The Wiggly Tooth Parable

The Wiggly Tooth Parable

My son, Joshua, suffers from a permanent case of the squirmies, i.e., a chronic inability to sit still quietly anywhere for any length of time (except at school, though despite repeated questioning from his father and I, he still won’t explain how he maintains a squeaky clean reputation there).

Anyway, in spite of the chronic squirmies, my seven-year-old likes visiting church. And though he enjoys chatting with his choir director and eating delicious donuts in the lobby, his favorite part is his brief encounter with Pastor Ranney, whom Joshua refers to as “Mister Baxter” (minister pastor), as we enter the building. He likes this part of the visit because Mister Baxter inevitably asks him his favorite question: “And how are you today?”

Pastor Ranney
AKA Mister Baxter

My son, not unlike his mother, loves sharing the sordid details of his life, but without access to social media, sometimes lacks an outlet. So he particularly relishes this opportunity to share all that has happened to him within the past month: Who’s celebrated a birthday, which classmate threw up in a trashcan at recess, what major plot twists have revealed themselves on the latest episode of “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

And so it was, about a year ago, that Pastor Ranney asked my son this question: “And how are you today?” To which Josh responded that he was concerned two of his front teeth might be pointier than the others, and there was only one possible explanation: That he was turning into a vampire. Or, and this was slightly less likely in his estimation, a werewolf.

Of course Pastor Ranney, being both a learned man and a man of God, took time to explain to my son that God made his teeth like that to help him chew his food. They’re incisors. Everyone has teeth like that. In short, totally normal.

Because of this brief dental/spiritual exchange, it was no surprise to me when, as we prepared for church this week, the topic of God and oral care came up once again. This time it was the two wiggly lower front teeth that were a thorn in my son’s side—er, gums.

“Mom, do you think you could ask everyone to pray for my loose teeth this morning at church?”

Now whether I choose to grumble or laugh at propositions such as this depends on whether I’ve had my iced coffee; that particular morning I had, so I responded with a giggle and, “Uh, no.” My son looked dejected.

As we stacked ourselves into the back corner pew in the sanctuary later that morning and settled in for worship, I noticed my son thoughtfully wiggling his loose teeth with his tongue. He was clearly worried about the teeth: Worried they might fall out during church and bleed everywhere, causing a ruckus; worried they might fall out at home and hurt; or, worst of all, worried they might never fall out, and he would need to have them pulled by a dentist. The point is, he was worried, and, as his mother, though I knew his fears were unfounded, I felt for him. No matter how large or small my children’s worries might be, I worry because they worry.

Perhaps this, too, speaks to our relationship with God. I find myself ashamed to take the little things to him in prayer. When I’m praying for friends who are dealing with unemployment, health problems or loss of a loved one, who am I to share with God that I need patience to deal with morning traffic, or I’m afraid I’ll never be able to afford to fix that leaky roof? But if I worry with my children over all the stuff—big and small—isn’t it safe to assume that likewise, God worries with me over all my stuff?

It’s not to say, of course, that we should get so wrapped up in our own petty problems that we fail to see the greater suffering in the world around us, or better yet, the greater beauty in the world around us—both are meant to give us perspective. But still, I do believe there is no shame in taking our problems to God daily, regardless of the relative magnitude of those challenges. It is those daily chats over the little stuff that make the bigger, harder conversations easier.

So what have I learned from The Parable of the Wiggly Tooth? That like a good handyman, God is there for us. No job is too big. Or too small.