Hope you’re ready for these teeth,” I say.
My smiling hygienist lowers the dental lounger. “Tell me about your grandson,” she says.
“Just started kindergarten,” I say. “But after that shooting in Rockford?—his school went into lockdown. Can you imagine? He’s barely 6!”
Her face pales. “Oh, how awful for you.” She lets me talk—all but holds my hand, so intently does she listen.
Then: “I have a kindergartner too,” she says, “and a toddler. My oldest goes to Freeman Middle School.”
I stare. Freeman, Freeman … oh no, isn’t that—
“We chose that school district especially, to keep our kids safe.”
Oh Lord, what freaked me out from a distance is her ongoing reality. Her town.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
She gathers her tools, then turns back to me. “It’s been hard. Really hard.”
And I see stories flitting across her face.
Hope cares for others, no matter what
She hands me sunglasses, adjusts the high-powered lamp. “We don’t know the family of the boy who did it. I can’t even imagine what they’re going through.”
Our gazes lock, two mothers, aghast, though I’m old enough to be her mom. Our eyes brim.
Gently, she daubs my lips with petroleum jelly. She makes sure I’m comfortable.
Answering atrocity
In her town of 400-some people, a boy died that day, died trying to persuade the shooter to change his mind. Three other kids were injured.
- out-of-the-blue, heart-pounding panic
- confusion and helpless anger
- nerves going haywire
Panic like that surges against any mental dikes we build, and who has fingers enough to hold back terror?
And afterward, how to answer atrocity?
I can’t speak now—even if I had any words: she’s cleaning around my back molars.
“It can happen anywhere,” she says with a sad smile. “We just never know. But we know Who hears our prayers.”
“Are you doing okay?” she asks, pausing the drill.
I nod, too moved to answer.
“We have to be there for one another,” she says quietly. “That’s the key to survival.”
Then she mentions today’s snow. She talks about sledding on their property and how much she’s looking forward to Christmas vacation.
This slender woman daily surviving the unspeakable rinses my mouth as tenderly as if I’m her child.
Then she scrapes the tilted fence of my lower front teeth—a major plaque trap—and she distracts me by describing her Christmas last year:
- caring for her newborn
- along with 27 house guests
- 9 of them boys
- plus 3 large dogs
- who bullied her 2 cats
- and she’s laughing …
Laughing!
“We make all our gifts,” she says. “No hope for that last year, of course—not with a village in my house.” More laughter. “I love our holidays. I can hardly wait.”
And isn’t this hope?
In the midst of heartache, a “goodness sighting,” as my friend Kel says.
The Freeman community has always looked out for one another, my hygienist says. “But now we look a little closer, a little longer, to ensure safety for all.”
In a tragic, falling-down world some people keep living their hope out loud. They hold on to life, refuse to knuckle under to evil.
- they tell their stories
- they grapple and grieve
- they seek the help they need
- they steady their shaking hands and help one another to heal
- gently, they teach their kids vigilance
- they pray and hope against reason
- and always, they prepare for the coming Savior
I drive home feeling profoundly cared for—my soul as well as my smile.
Goodness and hope are always moving our way—shining purely as snow—even on the darkest, scariest road.
You might also like this post
My friend Kel blogs about “goodness sightings” here
photo by Geralt: pixabay.com
I cannot imagine enduring the aftermath of such a tragedy as Freeman’s or that of many others. No doubt many factors contribute to the hatred, violence, mental health issues, and disrespect of the right to life that we see all too frequently these days. But surely the most important factor is the result of the effort to remove God from the fabric of our society. God save us! Yet while we pray for renewal of our nation, we praise him for his hope and joy–just as your dental hygienist demonstrated. And we have his glorious promise that even out of tragedy, he WILL bring good (Romans 8:28). Praise God for his goodness, always moving our way–just as you’ve said. Such a thought-provoking, well-written post, Laurie. Thank you.
She is truly a role model for me of grace and forgiveness and courage under fire (literally!) as well as faith.
Ah, I do love that verse in Romans. What a fitting addition here. Thank you for mentioning it, Nancy. May we all think creatively and compassionately and courageously!
Beautiful, Laurie. Thank you.
Annie, thank you for reading and commenting. I am in awe of how my young friend is finding beauty amid chaos. People like her fill me with hope.
Beautiful post, Laurie. Thank you for the assurance of eternal hope – and community care. It makes those hard things bearable. Keep holding up the light, my friend.
It’s a priceless combination, isn’t it. Amid such heartbreak to find that mutuality in people both grieving and encouraging one another toward forgiveness and ongoing hope is unforgettable. Thanks for your presence here, friend.
Oh Laurie, how well you told that story.
Indeed, “Hope cares for others no matter what.” And could you guess the scripture I pondered l-o-n-g this very morning? “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion, and the God of ALL comfort who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” 2 Cor. 1:3-4
Ah yes, HOPE rallies for others when we offer solace amid our own storms. Like Job, our own captivity turns when we pray for (or console) our friends. Job 42:10 KJV Sometimes I’ve chosen not to share my burden with someone already carrying one. But then I remember, when I’m in circumstantial, physical, or emotional peril, I’m always ready to encourage another. And in the nurture of another I’m fed myself with the same healing elixir of God’s promises that I share with a soul-mate also battling against the windstorms of life.
