Dear Wyoming,

It’s with the best intentions I write to you. Less of a good-bye letter, more of a thank-you-from-the-bottom-of-my-heart note. We’ve had our ups and downs, you and I. Like summer days with blue skies that stretched to the tips of the mountains in my backyard, barely hitting 85 degrees but feeling like it was 100. Sitting on the deck soaking in the whirrr of the hummingbirds, the swoop of the hawks, coyotes at dusk, grass as green as a velvet blanket. But you had to blow it when summer came to a screeching halt, short lived, ending practically overnight as temperatures plummeted and daylight ran. Okay, okay. I’m not here to tell you what I’m angry about. This is a litany of thoughts as we pack our bags and move on.

When we arrived, Regi and I were running on empty in some ways. The opportunity to move hit us out of the blue–but at the best time. You may or may not know this, Wyoming, but parenting is difficult. It’s messy, nothing like they (whoever they are) promised. It’s like being handed the fanciest, priciest, most technologically savvy vehicle, then being deprived of the key, let alone the instruction manual. Quite frankly, it sucks at times. And so we left Nashville with our parent tank nearing empty, in agreement with our little family that moving meant refocusing, reorganizing, restarting.

I’ll never forget packing up the stuff, all our stuff, and making that cross country move. While we were drained emotionally and mentally, at least we had a semi truck full of things we held dear. Like furniture we’d collected over the years but never used, boxes of Grandma’s china and our barely used wedding china, baseball cards and various collectibles I won’t acknowledge, photos –triplicates, blurry ones, the ones of people we chose not to acknowledge anymore. Once we moved in, we still couldn’t bare to part with much of our stuff so it never made it to the living room. I’d held on to Christmas decorations that never should’ve crossed state lines, plastic bins stuffed with yellowed Kindergarten papers from my school days, dozens of Rolling Stone Magazines from the 70s, scary looking collectible dolls, passed down stuff that I couldn’t even remember who did the passing down. Luckily this move brought us a nice basement which became the perfect place to store our best intentions of sorting through the boxes one day, some day, maybe never day.

Then life happened. Instead of the emptiness getting filled, the hole grew. So much occurred, so much screaming, wringing of hands, so many tears of anger and hurt. Like we’d been side swiped by a Mack truck and were waiting on road side service–who never showed up. You know what I’m talking about, Wyoming. You know the sleepless nights, fits of rage, the unrest, the slamming of doors, the ultimatums, the fear. I thought moving to this bubble was going to shield us. It didn’t.

I have to say, you stood strong, Wyoming. Never let me down. You challenged me–that’s putting it mildly–and taught me more in this four years than any other time in my life. Among other things, like how to drive in driving snow, how to shovel and plow all that snow, and how to laugh after running into snow banks, completely buried, because I refused to believe ice was that slippery. I dusted off my rusty skis and learned to enjoy the mess in front of me. You gave me friends who kept calling and pushing me to new limits, like hiking through mountains so high and so difficult on hot summer days just to enjoy the view. All for a new perspective I’d otherwise never experience had I not dared myself to go a little further.

You know what hit me recently? For the times I felt like an utter failure, all I had to do was look out any window of our home and catch a sunrise that was more beautiful than any I’ve ever experienced. Those towering mountains capped with snow filled evergreens, the sun shining her morning light as she peeked over the tips. Sunsets that plunged those green mountains with bold purples and pink. Words cannot describe the beauty that prodded us with the gentle reminder that no matter what, tomorrow would bring a new day overflowing with tons of mercy. You reminded me daily that God has His hand on each aspect of my life and though it may have been difficult and felt like I was going under, you reminded me to look up. To enjoy nature and strengthen myself for what was ahead.

