raw and wholehearted

I have two wisdom teeth, which have never caused me any trouble, until I got braces, that is. As my teeth shifted, my upper left wisdom tooth began to emerge, and I was concerned it would wreak havoc on the one billion dollars' worth of dental work we’d just invested in, but my orthodontist assured me it shouldn’t be an issue. 

Well, fast forward to last Sunday when what started as mild discomfort quickly morphed into excruciating discomfort, and the left side of my face began swelling. I could barely open my mouth to eat or speak, and I started counting down the hours until my dental office opened so I could make an emergency appointment. 

It turned out that that wisdom tooth had been descending through my gums and twisting toward my cheek in such a way that made accessing that tooth with a tooth brush or water flosser pretty much impossible. That tooth was now infected, and I would need to take antibiotics to calm the infection before seeing an oral surgeon to have it removed. 

I hoped to feel relief as soon as I started the antibiotics, but the pain and swelling persisted for a few days, despite my consistent rotation of Tylenol and Advil. The constant throbbing made every task feel laborious, and each minute seemed to stretch into an hour.

On Tuesday, I awoke at 1:00 am to an incessant aching in my jaw. I knew I wasn’t going to fall back asleep any time soon, so there in the dark, in the silence, I tried to lean into the present moment and breathe through the pain. Being familiar with intense migraine episodes, I’ve learned that resisting the pain and panicking only makes it worse, but if I can calm my mind and body, I can better bear it.  

Long deep inhalations (“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God”), and slow exhalations (“have mercy on me, a sinner”) soothed my nervous system and turned my attention inward. There is no room for earthly cares when bodily discomfort becomes all-consuming. And for a moment, I catch a glimpse of the gift within my physical struggle. Gone were the noisy thoughts that usually distracted my prayers; every "Lord, have mercy" I uttered was raw and wholehearted. My many fragmentations became concentrated into one earnest desire for Christ.

When morning arrived, bringing with it a merciful reprieve from my misery, I felt overwhelming gratitude for the smallest of things. It marked an instant shift in my mindset, highlighting the blessings I already possessed and quieting the nagging of my wants and expectations. Humble acceptance of suffering can serve as a means of spiritual purification, cleansing toxins from my soul. It jolts me awake to the realization that my priorities have gotten out of whack, that I’ve grown complacent, or that I've worked myself into a frenzy trying to control what is ultimately God’s to manage.

One of the many unexpected benefits of aging has been the softening of my rougher edges and a return to childlike faith and simplicity. Fifty years filled with extraordinary love, gut-wrenching sorrow, repentance and forgiveness, terrible mistakes, countless new beginnings, bruised pride, doubts and confusion, joy and pain— all of it, the whole of it, has expanded my heart and perspectives. Every aspect of this journey has shattered the limitations I imposed on Christ’s goodness and mercy, and it has increased my patience with the mysterious unfolding of my own distinct path to salvation.

Next week, I will finally have both of my wisdom teeth removed, and my sweet mom will come over to take care of me. Is this urgent oral surgery convenient? Does it align with my best laid plans? Will it be pleasant and enjoyable? Well, no, not exactly.  But yielding to what is, with faith, hope, and gratitude, is truly life-changing, life-saving- a path to peace that surpasses understanding.