“I Can’t Feel Your Toothache”
C.S. Lewis wrote that “Pain insists upon being attended to. Pain is God’s megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”
Timing, I say, is God’s signature.
Both aphorisms came together in my life this past week.
First, on Wednesday my eye doctor asked about my husband’s declining vision.
“He wants a Tesla self-driving car,” I said, “which I resist.”
Following my self-centered reasons for resistance, I told the doctor what my mother said to me about my own problems. “I can’t feel your toothache.”
The doctor looked up from the computer screen, turned to me, paused and said, “That’s really good. I never thought of it like that.”
Later that same day, I felt a sharp pain when I touched my face. Oooo, is that my tooth? Yikes! I have a toothache. Timing.
Time In Between
Well, I began to worry about keeping a commitment I had on Sunday. So I prayed and kept trusting God’s enabling.
It’s never wrong to trust God for what He has called you or me to do.
Be brave. Be confident. Another opportunity to rely on His word, to exercise my faith muscle.
The previous Sunday, when questioned in an interview following his win, Scottie Scheffler answered, “I just want to be where my feet are.”
It’s another way of saying, wherever you are, be all there. I have trouble doing this. Worry imports tomorrow’s troubles into today.
Monday morning, as soon as the dentist’s office opened, I called, hoping to be seen before my husband and I were to leave town for 12 days.
Timing.
Relief! My dentist could see me that day.
“Burnt Toast”
Last week, I read somewhere an explanation for a new-to-me term, “burnt toast.” The expression is used to describe how when something doesn’t work out, you could be spared something worse.
Today, a Google search offered this explanation:
The “Burnt Toast Theory” is a mindset that says small everyday inconveniences––like burning your breakfast toast––might actually protect you from a worse event or redirect you toward something positive.” (cites Cleveland Clinic)
The thought of burnt toast crossed my mind as I left home, headed to the dentist at noon.
Smacks of superstition, I told myself, thinking how my mom made so many fateful decisions based on superstition. Mom had been steeped in East Texas superstition and a religion that preyed upon fear.
“Perfect love casts out fear,” I reminded myself.
Diagnosis: a “rare condition,” my body had started attacking my tooth! My dentist assured me I had not done something wrong.
Long days journey into night, I wound up at the endodontist for a root canal and gum surgery. No vacation yet.
While Waiting to be Seen
Hours pass, my legs elevated in a dentist chair. Sign says: No cell phones in exam room. One exam room has HGTV on without sound. Moved to another room, I see my X-rays displayed. I can only look at the ghost image of my teeth for so long.
I refrain from looking at my watch. I look out a picture window to a patio with two brick fireplaces. I count the number of bricks around the opening, three times to be sure––twenty. One fireplace has gas logs. The other burns wood. Party lights are strung from the building to the wall. Beyond the stone wall, I see the roof of my good friend’s house next door.
I start using the 4-7-8 breath exercise to calm my nerves. I’ve also been repeating verses from memory.
Admitting my body’s limitations, I agree with Paul’s words. Outwardly I am wasting away. My own body turned on itself as invisible cells attacked my tooth.
Yet inwardly renewed, Paul said, by fixing my eyes on what is unseen––what is eternal––I am being renewed day by day.
Five hours later, I’m driving home, frustrated, deflated, unable to celebrate access to exceptional medical care or cry because I needed it. Sticker shock struck me dumb.
“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
Photo credit: khadeeja-yasser-FHT0KEOwtyg-unsplash
Breathe or Cry
Sunday afternoon, I watched Scottie win the golf tour championship. Scottie stayed where his feet were for an entire season to win the FedEx cup. Muscle memory and all the years, days and hours leading up to that moment contributed to that win.
In a way, God gave me a moment earlier that day by enabling me to keep my commitment. Blessed. And I am grateful.
Next day, while waiting in a dental chair, reviewing how pain got my attention, I recalled the story my sister-in-law Cheri told years ago when she worked as a hygienist for a pedodontist. Parents were not allowed in the treatment room, she said, where a number of children sat waiting for the specialist to do what dentists do.
Scare people to death.
I can almost picture the young child crying and Dr. ______, who she said placed his hand over the child’s mouth, telling them, “Breathe or cry?”
Sometimes life comes down to that, doesn’t it?
Breathe or cry.
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