Black and grey photo of a solid cross and script lettering reading Let your faith is bigger than your fears, tattooed on the upper back near the shoulder blade.

Cross and script quote on upper back

Lettering · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A solid black Latin cross sits to the left of a four-line quote in cursive script that reads Let your faith is bigger than your fears. The cross uses bold, filled strokes while the lettering has thin, flowing linework. The photograph is black and white, framed on the upper back and shoulder with a strap and grey top visible.

Lettering Back Cross Quote Faith Fear

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mara Veal had been told the sea wall at Sallow Reach would hold another winter, and by the third night of the spring tides she had stopped believing the men who told her things. The chapel bell had been cracked since her grandfather's day, its voice flat and sour, so when the water began to slap over the bank she climbed the ringing loft with a paraffin lamp and nothing else in her hands.

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Above the font hung a sampler her mother had stitched, a black cross worked in heavy thread beside a verse in looping cursive. Mara had always thought it a bit pleased with itself. Tonight, with the shutters groaning and the lamp throwing her shadow up the rafters, she read it again and found the words had got smaller and harder, the way words do when you need them to be bigger.

She rang the bell by hand. The rope burned her palms, and the cracked note went out over the flats like a cough that wouldn't quit. She counted the strokes to keep from thinking. Somewhere below, a torch swung along the lane, then another, and then the boots came, Ambrose Dyke first, who had called her a fool for ten years and was now carrying a sandbag on each shoulder as if they weighed nothing. They followed the sound. That was all the bell was for, she supposed, pointing men toward the place where they were needed.

By dawn the breach at the north bank was packed with clay and bags and grim, wordless men, and the water had drawn back to a grey sheet over the marsh. Mara came down the loft ladder with blistered hands. The bell still sounded flat. She had decided, somewhere around the four hundredth stroke, that she would leave it that way.