The granddaughter of an elder at our church was the girl wounded most in that shooting. We have been close by connection to several parents whose children were present that day, witnessing, fleeing, or merely hearing the threatening sounds of gunshot. Thank you “Father of compassion” that Gracie is now home, walking, recovering on schedule, and emotionally strong.
I will pray today for your 6-year-old grandson, and your hygienist’s kindergartner. Love, Niki
Niki, thank you for bringing these truths to our remembrance. The reminder to nurture one another despite our own burdens is wise counsel. So often I want to “protect” others from my pain. Or I’m too proud to share it. Or I just want to pretend it’s not there for awhile! I wonder how many times I’ve robbed someone of the joy of sharing the very comfort they’re receiving from God with me. It’s a good reminder for me. Thank you, friend.
I am sad for your friends. And I’m also thankful Gracie is recovering well among those who cherish her.
Thank you so much for praying. Might I mention my hygienist’s 8th grader too for your prayers? He’s one year away from high school and the community there, as you know, is close-knit. Thanks, Niki.
Laurie, dear, you have written with an immediacy and intensity that will not let us turn aside. Thank you. Take care of your “tilted fence”. . . and the uneasy souls whom God weaves into your life. You took a big bite here, and gave us something truly gritty to chew upon. Keep on, keep on.
Judith, I’m grateful her story drew you in, because I know you pray deeply. There are more stories like hers that I want to hear and be told—stories of loving resistance to terror to place alongside what gets broadcast and tweeted.
My hygienist says she finds strength each morning, realizing the sun has risen, and she too can rise to the day before her: “One day at a time.” That simple, reliable provision of light in the East is one of the things that gives her strength, she says, “to steady my shaking hands and bring kind thoughts to my mind.”
May we do no less.
Laurie, this is such a beautiful and much needed-by-me post (and I’m sure needed by many others as well). First, I’m going to the periodontist tomorrow. I hate going. He is delightful, but the experience is miserable (maybe good in the sense of keeping my teeth secure, but I do. not. like. it.) When I go to my dentist (also a fine fellow w/ a particularly engaging hygienist, it is better because she lifts my spirits so much, and always finds good around her everywhere. She also loves to laugh).
I watch the news a lot (way too much!), and yet, I wondered what/where is Freeman? Obviously home to a horrific shooting. There are so many, I can’t even keep up with them anymore–in schools, malls, ball fields, concerts, houses of worship. On and on and on the rampage unravels, and often, I feel hopeless. It is such a complex phenomenon, this hungering for violence, rejection of God, disregard for life, mental illness (officially diagnosed or not, one must be ill to commit such atrocities), proliferation of assault weapons (and other guns), people being unwilling to admit that all rights have reasonable limits, unwillingness to allow those limits to be established, for me an uncomfortable marriage between “God and guns,” the escalation of all that is bad and hope-destroying in the world. And then I read a beautiful post like this, a post of a real exchange of hope and love, people willing not to bow to despair and to see and insist upon hope and goodness in the land of the living. God bless you for sharing. God bless your hygienist for allowing you to. God bless all the children who were spared, and may He comfort all the grieving. May He assure them there is hope in Christ, that Hope is not just a “hope-so” or even a reasonable expectation, but a Person who never leaves or forsakes us. One thing that changed me in Iona was a breaking of fear in my life. This too is a way to hope, to say I will not cower behind closed doors, but face life with courage because indeed there is always an assured promise of hope in so doing. Thank you too for sharing Kel’s post. I wondered, “Could Laurie’s Kel be my Kel?” Oh, yay! She is! Yes. I love her writing and art. She is a light-bearer and hope-bringer like you. And pls. thank Miss Hygienist for me, and tell her I’ll be thinking of her in my hopeful misery at 8 am tomorrow morning!
Love
Lynn
Dear Lynn, I will be thinking of you tomorrow. Sounds really uncomfortable. I’m so grateful for my dentist, passionate about his work and funny and deeply caring. And my hygienist is skillful and gentle and just beautiful within and without.
Freeman High School is in Rockford, WA, close to Spokane.
I am banking on this line of yours, for us all: “…that Hope is not just a “hope-so” or even a reasonable expectation, but a Person who never leaves or forsakes us.”
Today in Bible Study we sang “Come Thou Long-Expected Jesus” and I was bowled over by these words: “Come to earth to taste our sadness / He whose glories knew no end. By his life he brings us gladness . . .” The kindness of that leaves me speechless.
Thank you for your kind words, always deeply, specifically encouraging. I’m grateful for you!
Hi Lynn, I think we knew each other through writer’s conferences. Author? I love your line, “hope not hope-so.”
Love in Christ, Niki Anderson
Such a hope-full post, Laurie. Thank you, and may the Lord richly bless your mama hygienist, you, me, all of us, with more of the sparkling light of goodness and hope. Blessed season of Thanksgiving to you and Bill and your family. Much to be thankful for, indeed!
Nancy, I feel fortunate to have been entrusted with her story—an unexpected gift. I’m glad it gave you hope. So important, I think, to hear these kinds of stories alongside the news and commentary. Thanks for your presence here, always a blessing.
Blessings to you and yours this Thanksgiving!