It started off like any other day. We were up and ready to go, headed to the dentist. I was nervous. This was another attempt, a new dentist. He’s nine years old, and we have yet to get a good cleaning done. Partly from Johnnie’s fear; partly from mine. Everyone is always so kind, but Johnnie literally hates any work done in his mouth.
Even brushing his teeth is a task, no matter how many times we’ve done it. We don’t have a sink that he can roll up to, so it’s not an easy job. We’ve always tried to get one good brushing a day, usually in the evenings. Sometimes on the floor; sometimes in his bed. Sometimes with toothpaste; sometimes without. Sometimes we get water and spit it in a cup; sometimes we don’t. Sometimes we laugh and sing; sometimes we scream and cry. (Mom included!) Sometimes we are patient; sometimes not so much. Johnnie has always been very sensitive from the neck up, which means teeth-brushing and hair-cutting times are fun. I don’t blame him because there has been a lot of trauma to his head from his earliest days until now, but it does make these necessary tasks difficult.
You can understand why I have to get ready for days like the dentist. Johnnie usually gets nervous and anxious, even though he really does want to go see the dentist. He’s always up for an adventure! Just not to get his teeth examined, fixed, or cleaned. He gets very chatty and talks and asks all kinds of questions and tries to open every single door in the office, and he also cries at the slightest thing, which sometimes leads to screaming. I’m usually on the verge of tears and sweating by the time it’s all said and done, trying to check out, set up another appointment, while chasing Johnnie, or calling him away from the door that leads to the stairs of death, and wondering if we will actually return for that next appointment.
This dentist office was different. This dentist knew his stuff because he spent two years working with medically complex children. This sweet hygienist talked to Johnnie and answered his hilarious and totally off-topic questions. She showed him all her tools and even let him hold them, squirt water, and blow air. She put his toy door in the chair and counted the door’s teeth. She watched him roll back and forth to the door, attempting to open and close it yet another time. When the dentist came in the room, he was just as patient and just funny enough to keep Johnnie entertained. He asked me questions about shunts and seizures and medicines and triggers that no other dentist had ever really mentioned. He made a fun game of counting Johnnie’s teeth, all the while still in his wheelchair. He got Johnnie to open and close his mouth, bite down, stick out his tongue, check for obvious cavities, without any real tears. While I checked out, the front desk let him press the button to the elevator to watch the door open and close. It was actually quite amazing because it was the fastest door on an elevator that he’s even seen! We said goodbye and rolled back to the van, where we sang praise music together, and I silently thanked the Lord that persistence paid off and we finally found a great dentist. I must also say that it is wonderful how other moms who have walked this road encourage one another and provide resources. It’s invaluable!
We roll on down the road to school, park, and enter the front office for the first time together all year (thanks to COVID). I check him in and hand over the note from the dentist. One of the assistants from his classroom happened to be in the office, so she came around, talked to him, answered his questions, led him through the glass doors, and off they headed down the hall.
Then that old, familiar lump rose up in my throat. Unbidden. My heart stopped, for just a moment. Tears clouded my vision, and I knew I better high-tail it back to the van. It’s funny how that feeling sneaks up so unexpectedly, at the most random times. You look at your son and a wave of emotion washes over you.
As he rolled down that hall and out of my sight, I was simultaneously overwhelmed with this deep, protective love that I feel for him and overcome by the grief and questions as my mind wonders, “Why?”
“Oh God, why our son?”
“Father, thank You for the privilege of watching this beautiful child grow.”
“Why won’t he ever know what it’s like to walk and run and jump?”
“Thank You for wheelchairs and ramps and equipment.”
“Why does he have to roll to the self-contained special education class?”
“Thank You for teachers and assistants who love them for who they are and only see the possible, not the impossible.”
“Why can’t he have friends like other little boys his age?”
“Thank You for all the precious boys and girls who genuinely love him and don’t see Johnnie’s differences.
“Why is our calendar stacked with appointments to specialists for seizures and kidneys and bladders and feet and hormones and vision?”
“Lord, thank You for the many people, who have the skills and knowledge to care for our son.”
“Why does he suffer from those nasty seizures that rob so much from him?”
“Thank You for brilliant neurologists who know the delicate balance between medicine and life with minimal side effects.”
“Why can’t we just go to school or church or on vacation like typical families?”
“Thank You that it’s even possible to home school our other children and have some undivided time with them, for a church family that loves and embraces Johnnie for who he is, for family that makes it possible to have meaningful and fun time away from home.”
“Why do we love him so much it hurts, wondering if You’ll take him home early and, if You don’t, who could possibly love and care for him as much as we do?”
“Thank You, God, that you’ve already planned every single day of his life, and You are worthy of our trust.”
The questions and prayers run through my head like a bullet train. Before I know it, they’ve come and gone. They are questions that will never be answered this side of eternity. I still ask them, can’t help it. But it’s always an opportunity to run to my heavenly Father. And I do.
I think this is why heaven stays fixed in my line of sight. I have a feeling that all my questions won’t matter when I get to the other side of eternity. When I see my Savior face to face and worship my King in His presence, all of this will be a beautiful memory. Only, in that moment, we will be worshipping beside our beautiful, whole son. No more wheelchair. No more crooked spine. No more broken mind. That heart of his will be on full display as He worships and sings and dances and jumps. Oh, I can’t wait for that day.
God makes no mistakes. He knew Johnnie before time began. He numbered his days and spoke them into being. He formed Johnnie in the hidden place of my womb and crafted his crooked spine before I even knew he had come to be. He delights in the beautiful praise that rises from Johnnie’s lips. He celebrates every single accomplishment. He gets glory when we choose abundant life from what the world calls broken. He chooses the foolish and weak things of this world to shame the wise and strong (1 Corinthians 1:27).
I’m so very thankful for a God who is far above all that I can see or touch or even imagine. His sovereign character and plans and purposes make sense of all the broken and sinful chaos of this world.
Whether you are crying out with questions or lifting up praises today, picture Him seated on His throne, with our perfect Sacrifice interceding on our behalf at His right side, while the Helper He sent dwells here in the chaos with us.
Praise Him today!
“O Lord, you have searched me and known me!
Psalm 139:1-18 ESV
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
You discern my thoughts from afar.
You search out my path and lying down
and are acquainted with all my ways.
Even before a word is on my tongue,
behold, O Lord, You know it altogether.
You hem me in, behind and before,
and lay Your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is high; I cannot attain it.
Where shall I go from Your Spirit?
Or where shall I flee from Your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, You are there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, You are there!
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there Your hand shall lead me,
and Your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,’
even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with You.
For You formed my inward parts;
You knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are Your works;
my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from You,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in Your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.
How precious to me are Your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
If I would count them, they are more than the sand.
I awake, and I am still with you.”
A Thousand Little Deaths 