The Shortcomings of Floss

Yesterday I had a phone interview in which I was asked if I had ever failed. I had to keep myself from saying, “Why yes, yes I have. In fact, I have a chronological Excel spreadsheet listing my latest 120+ failures, would you like me to email that to you?” At least then they’d know I was organized. So I told the interviewer about a job I had really wanted but failed to land. But that too, was apparently a failure because my answer wasn’t really what she was looking for. Even my failure story failed… paper cut… lemon juice. So I told her about another failure, and by the time I was finished, I was ready to get off the phone and go eat worms.

The interview was depressing, but it was destined to be the lesser of two evils. A larger, more personal failure was yet to come, one that would make me want to stop being an adult for a moment and sob out all my woes to my ever-sympathetic teddy bear.

I went to the dentist today. The last time I went to the dentist I found out I had cavities and received a lecture about the importance of flossing that I felt was a little impertinent to deliver to a paying customer. I cried when I told my husband that we were going to have to use our hard-earned money to get my teeth patched up. It wasn’t so much the amount (thank you Lord for health insurance), but the fact that I felt like I was a drain. Tooth decay was not where we had dreamed about allocating those funds.

So I dedicated myself to flossing. In the last six months I’ve flossed more than I ever have in my life, and I’ve been trying to brush for the recommended two minutes twice a day. And instead of putting off my six-month checkup like usual, I made my appointment right away. That was a big step in itself because I’ve never been one that enjoys hosting sharp metal tools and latex gloves in my mouth and then being asked, “How’s it going?” In those situations I would love to tell them about how much I enjoy being showered in my own saliva, but given I don’t really want to flap my jaws around when there’s a collection of torture devices skirting my gums, I just make a nasally sound the translation of which I hope was covered in dental school.

After months of my best efforts, the dentist told me that I had five new cavities. And, would I like to get some of those filled today? There was no thoughtful moment when he withdrew to give me a few moments to myself to digest the devastating news of my sub-par chompers and their five-fold heartlessness.

I really wanted to cry. I couldn’t cry right then, and when I left and got into my car I decided I still couldn’t cry because, well, I’m an adult. Mostly I like being an adult, but when it comes to the dentist it just means your fluoride isn’t flavored anymore, you don’t get a sparkly toothbrush at the end of the visit, and your mom isn’t going to stop on the way home to buy you a milkshake. Sure, I can now buy cigarettes and rent a car, but adulthood is not all sunshine and roses, folks.

So now that I’ve thrown a prolonged pity-party, let me tell you what makes me feel better. I’m currently reading an apologetics book, which is really helping me see a more academic side to my faith that I truly appreciate. But I just read a chapter on the author’s view on sin, which is that we sin whenever we define ourselves by anything other than who we are in Christ. If I’m first a runner and then a Christian:  sin. If I’m first a wife and then a Christian:  sin. If I’m first a world-changing, self-sacrificing, puppy-saving philanthropist and then a Christian:  sin. I am someone Christ paid for, and he’s my boss. That’s who I am regardless of what my dentist thinks.

Suddenly the cavities seem a little smaller. And maybe it’s silly to have to apply that grand of a concept to this small situation in my life, but I think the point is that I need to check myself when I start defining who I am by what I’ve accomplished or how many people think I’m worthwhile, or, perhaps, even by how traitorous my teeth are. It’s not who I am, and even when all those things are going my way, it’s not who I am. All of it:  how great my marriage is, how fast I run a race, how funny I am, how pathetic I feel sometimes, the stupid things I say—it’s not who I am. I’m not Katie - I’m the omnipotent God’s valued child, Katie.

So it still sucks that my teeth, despite all my TLC, have launched a campaign to force me into dentures before I’m 30, but knowing who I am helps me keep it in perspective. I have cavities, but I myself am not a cavity. I have failed but… well, I think you can see where I’m going here.

Much love,

Katie