But at some point along the way, with the dust settled and the snow thawed, we realized it was time to go. Time to pack up, move out, be on our way. This time though, we surveyed life through a different lens, with different discernment. Who we’d become, what we’d experienced, was no longer housed in all we’d amassed in the basement, the workshop, the bedrooms. And as if we’d shaken the dirt from our boots, we came to the same conclusion: we didn’t have to hold onto the past any longer physically or mentally. And so, in complete family agreement over a warm bowl of pasta, we decided to sell almost everything. Gave ourselves permission to be free of the self-inflicted guilt over stuff that didn’t matter, stuff buried in boxes for years. I finally crushed the lie that I’d never be able to replace my favorite bookshelves or the piano or the things Sophie and Eli shouldn’t be saddled with because I refused to let go. Once we started, we couldn’t contain ourselves. We donated, burned, and sold it all. Yep, the mattresses, gone. Refrigerator, left behind. Armoires, sold to the friendly neighbor, along with the ATV, beehives, washer and dryer, pool table and couches. At the end of a day, the only things that stayed were the things that mattered.

And guess what, Wyoming? It’s the freest we’ve ever felt! In turn, we’re leaving as different people thanks to you. Scarred but resiled. Relieved, able to laugh at what we thought would take us under. Not because we did anything right, but because we survived. That boy we raised, stubborn and temperamental, polite and handsome, misguided and reckless? Took his ambitions and fearlessness, and is serving this country proudly. Sure, he took the winding road, but he found the way. You had a lot to do with that, WY, but ultimately, it was God who held him. And us. It sounds silly, I know, but we came here with a snot nosed middle schooler who knew everything, and we leave with the confidence of parents who raised a fine young man.

You know what else? Sophie, my strong willed daughter, has become my closest friend. Confidant and confident, she brought me to my knees at times, sent me to a place of begging God for something, anything. Now she sings in my ear, a beautiful melody of perseverance and strength, a different person than when she arrived. Full of life and a smile that warms a room, she’s given us a gift so great I can hardly contain my thanks. A boy named Hendrix who rocked our world when we thought it would be shattered, whose laugh mirrors hers, whose joy is uncontainable. How things change when follow the path God has for us, not the one others carve for us.

And so, Wyoming, we walk the driveway one last time. The moving trailer may have less than when we arrived, but oh–our hearts are full. Thanks again for the adventure! If you ever need to get away, please come visit. I’d love to show you the sunset as it slips away over the ocean and watch you feel the sand between your toes. This is what I call living!  ♥♥

All my love,

Kim

Unavoidable

written for our friends

Grief.

I try to get around this uninvited, unplanned for, unwanted guest. Press the fast forward button, hurtle over the discomfort quickly, pain pain go away. But I can’t. It’s unavoidable, around every corner, the low A of my piano, the scent that lingers around the door to his room.

Up ahead, a flashing road sign. DETOUR, DETOUR, DETOUR. I want to get off this road, find another way on the map. I’ve looked. There’s no alternate route, no way around, no escaping the deepest pain I’ve ever felt.  

Before this, I was good at steering clear of discomfort, tiptoeing away from situations that would bring me down. Skirt the issue, stay out of the way. Protected.

 ———————But—————————

This. Is. Unavoidable. Never experienced this kind of suffering–there’s no way back to how it used to be. I feel it in my gut when I wake up, try to convince myself this is all a bad dream. Oh, God, it’s not. It’s real. He’s gone. I don’t think I’ll heal this time.

Satan thought my child was untouchable. Tormenting words, hurling lies, all day, every night. That disgusting evil darkness of a voice isn’t easily drowned out–deception that sounds like truth midst confusion. A forgery.

But.

But.

And I mean BUT. God showed up like a lion just in time. King of Kings roared into the darkness. No longer the prey, but the lamb who’d gone astray. The 1 He left the 99 for. Snatched him from the jaws of death, from the hands of the tormentor who would not have final rites. Now I know what it means, this kind of love, reckless and willing to do whatever it takes, messy or not. Evil did not win. God assured me that evil did not win and my son is with Him, waiting for us. Whole. Finally whole.

Still, it hurts when you’re the one left behind. Left to make sense of a story that won’t ever make sense. Left to sobs and pain and grief that shows no sign of leaving. I wish pain would take the detour this time.

But.

But.

But something good happened in that same moment. 

