This Monday I had my lower left wisdom tooth extracted. After $750 walloped my bank account in the span of roughly two hours along with the dentist providing a comforting recall of the whizzing of an instrument that sliced my teeth into different compartments, I went home with the pond of my mouth soaking with blood.
“Let the blood clot; it’s good for you”.
There was more to the detailed operation: my ‘horizontally impacted’ wisdom tooth and its extraction seemed polar opposite to a gentle brushing of a dinosaur bone- no antibiotics needed for that! I felt convinced that a tooth was not an area to have any man’s strength gain full control; I was afraid that my jaw would dislodge in two places. After an immediate stitching of my left inner mouth’s canvas, I sat upright to look at the evidence. The tooth was finally gone.
With a little bit of research of my own as well as hearing from the assistant, she said, “Most extractions take the duration of a couple weeks to a month to fully heal, but you’ll need about eight months.” Hence, after some prayer, here is the question and answer:
If Christ was extracted from my life, if His presence was no longer my very core, what would be of me?
Jesus has been my protection, my rock, and my Shepherd. If He’s extracted, then my whole life might as well be buried back to dust. I would be diseased inside and out, howling to fill an insatiable hunger; pain is only tolerable because He is the source of constant grace and affection over my life. I would not be me: steward of kingdom culture, witness of His work in my life.
As the start of December days drift away, I’m not studying for finals. Not studying for finals?
On December 3rd, taking the LSAT was my final for this semester. I have not had a more grueling time battling temporary successes and failures; sometimes I would look at my potential and be pleased that there are minor roadblocks; other times, I would worry about my inconsistency and the constant doubt that I have not developed strong fundamentals and rather leaned towards chance. I don’t expect my scores to be high nor snow angels to pave a way to a strongly ranked law school, but just to have an opportunity to start classes in Fall 2012.
As I typed in “Dream Act” on my phone’s Google search, I came across the most recent and scrutinized article: a 19 year old’s decision to end his own life on Thanksgiving Day. While the rest of his family members were American citizens or residents, Joaquin was the only member (undocumented) that felt as if there was no possible way to realize his dream.
Such is the trajedy (removed from a Shakespearean context) that extenuates a minority who are in limbo. I, too, have had to cut down choices because the wind had forced doors shut and somehow hardened the locks through its winter frost. I pray and hope that come spring, ice will melt of its hinges, and doors will reopen as God comes to clearer terms.
I will not grow desperate for a paycheck, complain about not having a driver’s license nor pout because FAFSA is citizenship sensitive. However, I ask for your presence to mold my integrity and character this holiday season. Use me mightily for your kingdom.