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.




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