Our unavoidable grief met His Unavoidable Love. And Unavoidable Mercy. And now, Unavoidable Grace rests on our weary hearts like a fleece blanket on a cold night; unobtrusive, holding each of our tears. He’s willing to tear down walls to get to us during our pain. Because He’s a lion, He’s mighty, He does what no one else can.

We will get through this. Eventually. I don’t know when, but one day. Not alone, but with the help of God, with the prayer of others. One day at a time, inching our way to unrecognized strengths and greater wisdom for the rest of our journey. 

For now, we grieve. And for now, He grieves with us.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, there are 132 suicides a day. In 2018 alone, there were 1.4 million suicide attempts with 48,344 American deaths by suicide. Globally 800,000 people die every year by suicide. 

We must be aware, willing. We must love harder, listen more intently. If you need help, seek help. You are never alone. 

What can you do now? Pray. For our friends affected by this tragedy and the many others who are left to heal after a suicide. The Lord is near to the broken hearted. 

Do you or someone you know need help?

https://afsp.org/suicide-prevention-resources

https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/suicide-prevention/index.shtml

https://lonesurvivorfoundation.org

https://www.biblegateway.com

Romans 8: 27 My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand.
Matthew 18:12 What do you think? If a man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray? And if he finds it, truly, I say to you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-ninethat never went astray.

Off We Go, Into the Wild Blue…

I love riding my bike on a sunny day. I go about a hundred yards from our garage to the county road, fat bike tires spitting gravel,  my legs warming up to the exercise ahead. At the end of our driveway, it’s another football field to the main road where four wheelers and tractors outnumber the F150s on most days.

There’s a yield sign at the end and as I approach it I squeeze my right hand-brake without coming to a complete stop. I’m familiar with this way. My route is the same as the many times before and I know how far it is point to point. Two miles. Four miles. Six miles. Take your pick, choose your course, go.

Once on the half-gravel half-paved road, I coast. This is the fun part of my ride. I take my hands off the brake and enjoy the entire first half of my so-called exercise ride because it’s all downhill. But what a beautiful ride it is. It’s a two lane country road surrounded by pastures of hay where long steel pipes and massive wheels of side roll sprinklers inch along, water shooting out 24/7 during the summer. It’s all about farming here, and preparing for the onslaught of winter and keeping the cattle fed. Thus the miles and miles of hay fields that light up with yellow and purple all summer long.

Leaving where we’ve been planted for the last four years in beautiful Wyoming feels like we’re on our bikes again–pedaling pedaling pedaling–watching the scenery in our peripheral as we go. We came here for many reasons, arriving a bit empty but leaving so very full. Like the many side roads along the main highway of life, this has been the season of all seasons in our lives. I realize more than ever how this quiet, small town has been the best place to navigate our little family during the transition of teenage to adult years. Away from the draw of congested highways and populous school districts to the land of few stop lights and little travelled roads. I have no question it’s where we were meant to be, just like I have no question that it’s time to move on. It’s difficult explaining the uproot to people who’ve never left their comfort zone, their job, their childhood home. Often friends tell me how they’d love to explore a new expanse where they’ve never stepped foot, and often I relay how I envy their roots planted deep in rich soil.

I don’t know why, but we recently felt a release from Jackson, a letting go, a gentle prodding to a different pasture. After praying and questioning, talking and praying some more, Regi and I knew it was time. And one thing that doesn’t scare us is looking ahead and embarking on a new adventure. To where? We don’t know. Oddly enough that’s the part of the journey we rest in because it’s what grows our reliance on God. What would our faith life be if we only released our grip when we were confident of what awaited us on the other end of a decision? I wish it were as easy as saying we heard God’s voice in the middle of the night and here’s the exact plan for what’s ahead. Nope, that’s not the way it happened. So, we’re back on our bikes at the part of the journey where we let off the brake and coast along until we reach our next destination. This part of the ride is where not much is required of us except trust. We don’t have to do the pedaling right now because we’re being pushed along by an unseen hand to a place He has yet to reveal. But, we rest knowing He knows, and that’s all that matters.

