A Scar and a Redeemer

I have been looking for a tattoo since 2019. That probably needs a little explanation. I wanted something for a particular scar—something that could express what happened in my life the day that scar’s story began. For years, I couldn’t find it. Then I read Job 19.

When Job Looked Up

Job 19 is painful to read. Job describes a life that has come apart. He feels trapped, unheard, and stripped of dignity. His family has pulled away, his friends have turned against him, and his body is wasting away. Reading his words feels like following him down a staircase, each step taking him deeper into suffering and isolation.

Then, in the middle of that anguish, he says, “I know that my redeemer lives” (Job 19:25a, NIV).

I stopped there. His circumstances haven’t changed, his questions haven’t been answered, and restoration is still beyond what he can see. Yet from that desperate place, Job declares something he knows: his Redeemer lives.

My circumstances were different from Job’s. His suffering wasn’t the consequence of choices like mine. But that movement from overwhelming darkness toward the living God felt familiar. I knew what it was to reach the lowest place I had ever been and finally look up.

The Morning I Came Back

In 2019, I was struggling with alcoholism. One particularly bad night ended with a damaged car and a broken arm. I don’t remember how I got home. That is a frightening sentence to write, and even more frightening to know it is true. But I was alive, and I hadn’t hurt anyone else. I remain profoundly grateful for that, knowing how easily the story could have ended differently.

When I woke the next morning, I could no longer explain away what was happening or pretend I had it under control. That morning, I recommitted my life to God. I knew He was calling me back to Him. He had more for me to do, and I needed to come home.

I have never had another drop of alcohol.

Years later, I can write that sentence with a gratitude that has only deepened. I woke that morning facing the consequences of where I had been, and by God’s grace, I began moving in a different direction.

Restoration Left a Scar

My car needed body work. My left arm needed surgery and a metal plate just above my wrist. Coming back to God didn’t erase those consequences. There were repairs to make and healing to endure. Both physical and personal. The plate is still there, and so is the scar. Yet as clearly as I can see that scar, I can see evidence of God’s restoration in my life.

I think about what He has given me since that morning: people to love, His Word to teach, and opportunities to serve His kingdom. I couldn’t have pictured the life I have now. From where I stood, I could barely see beyond the wreckage. God was calling me toward a future I couldn’t yet imagine.

That is what I wanted the tattoo to express.

A Word Beside the Wound

In Job’s declaration, I finally found my word: Go’ali. My Redeemer. The Hebrew word go’el describes someone who acts on another’s behalf to redeem or reclaim. In Job 19:25, the word is go’ali—“my Redeemer.” That personal connection expresses exactly what I want this tattoo to say. The God who redeems is the One who rescued and restored me.

I wanted it in Hebrew, the original language of Job’s words. The lettering is beautiful, and I love how much meaning a single word can carry. Beside my scar, go’ali gathers together so much of my story: rescue, redemption, restoration. It will give me a way to remember—and, I hope, a way to tell.

My hope is that the beauty of the design will make people curious enough to ask what it means. Their questions will give me an opportunity to share my testimony: why I chose that word, why I placed it there, and how my Redeemer restored me.

Job spoke those words while he was still hurting. That matters to me. On that morning in 2019, my arm was still broken, my car was still damaged, and I had no idea what lay ahead. But I knew where I needed to turn. Now I want to place that declaration beside the scar I have carried ever since.

A Song I Already Knew

Then yesterday morning, I heard “Redeemer” by Nicole C. Mullen, a song I used to sing as a solo in church. The words were familiar, but I heard them now with the memory of that morning and the knowledge of everything God has done since. It felt like confirmation. After years of searching, the choice was clear.

The chorus gives voice to what I want this tattoo to say:

I know my Redeemer lives

I know my Redeemer lives

All of creation testifies

This life within me cries

I know my Redeemer lives

This life within me cries. That line means something deeply personal to me now. I am alive, sober, and serving the God who called me back to Himself. Soon, beside the scar from that night, I will carry a word that tells the rest of the story. And when someone asks what it means, I will have the privilege of telling them why I know my Redeemer lives.