The Question

“Me muero diaramente,” he read aloud. Then releasing her wrist, he furrowed his brow and stared at her hard, “What does that mean in English?”
She jerked her hand away and rubbed her fingers ferociously over the black writing. For the first time since she got the tattoo, she regretted it. But she couldn’t stand down now. That was the whole meaning behind the tattoo.
She remembered the day she got it. It was about five years ago. She and her best friend Kristie went together to get their first tattoos. Kristie had just come through an awful divorce and wanted to get a phoenix on her back, a symbol of her personal rise from the ashes. Alana just wanted the simple phrase “me muero diaramente” tatted on her wrist. For her it signified her relationship with God. It reminded her each and every day that she was second. She often needed such reminders, and the tattoo was an excellent witnessing tool. She could no longer keep count of the people who had asked her about it, the same question this man was now asking, “What does it mean?”
She told them all the same story of God’s moving in her life and His love for them personally. She’d planted a seed in several curious persons and even led some to Christ. Of course, she’d had bad experiences too: once it was an atheist who had asked her the question. When she told him of God’s love, he laughed. He told her that if there was a God, he couldn’t possibly love him, that he was gay. She tried to tell him that God didn’t work that way, that there was nothing that could separate him from his Father’s love, but the man just wanted to argue. He asked her if he would go to Hell for his lifestyle, but she wouldn’t answer saying that only God can judge a man’s heart. When she refused to play the part of judge in his life, he grew angry and followed her to her car demanding that she tell him that he was going to Hell. Alana had never been so terrified; she probably had to sit for twenty minutes in the parking lot before she had calmed herself enough to drive. But the atheist was nothing compared to the man facing her now.
“What does it mean?” he asked again.
She thought up a lie but swallowed it. She couldn’t deny her God now.
“It means, ‘I die daily,’” she said, “It’s a reminder to put myself second and God first.”
“’I die daily,’ huh? Well at least you’re prepared,” he chuckled as he cocked the gun.

 

Kayla I. Shown-Dean is the author of Muted and an avid reader, blogger, and poet. To read more of her work, visit her website at http://www.kideanaround.com or email her at kideanaround@gmail.com.