This morning I woke up with the words to the song "I am a flower quickly fading, here today and gone tomorrow" running through my mind. How true- the reminders are everywhere including the crumpled, damp teabag in a plastic cup atop the stack of hopeful books on my nightstand. For some reason teabags help to relieve the pain of gum injuries, so I'd fallen asleep with one wedged in my mouth. All week I've been afflicted by a painful tooth abscess in a molar that sports an expensive gold crown. I've lain in bed wondering if the crown will have to come off to repair the root, and, if so, will they give me the gold and what will I do with it? I've read macabre stories of stealing gold from the mouths of dead bodies, so presumably it is valuable, but I've never read what they do with it. Ebay?
Then I've spent some of the painful night watches wondering whose fault this is - mine or the dentist's. I always feel that blame must be assigned, though I don't always know where to deposit it. I suspect the dentist did not do his job when I paid him the $1700.00 to repair a single tooth, but I am sure he will not admit to it; then I might not pay him another $2000.00 to fix my current, painful problem. But even if the original decay were my fault - for not brushing my teeth after every meal, for not flossing every day of my life, for growing up before water was routinely flouridated, for generally not being perfect, he was supposed to have fixed it - didn't I really pay him so I would have one less thing to worry about?
Of course, I know there is not enough money printed by the US government, not enough diamonds mined by unscrupulous men, not enough gold in all the mouths that have ever trusted dentists for relief to remedy the creeping decay I live with, to remove the curse under which I was born. Floss, flouride, sugar-free gum can only retard the process which causes us to fade like the late summer blooms in my garden. The lovely red spikes have nearly all fallen off the proud bee balm that the hummingbirds adored, the few bright orange lilies which we did not eat in a wonderful salad last week are shriveling, their once satin-smooth petals are puckered and distorted. Jesus encouraged his disciples to consider the lilies of the field in their prime - more glorious than Solomon in his riches, but Isaiah also reminds us that after their brief glory they fade, and then disappear. Even the place where they bloomed so brightly remembers them no more. They are simply gone. Withered hath grass, faded the flower, For the Spirit of Jehovah blew upon it, Surely the people is grass reads Young's literal translation of Ecclesiastes.
Still, I will wend my hopeful way to the endodontist next week for another temporary fix. But I won't expect too much. I know it's only a matter of time.
Then I've spent some of the painful night watches wondering whose fault this is - mine or the dentist's. I always feel that blame must be assigned, though I don't always know where to deposit it. I suspect the dentist did not do his job when I paid him the $1700.00 to repair a single tooth, but I am sure he will not admit to it; then I might not pay him another $2000.00 to fix my current, painful problem. But even if the original decay were my fault - for not brushing my teeth after every meal, for not flossing every day of my life, for growing up before water was routinely flouridated, for generally not being perfect, he was supposed to have fixed it - didn't I really pay him so I would have one less thing to worry about?
Of course, I know there is not enough money printed by the US government, not enough diamonds mined by unscrupulous men, not enough gold in all the mouths that have ever trusted dentists for relief to remedy the creeping decay I live with, to remove the curse under which I was born. Floss, flouride, sugar-free gum can only retard the process which causes us to fade like the late summer blooms in my garden. The lovely red spikes have nearly all fallen off the proud bee balm that the hummingbirds adored, the few bright orange lilies which we did not eat in a wonderful salad last week are shriveling, their once satin-smooth petals are puckered and distorted. Jesus encouraged his disciples to consider the lilies of the field in their prime - more glorious than Solomon in his riches, but Isaiah also reminds us that after their brief glory they fade, and then disappear. Even the place where they bloomed so brightly remembers them no more. They are simply gone. Withered hath grass, faded the flower, For the Spirit of Jehovah blew upon it, Surely the people is grass reads Young's literal translation of Ecclesiastes.
Still, I will wend my hopeful way to the endodontist next week for another temporary fix. But I won't expect too much. I know it's only a matter of time.
