Object lessons

alligators, dentists, and phonics

A few weeks ago I drove to spiritual direction and met an alligator waiting for me under the stairs.

As I exited our giant van, my director waved from her lofty porch, and her husband stood in the carport below, shovel in hand.

“You’re just in time for the excitement!” she exclaimed.

“We thought we probably had alligators, but now we know for sure…” her husband remarked, as if the alligator nestled under the bottom of the stairs was some sort of stray kitten.

I snapped a photo for my boys — they would be so jealous — then inquired how he planned to get rid of it. He responded that he’d been trying to poke it with the shovel, but it was a little grumpy. Next he’d try the hose to flush him out, and hopefully the alligator would slink back into the woods, but if that failed he might have to call “the alligator guys”. He directed me to go around behind him, and I safely walked up the stairs, practically stepping on the alligator’s head.

At my appointment, sitting a full flight of stairs above the reptile, I wrestled with a piece of writing I’d titled “Piano Man” after the Billy Joel song — a different type of alligator altogether.

The very next day, one side of my chin started going numb. What started as a normal TMJ flare was now being felt in my teeth, ear, and everywhere else. I figured my twelve years of avoiding the dentist, save one emergency visit, had come to an end. I was doomed. I probably needed a root canal due to my negligence. The layers of shame piled up as I envisioned all the reasons a dentist would chastise me for not seeking care sooner. I had probably cracked a tooth grinding my teeth too hard, I could practically see the bacteria invading because of my inability to do the things normal people take care of without thought. The layers of unbearable pain were made worse by the condemnation that accompanied them. To call the dentist’s office was in itself a task. First I had to find one, then I had to make the appointment and scramble for babysitting. Ruefully I thought of this passage again as I prepared to leave the house,

“What do people mean when they say, “I am not afraid of God because I know He is good?” Have they never even been to a dentist?¹”

I arrived at the office where a tech took an x-ray of the suspected tooth, and I sat in the chair waiting for the dentist. “Uptown Girls²” started to play on the radio, as if Someone wanted me to know they were paying attention.

Yes, this is about your tooth, but also, it’s about that Billy Joel piece.

The dentist looked at the x-ray, and told me that my tooth looked fine, but after feeling my jaw remarked, “That’s intense”. I told her I’d just been using some homeopathic remedies when she asked about pain relief.

She looked at me kindly, handed me several packets of Tylenol with Advil and said,

“You are beyond homeopathic remedies. You need real medicine.”

I walked to my car and burst into tears, disoriented by the offer of comfort where I’d expected more pain, but grateful. I stopped by CVS on the way home, because I guess I’m the type of person who isn’t sure she owns Tylenol.

The next day I couldn’t stop thinking about our 6 foot 4 philosopher friend wielding his shovel — a visible icon of a spiritual reality given to me just when I needed it. How much closer to St. Michael and the Dragon did it need to be for me to connect the dots? The alligator had been gone when I walked down the stairs a hour later, so I’d texted to ask what had become of it. The report was that the shovel and hose had done their job, but the alligator was “mildly agitated”.

All summer long we have felt as if we are in a battle, and at times I have wondered if I’m imagining it. Perhaps the children really don’t sleep, the pain comes at inconvenient times and other things snowball because that’s just how life goes.

Or perhaps there is a subdued but mildly agitated enemy, being held off by the Saints who see him as nothing more than a potentially dangerous nuisance.

The idea was profoundly comforting, but also kept making me laugh. I pondered the look of amusement on our friend’s face, as if he really didn’t have anything better to do than to finagle a feisty reptile. After all, if he couldn’t handle it, he’d call in the “alligator guys³”. The alligator was out in the open, the safest place for a slithering varmint to lie.

A week later I was back in the dentist’s office, desperate. Nothing was stopping the pain and my face was in spasms. I was practically begging for the relief of having a tooth pulled! Surely the diagnosis had been wrong the first time, and it was my tooth, not my jaw that needed help.

A different dentist went through a more thorough round of x-rays where he explained that I had one small cavity, but nothing that should cause pain. The signs of wear from years of grinding were showing, and he recommended a night guard and anti-inflammatories. I could do Botox if I wanted. I think I asked him three times, “Are you sure it’s my jaw?” and then cried again when the dental hygienist came in. The pain was unbearable.