 

And now a word for you who brashly announce, “Today—at the latest, tomorrow—we’re off to such and such a city for the year. We’re going to start a business and make a lot of money.” You don’t know the first thing about tomorrow. You’re nothing but a wisp of fog, catching a brief bit of sun before disappearing. Instead, make it a habit to say, “If God wills it and we’re still alive, we’ll do this or that.” James 4:13, 14

 

More Novocaine PLEASE, root canal part 1

During the third week of quarantine, my tooth started aching in the spot I’d had a root canal about six or seven years ago. Every moment that went by it got worse. A throbbing in my jaw that went into my ear with mind boggling pain. I couldn’t close my mouth like normal because every time my teeth clicked together, electricity shot through my body. So after four days of thinking, “Tomorrow it will feel better,” I finally called my dentist–on Saturday–because all emergencies happen on the weekend. Fortunately he gave me some pain meds and an antibiotic and told me to come for a visit on Monday. I’ve never been more excited to see him.

The pain pills did nothing. The only thing that made the throbbing subside for a couple hours was when I took a high dose of Ibuprofen. When it wore off in about four hours, I was certain my head would explode. And frankly, if it did that’d be okay. It would feel better than the pain I was experiencing every second of the day, into a very long couple of nights.

I made it to the dentist’s office on Monday afternoon with the notion he could fix me. I thought it would be as simple as adjusting my crown or whatever else he’d done before when it hurt. This time, before looking in my mouth, as I rested the left side of my jaw in my hand, Dr. Drake explained it was a failed root canal.

A what?

The tooth was most likely inflamed (due to an infection) which felt like a hundred bolts of electricity poured though my body when my jaws tapped together. All this before he even peeked in my mouth! Then upon further examination–Yep. I needed to see an endodontist the next day for a re-do of the failed root canal.

That’s it? I drove 83 miles for you to tell me that? My face turned white, my eyes drooped like a sad puppy.

“Isn’t there something you can do NOW? Wave your magic wand, make it better, something to make this pain go away until tomorrow? Put me out of my misery, please.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can numb you up with Novocaine. It’ll give you some relief, but only for a few hours. In the mean time, get the painkillers in your system ’til you see the endodontist tomorrow. That’s all I can do.”

“Do it. Please. Now. Give me whatever you’ve got.” I’ve never pleaded with a dentist to give me AS MUCH NOVOCAINE AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE. All I could think was, Shoot me up with the longest needle you can find. Overdose me, I don’t care. I was a junkie in need of a fix. I felt like the kid who showed up at the wrong lunch table in third grade, the peanut table (gasp!) who franticly rammed the EpiPen into her leg for survival. The needle that instills fear in some people was the remedy I so badly needed. 

I looked him in the eyes. “Jam that needle into my tooth and no one will get hurt. NOW.”

If you’ve never had a toothache, you can’t fathom the pain. Down to the bottom of your jaw, like your tooth is in the InstaPot and it’s about to explode. You can’t escape it, you can’t sleep it off, you can’t take enough Ibuprofen to keep the pain gone. Deep, deep, so deep–because the infection has nowhere to go. 

The second the needle hit my gum, Novocaine spread like a heated blanket over the left side of my face; instant relief. The problem? The remedy would be short lived–never intended to heal long term. Getting to the root of the matter (now that’s some funny dentist humor) would take more digging, poking, and attending to in order to fix the problem for good.

Thanks to the shot, the ride home was serene. Who cares that I drooled as I drank my half sweet-half unsweet tea from Chick-Fil-A; I hadn’t had this much relief in four days. When I got home, I felt like a new person with a painless lease on life. Until, just like the Doc said, the numbness wore off and I was back to square one and in the same predicament as when I’d started the day.

As I lay in bed that night, on the verge of tears and high on Advil, it hit me. I needed a remedy that was far greater than anything I could give myself. It would take a specialist, someone who was the best in his field. Someone with the experience to fix the long overdue problem. I let the tears flow and managed to cry myself to sleep. 

Do You Smell What I Smell?

