I’ve lost count of how many people at church or parents at the spawns’ school have cocked an eyebrow or stared at the little stud in my nose. “Oh. You got your nose pierced.”
I promise you, I’m neither loose with my morals or soliciting my body, despite their sideways, second look at my nostril.
Yes, there are the exceptions of people who don’t care, who like my choice of stud or practically held my hand at the tattoo parlor when I was getting it done. *gasp* I went to a tattoo parlor?! I did…and my artist had the most amazing facial tattoos I’ve ever seen.
I’ll let you in on another secret…I used to never drink coffee and now it’s usually two cups a day. And I’m pretty sure that if the piercing doesn’t send me straight to hell, the caffeine addiction will, right?
I’ve written and rewritten the post about seventeen times. I’m a big ol’ personality, but have my insecurities. It trips me up about stereotypes within the Christian body. And I’ve done it myself! But this nose ring has really made it hit home. Jesus didn’t look at the Samaritan woman at the well and criticize her outward appearance–he looked at her heart. He had a habit of looking past the obvious: the adulteress in John 8 who was caught “in the act” and probably dragged naked into the temple, healing the lepers (those Google images can be disturbing), and even the guy with the shriveled hand (on the Sabbath, no less)!
When I argued with myself about the validity of my rant, I read the latest installment of Sacred Ground, Sticky Floors. That Jami gal makes me happy because of her honesty.
And you know what? I want to be honest about people who make me feel borderline Satanic because my nose is pierced. Okay, it’s not for everyone, but don’t stare at my piercing and ask me in a judgemental tone what made me decide to get it done. I know you don’t like it. You know you don’t like it. Move along. I ain’t got time for your passive-aggressive judgement. My heart belongs to Jesus. My nose belongs to me.
And no, I don’t regret getting my nose pierced.