If I could have, I would have . . . laughed that is, but I had five (5) instruments of torture in my mouth,and laughing did not seem like a good idea right at that moment. But I was wondering how many more things could they fit into my mouth at once? No comments from the peanut gallery about how big my mouth is and all that jazz.
I felt like the 6 Million dollar man with all this high tech stuff in my mouth . . . all because of a bit of rot. Now, the polite word is decay. But that word is too passive by far. I had rot. More precisely a rotten tooth. Now I blame most of this on bad gene’s I inherited from my parents, because I do the brushy thing and the flossy thing very very regular . . . but still I get cavities. And I sat in that dentists chair for over two hours having the moisture sucked completely out of my body my that vacuum thingy they hung off my beard and in my mouth. I couldn’t produce spit for about six hours after leaving the “chair” because my mouth was so dry after that. Moreover they clamped rings on my teeth and drilled with oil rigging gear, and I swear, once he had a chain-saw in there cutting away ruthlessly at my rot. Even a day later (now that I can feel my nose once again) I still have that metallic taste of drills and saws in my mouth.
While I find the technological improvements of dental shops fascinating (see previous post) I have to admit that those two plus hours with four hands in my mouth, (not to mention two vacuums) all while the book of Revelation and the subject of eschatology was being discussed because of the events going on in Israel (and they kept expecting me to contribute to this conversation!), those two hours were not my idea of a happy day. But since I live in the hairy armpit of God’s beautiful universe, a smart fellow would get his teeth worked on in America when he had the chance. The real issue though was the rot.
You must, have to, are required to, are compelled to get rid of the rot in your mouth. If you don’t the consequences are immense! But it was no fun, not happy hour, not pleasant, not anything positive . . . except that now I have a rot-free mouth and I can go back to Macedonia knowing that my teeth are the in the best possible shape. But let’s face it, mouth rot is far less important and dangerous than heart rot. You know, that wallowing in the pit - while appearing holy type of stuff . . . when you have the most rotten motives and think the most rotten of others and their motivations . . . when you have no joy, and/or whatever spiritual whispers of life are happening are pure effort on your part? Yes, that kind of rot. It seems that Jesus gave much the same prescription for that kind of rot as does my dentist for dental rot. Ruthlessly cut it out.
I felt like the 6 Million dollar man with all this high tech stuff in my mouth . . . all because of a bit of rot. Now, the polite word is decay. But that word is too passive by far. I had rot. More precisely a rotten tooth. Now I blame most of this on bad gene’s I inherited from my parents, because I do the brushy thing and the flossy thing very very regular . . . but still I get cavities. And I sat in that dentists chair for over two hours having the moisture sucked completely out of my body my that vacuum thingy they hung off my beard and in my mouth. I couldn’t produce spit for about six hours after leaving the “chair” because my mouth was so dry after that. Moreover they clamped rings on my teeth and drilled with oil rigging gear, and I swear, once he had a chain-saw in there cutting away ruthlessly at my rot. Even a day later (now that I can feel my nose once again) I still have that metallic taste of drills and saws in my mouth.
While I find the technological improvements of dental shops fascinating (see previous post) I have to admit that those two plus hours with four hands in my mouth, (not to mention two vacuums) all while the book of Revelation and the subject of eschatology was being discussed because of the events going on in Israel (and they kept expecting me to contribute to this conversation!), those two hours were not my idea of a happy day. But since I live in the hairy armpit of God’s beautiful universe, a smart fellow would get his teeth worked on in America when he had the chance. The real issue though was the rot.
You must, have to, are required to, are compelled to get rid of the rot in your mouth. If you don’t the consequences are immense! But it was no fun, not happy hour, not pleasant, not anything positive . . . except that now I have a rot-free mouth and I can go back to Macedonia knowing that my teeth are the in the best possible shape. But let’s face it, mouth rot is far less important and dangerous than heart rot. You know, that wallowing in the pit - while appearing holy type of stuff . . . when you have the most rotten motives and think the most rotten of others and their motivations . . . when you have no joy, and/or whatever spiritual whispers of life are happening are pure effort on your part? Yes, that kind of rot. It seems that Jesus gave much the same prescription for that kind of rot as does my dentist for dental rot. Ruthlessly cut it out.
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