It was late dusk when I was driving home. Regi and I had closed up our retail shop for the night in the busy town of Jackson Hole, and as we’d driven separately that day, I looked forward to the quiet unwind on my way home, just me and my true crime podcast. We followed each other until he waved me on as he stopped for gas. I zoomed by excited to get home. A third of the way through my commute, I reached the canyon where it would be another 23 miles without cell service, after which point it’s another 15 miles home. It’s a lovely drive and a nice (but forced) way to decompress. The Snake River flows on one side, the mountains climbing up behind. On the other side, The Bridger Teton National Forest. In the summer it’s not a big deal to get through the canyon unscathed. It’s light until nine o’clock and most of the animals have headed up to cooler pastures. But today it was nearing winter, when it gets dark at 5:00, the time of year you’re likely to encounter almost anything. A herd of elk crossing randomly, maybe a moose, or a mule dear…all headed to bed down for the night.

I rounded the corner right before the canyon shrunk to two lanes. I wasn’t speeding, unlike most other times, when I came upon a guy on my side of the road with his hazards on. No sooner did I glance his way to see if I could offer some help did I notice a blob in the middle of my lane. I wasn’t quick enough to avoid it and ran over whatever that guy had just hit. Thumpity-thump-thud-scitch-scitch-scitch. Four years in the middle of nowhere and I’d managed not to hit a single animal…until now? My heart raced, my mind wandered to a hundred large animal cemeteries. What did I run over? Was it alive? Did I finish it off? Bambi’s mom–please, no! Wretched dusk and clueless animals that jump out whenever they please.

Immediately after my hit and run there was a pullover where I could gather my wits and calm my nerves. If I hadn’t known better, I’d a thought the carcass was hanging from the underbelly of my car. At least a hind quarter or something because the  S-M-E-L-L was dreadful, as if death had hitchhiked its way onto my Jeep. A car stopped to check on me, saying they’d run over whatever I’d run over, and they smelled terrible as well. Knowing Regi wasn’t far behind, I assured them with a smile then turned my hazards on. The raw meat stench settled into every available inch of legroom, headroom, carpet, glovebox, and cup holder. By the time Regi stopped and I relayed to him the chain of events, we headed home in tandem, my stomach shaky. I rolled the windows down. Awful. I rolled my windows up. More awful. No matter what I did, I couldn’t escape the smell.

Though it was already dark when I made it through the canyon, I signaled Regi to go on home–I wanted to run through the carwash before going any further. I plopped in all my extra quarters and upgraded to the highest level in hopes it would clear away the memory of what happened.

By the time I got home, I told the story to my daughter, Sophie and my cousin, Josh, who was staying with us. We decided it best to tell ourselves that I ran over a rabid elk and had that not happened, pandemonium in nature would have occurred.

“What am I gonna do? My car smells like something crawled into my engine and died. If the smell doesn’t go away, I won’t be driving it ever again,” I said. They cringed, shook their heads, and laughed.

For the next couple days I drove with the awful smell then complained again. “I have to do something. Maybe I should sell my Jeep and be done with it,” I joked ever so seriously.

Josh, the consummate neat freak, asked, “When was the last time you cleaned your car out?”

“Not lately, but what’s that got to do with the smell?”

“Have you spilled anything recently?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. You don’t get it. It’s not coming from the inside, like a french fry or a chicken nugget that’s stuck between the seats. It’s what I hit. I think it’s coming from the engine. I swear something is stuck under the hood.”

He said, “But didn’t you notice a weird smell a couple months ago? You ever figure out what that was?”

“I never figured that out. But it went away after a couple days. This time it’s not going anywhere.”

Josh knows me well. He knows I love starting projects, just not finishing them. He busts my chops for leaving the wheelbarrow in front of the gate rather than putting it away. For leaving a bag of garbage on the porch instead of walking it to the corner for the garbageman to pick it up. For dropping bags of topsoil right in front of the walkway instead of putting them in the shop. So the fact that he thought I could have spilled something in my Jeep and never properly cleaned it up made perfect sense. But he was wrong. The smell was coming from the outside, not the inside. How many times would I have to tell him?