The dentist’s visit left me feeling stupid. Was it really possible that my jaw could be causing this much pain in every area of my body?

Sometimes the obvious answer to a question is the one we avoid. We want to know why we are suffering, but we want an answer that means it will end. We would rather be thought negligent than helpless.

My pain had made me think the prospect of a ruthless dentist, punishing me for my failures by drilling into the rot, made sense. The only answer for this pain was that it was somehow my fault.

Left with a throbbing face, a smoothie for lunch, and the decision to cancel my birthday celebrations, because yes, I spent the morning of my 34th birthday crying in the dentist’s office, I had some time to think. The day itself seemed to point to the origin of the pain. If I had any doubts about the timing of this event, they evaporated when I went to order a mouth guard and the website proclaimed, “Birthday Sale!” with a little countdown timer in the corner.

Clearly, Someone was still paying attention.

The day was challenging my long held image of what suffering meant.

Suffering means there is something wrong with me. It means I deserve it. It means I have avoided the dentist for years and years, because I am afraid that when I go, I will be met with shame and condemnation. The longer I stay away, the more inclined I become to never go at all.

If the philosopher and the alligator were an icon, then perhaps the dentist was an iconoclast, shattering my faulty image of God one x-ray at a time.

Later that week a passage of scripture kept coming to mind — that one about “always carrying around the death of Christ?”

Brothers and sisters:
We hold this treasure in earthen vessels,
that the surpassing power may be of God and not from us.
We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained;
perplexed, but not driven to despair;
persecuted, but not abandoned;
struck down, but not destroyed;
always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus,
so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our body.
For we who live are constantly being given up to death
for the sake of Jesus,
so that the life of Jesus may be manifested in our mortal flesh⁴

My suffering has always seemed more punishment than privilege, but as I pondered the idea of carrying around Christ’s death and resurrection in my physical body, the light of understanding glimmered.

Rather than understanding my suffering, I was being understood in it. My solipsistic understanding of my suffering was backwards. It was His first.

I have always struggled to grasp the stories of the saints and martyrs. They have terrified me more than inspired me — marked by stigmatas, exiled from family, teeth pulled without anesthetic⁵ — the list goes on and on. But if their stories were a clue that pain could be a means of uniting our suffering to Christ’s, perhaps my spasming jaw was a prayer.

This past week was St. Jane of Chantal’s feast day, and a friend sent me the readings from the Daily Office, where St. Jane speaks about the “martyrdom of love”,

When another sister asked how long the martyrdom would continue, the Saint replied: "From the moment when we commit ourselves unreservedly to God, until our last breath. I am speaking, of course, of great-souled individuals who keep nothing back for themselves, but instead are faithful in love. Our Lord does not intend this martyrdom for those who are weak in love and perseverance. Such people he lets continue on their mediocre way, so that they will not be lost to him; he never does violence to our free will.

If my sincere desire was for growth, renewal and regeneration, was it possible that this pain was not a punishment? If God doesn’t do violence to our free will, could he instead be meeting me even here, thankful for my cooperation in such a small way with his Passion?

When a child is learning to read, the letters have to be sounded out one by one.

For many children, that looks like:

“sss, aaah, tttt"

“saaattt”

“SAT!”

For others, the process is more painful:

“sss — aaa — ttt”,

“sss — aaa— tttt”,

“sss — aaa— ttt”…

A good teacher will place emphasis on the right sounds, using all the props and auditory cues necessary for a struggling brain to grasp the task. A good Teacher might make it so obvious you wonder how anyone could miss it, and yet, the repetition might be required. The process can’t be rushed.

Like a child slow to read, I have been sounding out words haltingly all year long,

and like a good teacher, God has kept varying his approach.

One day that struggling child will finally learn to read,

and one day the Grace of God might break through in a dentist’s chair.

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Children’s Literature Corner:

This week we’re going to talk about a husband approved children’s author: Bill Peet. When our eldest was probably three or four, library trips were a regular event, but my husband would get frustrated with my selections. I guess our ideas of classic children’s literature differ a little. He kept asking, “Where’s Cowardly Clyde?” and to be honest, trusting wife that I am, I thought he got the name wrong, because I had no idea what he was talking about. However, once we found the Bill Peet section of the library I discovered that I was familiar with the author, but had different childhood favorites. Any time Bill Peet was available, we checked them all out! My only warning is that they are long, which is wonderful if you’re handing them to Daddy before bed, but not *quite* as wonderful if you’re trying to get people down for naps and on your last leg of sanity. Be advised.

