bodyart. If you’ve resisted the urge/pressure to get inked for 5 decades why “blot your copybook”. And which is more rebellious….a tattoo in your youth or one you get in your 50s ?

  18. What an amazing story! I love tattoo art and the stories behind them, thanks for sharing.

  19. I’m so glad this one was Freshly Pressed. Everyone should read your story.
    BB

  20. maharsahab says:

    this is the rare bird

  21. Lorraine says:

    Nice story.. I too left the church .. but at age 13.. I returned to Adult Sunday School classes when in my 40′s to please my parents.. Church sermons put me to sleep and they repeat themselves every year in a Methodist church. anyway. In the end I chose to leave the church.. to please myself. I am more spiritual than my parents, who don’t believe in reincarnation or asking Angels for help.. I still pray you know… “Ask and ye shall receive..” I take what I need from many religions to be true to myself.

  22. I’m grateful to myself for having read this. This is amazing!

  23. Liz says:

    love the way you weave the miracles and tattoos together; my favourite sort of writing :-)

  24. Wonderful post! Thank you for sharing and congrats on being Freshly Pressed. You are braver than most with those tattoos!

  25. allthenamesaretakensothisisreallyreallylong says:

    Very cool. I find myself getting tattoos at transitional points in my life. They often symbolize something that carried me through a trial. I can relate. Thanks for posting.

  26. Beautiful tattoo. I just got my first one in memory of my son that was stillborn at 28 weeks. I love showing it off even it if is uncomfortable for others to or deemed inappropriate.

  27. johnahancock says:

    As a cradle Catholic in my 50s … I so remember that phrasing “… an outward and visible sign … ” concerning sacraments. And your discussion of tatoos in that context is so on target. And something I had never thought in that way. I have thought of some of my art works (and certainly the art of many other’s in almost that way), but had never connected body art to the sacramental.

    Thanks for a wonderful and enriching post!

  28. johnahancock says:

    Reblogged this on John A Hancock's Blog and commented:
    In recent months I have sometimes post about the art in my Natural-Family-History series. Those large drawings on mylar are created to give me a place to connect my ideas /reflections about family and place through visual (scientific and totemic, mimetic and poetic) communication.

    This blog, at first seemingly unrelated, is so on target; it … better than anything I have written … hones in on a major part of what I am doing. I am looking for, trying to create, “outward signs.”

  29. Interesting to use body art as transitional markers. I have a friend who did that when she recovered from cancer. Maybe I should think about something like this as I battle my own cancer. Thanks for giving me food for thought.

  30. awax1217 says:

    I understand pain. I understand the need to feel cleansed of it. The tattoo is your method of handling it. Good for you.

  31. I like the tattoo
    penuh tatto di tubuh keren..Murphy Astoraja Tulung Allo

  32. Jeanne says:

    Hello
    I too have a tattoo – of a bee – on my calf where it can be seen, or not, as I choose, or not. Mine is also a representation of what is within after “the Bee Goddess” and the marvelous little creatures. Sorry for your physical challenges. Understand how the tattoo reminds you of your inner strength. Thanks for sharing a wonderful post.

  33. Londoner says:

    Love this post – there’s always more to tattoos than meets the eye…

  34. Your tattoos are truly beautiful and what a wonderful post! :)

  35. No, it’s not a miracle. Before all those scientific advancements, people like you would be dead. So, NO, it’s not a miracle at all. Just be happy you made it thru. Good read. Thanks.

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  37. I am obssed with Loons! This is gorgeous!

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