The next day, with the sun out and the sky blue, I looked out the living room window to see that Josh had practically disassembled my entire Jeep from the inside out. What a stubborn cousin, but oh well. I was fine with him searching for something that didn’t exist because it meant I’d get my car detailed for free and I was A-OK with that.

An hour or so later I walked out to see what his deep dive uncovered. He looked at me without saying anything at first, his version of an Italian smack down with the blue eyes he got from his mom.

“Come here.”

I hesitated. I took one baby step at a time towards him because I was nervous he was gonna throw something at me like a leg bone he’d found buried in the gas line.

“Smell this.” He’d pulled the rug out from the cargo space in the very back and shoved it towards me. I was grossed out and flinched, but obliged him with a quick sniff.

Okay, so it had a distinct smell, I’ll give ya that. After all, I’d thrown bags of soil in there, plants from the nursery, groceries, a gallon of milk that leaked out once, a very stinky dog after a long hike or two, and wet skis covered with snow that had to melt somewhere.

“This is what you’re smelling,” he pressed the carpet to his nose this time.

“There’s no way it’s been smelling like that and I haven’t noticed. What? It only started stinking the minute I ran over whatever it was?” But fine, if that’s what you think, and as a way to say thanks for cleaning my car, I’ll agree with you, I thought.

He spent the rest of the afternoon scrubbing the carpet, drying the carpet, then vacuuming the carpet until it looked brand new. Afterwards, he called me back out, “See what you think now.”

Small whiff. Nothing. Bigger whiff, still nothing. “Wow. The smell is gone. I’m impressed. But now that the inside is good, what do we do about the stink on the outside? I guess I can go to the carwash later. I’ll be interested to see what happens after the Febreeze wears off. I mean, it smells good now, but…” I stopped complaining, thanked him again, and gave him a hug. I didn’t want to discourage my cousin by my unusually pessimistic attitude (you’ll understand that when you get to know me better) that would prove him wrong bright and early the next day.

By nine the next morning, I was ready to leave and prepared myself for what would be waiting. Sure the back of the Jeep would smell like a pina colada on ice, but after driving it would smell like kombucha brewed with ripe elk meat.

But wow. I got into my car and not even the faintest hint lingered. The day before when I got within two feet of my Jeep the smell hit me like a bag of rocks. So I left home and after driving for fifteen minutes, confident the engine had toasted the rotting meat while I drove, I puffed up my chest and breathed as deep as I could. Nothing. I blasted the air. Nothing. I rolled the windows down. Nothing. I searched for the aroma that had been hanging in the crevices of my Jeep and found absolutely zilch.

I called Josh. “You’ll never believe it. It’s gone. Like, completely gone. This is really weird. How the heck did this happen?”

He laughed uncontrollably, I’m sure with a tilted head and open mouth. “Told you it was coming from inside.”

Inside.

 

What started out as a funny story between two cousins made me realize something. It’s easy to spend most of our time on the outside, like me washing my car, when in reality the inside should have been my focus all along. Because what’s inside is what matters most.

“Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way inside me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” Psalm 139:23

 
 

It Started With a Crack, root canal part 2

By the time I showed up to the endodontist’s office the next day, the entire left side of my face ached like I’d had a fight with a baseball bat. Relief. I needed it soon, I needed it to last. During the night I dreamed about Novocaine like he was my dealer, I his junkie. Give me all you’ve got. I’ll pay anything. I considered asking the hygienist if she could slip me something strong as she led me to the chair but I figured it best to remain quiet.

I adjusted and readjusted myself and tried to get comfortable while I waited. My eyes darted about the room–my legs were covered with goosebumps already. My last and only root canal wasn’t fun, but neither was it as bad as people warned (sort of like my colonoscopy that I WON’T be blogging about…ever). I’d simply never choose to do this all over again, and yet, here I was doing just that.

First off, I was offered some headphones and the option to pick any playlist on Pandora I wanted. I took my time deciding on my music choice as the doc was in the other room drilling on someone who was shackled and blindfolded. (Okay, maybe not.) But my playlist had to be good–there was a chance I’d never be able to listen to these songs depending on how the root canal went. I imagined that just as my favorite singer hit the high note, the dentist would crash a nerve–zzziiitttt–and I’d never enjoy Pavarotti again. It had to drone out the drill and inspire me to the core. 80s classic rock.