The kids would say How Droofus the Dragon Lost His Head, Cowardly Clyde, and The Pinkish, Purplish, Bluish Egg are at the top of the list. I am personally partial to The Caboose Who Got Loose.

Bill Peet is rollicking fun, but not to be confused with Bill and Pete, a series I also recommend but will save for another day!

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a humidity fogged lens, all those little dots are relatives' heads, the product of benign neglect, sunrise, a natural fisherman, sunset, promises, never too many beach sunrises, slowww down baby!

Reading: Alll the things! Take a break from the Internet and you might get your reading life back! I’ve read 16 books this summer 🤯, mostly fiction. That is a large departure for me in both genre and quantity. I read Northanger Abbey and Persuasion for the first time, and oh my gosh why did I have this idea that Persuasion was boring? Anne Elliot is my favorite. Yes, I like her better than Lizzie, feel free to chime in with your argument in the comments. Also started reading the Harry Potter series and I have some thoughts about it being “evil”⁶, but will hold them until I’m actually done with the series.

Talking:

Reading Revisited

invited me to come talk about Everything Sad is Untrue and it was so much fun! You can listen to the episode here. It was the first time I’ve ever been on a podcast and 10/10 would do it again, because it turns out I love talking.⁷ 10/10 would also get a better lock on my door and a real microphone. I may or may not have plied a toddler with chocolate chips in order to finish recording…

Listening: This episode had some wonderfully practical tips about short ways to reset your brain… and one of them was… reading enjoyable fiction⁸!

Homeschool: We’re starting school this week. I can chat more about that if you like, but we’re doing this groundbreaking thing where we use the books we already own, read them, and then have a math book and grammar lessons. I printed some prayers and hymns and put them in sheet protectors today, and everyone has a handwriting and math book, so that’s a good start.⁹

Farm Life: I neglected the garden for two weeks, and if I thought I wasn’t doing anything with my endless weeding… well there’s an object lesson for the importance of continuing Sisyphean tasks. It now truly qualifies as a jungle! Thankfully, I am just as happy to let it go its way. The pollinators are enjoying it, and I can pluck the squashes from the weeds before the squash borers get them. We might try some containers in the backyard for a fall garden…

Thank you so much for reading. I’m hoping for a more regular posting schedule this fall, but real life will always take precedence over the Internet¹⁰and that is as it should be!

1. A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis p. 40

2. These two Billy Joel songs had been playing on repeat, because it was helping me work through some *stuff*, so it was like, “really??” hahaha…

3. I wish I could make an actual icon of this image — St. Michael is definitely somewhere between annoyed and amused as I picture this in my head. It is very clear that he has the situation handled. I also really need to know who the spiritual equivalent of the “alligator guys” is…

4. 2 Corinthians 4:7-10

5. St. Apollonia, if you’re wondering. She is the patron saint of toothaches and dentists

6. How do you say, “I was homeschooled in the 90’s”? Harry Potter = evil, LOTR = good. Make it make sense. I have only ever gotten through book four, but I can’t remember if I’ve read it or only watched some? Either way it’s been since college.

7. Truly, please invite me to talk on your podcast! I wasn’t sure if I would like it, though talking about a book you love with great people is a pretty great set up.

8. 6 minutes of a book you enjoy is enough to measurable reset stress levels. She suggested setting a timer for 10 minutes.

9. I do actually have a lot of thoughts on our year, but have been very purposeful about evaluating our plan in light of what I suspect my real (not desired) energy levels will be, given a sometimes sleeping baby and a lot of small children. I also find it very hard to strike the balance between inspirational and “fodder for comparison” and tend to avoid most homeschool content, no matter how wonderful it is? Perhaps that is a personal flaw, but if you needed to feel camaraderie, I’m starting the school year more weary than idealistic, and that’s okay too.

10. Yes, dear husband, reallyyyyy. I’m sorry this essay made me mentally disappear for three days while I worked it out.