“Don’t you think you need to go to the dentist, sweetie?” my husband, Mike, asked when he caught me rubbing my cheek.
No. I definitely did not think I should go to the dentist. I hated going to the dentist. I’d barely lived through getting a crown a few weeks earlier. The drill made me want to jump out of my chair. No way I was going back again. What if I needed something done? Like a filling? Or another crown? Or a root canal?
“I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine in the morning,” I said, rubbing my cheek.
The next morning my throbbing mouth woke me up. God, please heal this tooth, I asked. Again. I’d prayed every morning for days and it wasn’t working. Please spare me another painful dentist visit.
It wasn’t to be. Mike made the appointment for me. I almost felt like I’d given up on God. Well, I grumped as I got to the dentist’s office, this isn’t what I wanted. But I’d prayed and waited as long as I could stand it. I climbed into the dentist chair prepared for the worst.
“Good news,” the dentist said after he had studied my mouth. “I just have to file down the crown a little. It’s hitting wrong. That should take care of the pain.” I didn’t feel a thing as he ground away at the crown, and I was done in minutes. “I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner,” he said.
On the way home, I couldn’t help laughing at myself. I thought I’d been trusting God to heal my tooth, but I hadn’t trusted him enough to get me through a dentist appointment. One that was completely pain-free, just like I’d asked.