Soon the endodontist stopped in, introduced himself, and explained the procedure as he pointed to my x-rays. He was too young to have been doing this for long, and while I thought about asking for his credentials, I couldn’t speak. Realizing my pain level was near red, and seeing what could have been a tear in my left eye, he stopped. 

He pulled a shot from the tray and without hesitation, stated the mantra they all learn in dental school. “This is gonna pinch. Here we go and one, two…”

Just give me the freakin’ shot already, I thought, but all that came out was, “Ahhhhhhhhh.” Y’all, I would have resorted to drastic measures if needed, but the relief was instantaneous. (Shout out to whoever invented this medication.)

As soon as I was no longer prone to violent outbursts, I asked why and how this happened. I mean, how does a root canal just fail? He said the x-ray showed a hairline crack in my molar and over time bacteria seeped in and became infected. No worries though, he could fix me.

Wait. Did you say a crack?

Oh, sweet Jesus, this was all my fault–I’d exacerbated the crack with my obsession to those hard candies, the infamous everlasting Gobstoppers, THAT I LOVE. Sweet round candies I roll around my mouth until they’re soft then chomp*chomp*chomp. Had I known a crack was growing I would’ve given my tooth some attention sooner. But the crack was small. Lurking. Hiding. Doing damage without me knowing. How was I supposed to take care of something I didn’t know existed?

The endodontist left and promised he’d be back soon but I didn’t care. If he stayed away long enough, I could catch more zzzzzz’s than I had in the last four days. Just then the dental assistant put something in my mouth that felt like my jaw was being propped open by a large cardboard box but it didn’t matter–I couldn’t feel a thing! I cranked the music up as Van Halen and Phil Collins serenaded me while I looked out the window on this beautiful spring day in the sunny state of Idaho.

In another 20 minutes, Dr. Wonderful returned and got to work. Three more shots  and the entire left side of my body was asleep. Then the drills. Zzzzzzzzing, zzzzzzzzing, schschschschlurrrrr, schschschschlurrrrr, faintly in my ear. I did my best to focus on the music instead of whether or not he was about to hit a nerve. When you breathe I want to be the air for you. I’ll be there for you, I’d live and I’d die for you… Thank you, Bon Jovi. 

At one point it felt like the endodontist was planting a row of carrots and digging them up with a jack hammer. Push, pull, scrape scrape scrape. Suck out the spit, suck out the spit, grind grind grind–yet no pain. Pressure, yes, but whatever else he was doing in that tiny little cavity didn’t effect me. I almost drifted to sleep when Open Arms came on, totally and fully relaxed.

In about an hour he was done. Just like that, after endless days and hours of excruciating pain, he smiled and said, “How do you feel?”

“I don’t really know, I can’t feel anything. Ya sure you got it all?”

“Trust me. I got it. You’re gonna feel better than you have in a long time. Maybe not tonight, but in a couple days, you’ll feel like a different person.”

I hopped out of the chair, got into my car, and painlessly headed home (after a quick stop at CFA of course).

At last I’d found my remedy!

In the end, and if I was honest with you, I’d known something was off with the tooth for years. How? ‘Cause I felt something every now and then–a pain, a sensation–where there was supposed to be no feeling whatsoever. I could’ve popped pills for the next six months in hopes it would heal on its own. Anything to put off dealing with the infection, the literal root of the issue. Why? Because I know first hand that infection is ugly, (physically, mentally, spiritually) hurts like hell, and requires action on my part. OUCH.

We’re living in a time when pain is all around. Do you hear it? The earth, all creation, every race and nation groaning as in childbirth. So desperate for relief, we look to ourselves for answers, politicians for a plan, social media for esteem, “good vibes from the universe” for sustenance, and to doctors for a cure.

Here’s the good news. There’s one Cure. One Way. One Remedy. And He has exactly what you need. 

