When I was a child, there were certain times I remember vividly throwing a tantrum when told we had to leave to go to certain places. I can still hear my own voice screaming at my mom saying "I don't want to go" as we headed off to the Dentist. Of all the places I hated going the most, it was the dreaded man two blocks away whose entire mission in life was to cause me pain and scare me with his needles and drills.
I was not blessed with good teeth in this life. I inherited both of my parents various teeth problems and thus I spent far more time in that Dentist's chair than most kids. In fact, I still spend more time at the Dentist than almost everyone else I know.
"But I don't WANT to go" was the refrain I repeated over and over again in hopes it would persuade my mom to spare me from the dreaded chair. I was too young to fully understand what an electric chair was, but in my little mind, that Dentist's chair was worse. More than once I burst out crying the second I sat down for I just knew that I was going to die sitting in that chair.
My Dentist was not a nice man. He was old and never thrilled to see me there. He never talked to me but rather just approached me with that huge needle and proceeded to shove it in my mouth and then yell at me if I cried out in pain. He would then immediately leave to torture other patients.
There were times I know I sat in that chair for an hour all by myself waiting for that man to return to start his incessant drilling. As I sat there all alone, I could hear voices and the sound of that dreaded drill, but I never saw anyone. All I knew was that my mouth lost all feeling and that meant soon the drilling would start.
In due time he came and started up that drill and then yelled at me to keep my mouth open. I remember getting so mad at him, for my little mind knew that if I didn't open my mouth, he couldn't drill in it. He always won that battle though.
I believe that there were times when he drilled every tooth in my mouth and that I was there for a good ten hours (or so it seemed). Over and over again I would hear that drill and feel the pressure of it destroying my teeth. Once in awhile I would jump in pain and then I would hear what later I learned were cuss words and the needle would reappear and I would be left alone again.
Amazingly I lived through all those appointments. How I survived is a mystery known only to my personal torturer who I found out in High School had died suddenly. I was going to go to his funeral and clap but I heard that was not allowed. All I knew was that I did not shed any tears when I heard that mean old man had died. I remember praying he went to where they drilled on teeth 24 hours per day 7 days per week.
There are many things in this life we don't want to do and many places we don't want to go to. But, most of these things and many of these places are like medicine. It may not taste good, but it really does us good many times. Sometimes we must just grin and bear it and endure the momentary pain and suffering to receive the promise of greater good. I will try to remember this the next time I go to the Dentist.
Plastic teeth my friend... that is the way to go. Then we wont be tortured anymore.
But of course I see the bigger picture in your blog. There are times I cry and scream at God, telling him I don't want to go somewhere, or do something, or speak to an individual. Yet its all for our own good and His greater glory.
But I do sympathise with you, I really do.
I am just thinkin "It ain't what ya do, it the way that cha do it. Isn't there a very old song? I am still looking for a painless one when I experience pain when I open the car door to go there. Amen