 
For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because they have not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son.This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what they have done has been done in the sight of God.
 “This is how much God loved the world: He gave his Son, his one and only Son. And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life. God didn’t go to all the trouble of sending his Son merely to point an accusing finger, telling the world how bad it was. He came to help, to put the world right again. Anyone who trusts in him is acquitted; anyone who refuses to trust him has long since been under the death sentence without knowing it. And why? Because of that person’s failure to believe in the one-of-a-kind Son of God when introduced to him.”
 

remedy [ rem-i-dee ]
noun, plural rem·e·dies.
something that cures or relieves a disease or bodily disorder; a healing medicine, application, or treatment. something that corrects or removes an evil of any kind.

The Good News

My phone swooshed around 5 am today–I tried to pull myself out of bed because I felt good and rested. I chose not to check the text and forced myself back to sleep. Then, in the middle of a weird dream, my phone made the swoosh sound again telling me to check my phone. Regi was downstairs, I’d developed a headache from oversleep, and I remained as still as possible so that the dogs would stay asleep while hoping Regi would magically appear with a hot coffee. I looked outside and saw it snowed a couple inches and that made me wish I was still dreaming and on a sunny island where it would never ever snow again.

I fumbled to the side table to see who texted. It was my aunt. Before bed the night before, she and I got into a conversation about something she’d discussed at her Bible study. I told her I wanted to discuss it more the next day and asked her to send me the scripture verse. That text that came through at 5 am; the first one I ignored. However, it was her next text, the one that woke me at 6:49 that alarmed me:

Have you heard the NEWS THIS MORNING?

I sat up immediately. What was she talking about? With the corona virus infiltrating my every thought, the difficulty separating fact from fiction, my heart sunk a bit. This was it, the big one, so I braced myself. A friend of mine told me that whenever the phone rings in the middle of the night, she’s already figuring out what she’ll wear to the funeral before even seeing who’s on the other end. That was me this morning.

Lying in bed, still groggy, head hurting, tooth still sensitive from last week’s root canal re-do, and no coffee, I went to the half glass empty scenario. I was afraid to ask too much. Did I even want to know bad news this morning? Instead of texting, I’d rather hear the bad news than read it. I took a deep breath.

“Did you hear the news this morning,” she asked.

“Is everything ok? What is it?” I didn’t want to say what I was really thinking. Who died? Who’s sick? What are you gonna wear to the funeral?

She laughed a little. Then with a voice that was full of hope and excitement, she said:

Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to look at the grave. 2 And behold, a severe earthquake had occurred, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled away the stone and sat upon it. 3 And his appearance was like lightning, and his clothing as white as snow. 4 The guards shook for fear of him and became like dead men. 5 The angel said to the women, “[a]Do not be afraid; for I know that you are looking for Jesus who has been crucified. 6 He is not here, for He has risen, just as He said. Come, see the place where He was lying. 7 Go quickly and tell His disciples that He has risen from the dead; and behold, He is going ahead of you into Galilee, there you will see Him; behold, I have told you.”

8 And they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy and ran to report it to His disciples. 9 And behold, Jesus met them [b]and greeted them. And they came up and took hold of His feet and worshiped Him. 10 Then Jesus *said to them, “[c]Do not be afraid; go and take word to My brethren to leave for Galilee, and there they will see Me.”

Suddenly, I calmed down. We laughed and she said, “You went for it!”

“I don’t know why but I assumed you were gonna say something I didn’t want to hear. Thank you, Jesus. Finally some good news!”

I’m so thankful that today believers all over are celebrating Jesus’ life. Pastor’s are bringing messages to empty buildings, their message echoing over empty pews, yet The Story they tell will penetrate more hearts than ever before. This news is not a hoax. It’s from the Bible, the only true media you’re gonna find. And it holds the only good news you’re gonna ever hear. He is the remedy that the medical community cannot give. He is truth that goes beyond what politicians will attempt to speak. He surpasses what our President can convey. He isn’t a conspiracy theory either. He is life everlasting and I’m grateful His death has brought me life!

Happy Resurrection Day.