In the Dentist Chair

I was at the dentist last Wednesday getting my 6 month check up. The dental hygienist is really sweet and like most hygienist - she is quite chatty. (Why is that?) I love it, they ask you questions that need a response while your mouth is wide open with sharp utensils scraping near delicate gum tissue. I just hold my head still and answer her with facial expressions and eye gestures.

Not sure how we (she) got on the subject but the topic of certain religions that don't believe in medical care sprouted up. Listening to her rant and rave about the stupidity of such a thing, I laid reclined staring into the retina piercing spot light that was shining into my face. I suddenly recalled a memory that has been laying dormant in my mind for 30 years...

My mom married a man named Allen when I was quite young. He had been married previously and had three little boys. He was in the process of gaining custody from his ex-wife. As a little girl, I thought this was weird...kids living with daddy? I thought kids were only to live with mommy then visit daddy on weekends. Being a very curious eight year old, I probed for more information about this situation. I found out that Allen & his wife had been involved in a strick (cult-ish) religious group. Not sure, but I think he wanted out of it because it had gotten a little too weird for him. He divorced his wife and fought for custody of their three boys.

Jesse came to live with us first. Yay, a little brother! He was just a toddler and cute as could be. He was the youngest of the three. Then after some time, Matthew came to live with us - he was maybe kindergarten age. A little later, Jacob moved in - he was early elementary. I was the oldest by far - and my little sister, Kristin, was second oldest of us five kids.

On a rainy weekend day, all seven of us piled into Allen's big orange Dodge van and headed north. Again, being curious, I had to know where we were going. But that information was not divulged. What seemed like hours later, we pulled into the drive way of a strange gathering of buildings. We were in the mountains, away from any city. Being the oldest and with the most comprehension, I was told that we were there to visit Allen's dying mother. He never mentioned his mom before. "Why is she dying?" I asked. "She has cancer, honey. She doesn't have much longer to live." I wasn't sure how to act, I've never been around a dying person before,and I didn’t even know this person.

I remember walking into her room, not sure what to expect. Allen introduced me to his mother. She was very nice and spoke softly, like it hurt her to speak. The air was filled with a stench that I will never forget. I asked my mom about it and another person in the room responded that it's the smell of death. My new "step grama" was literally dying right there before my eyes. The cancer was eating her body and she was in her final days. This is why we made the trek, so Allen could say good-bye.

On the drive home my never still mind wondered about this lady who was lying in a bed at her house. My sister and brothers were resting and quiet so I crawled up to the front seats and wedged myself inbetween Allen and my mom. I asked why she wasn't in the hospital, getting better. Allen explained to me that his mom was also part of this religious group and they didn’t believe in medical care. He said that they believed that if God wanted to heal her, He would. If not, oh well. No doctors allowed. I didn't understand this. What kind of God is that, I wondered.

For days my mind raced vividly with thoughts of a God who would tell His "believers" not to seek medical care for the sick. This did not sit well with me. Even though I had no prior religious background in my short life, I knew this wasn't right. And who are these people that believe this stuff. A strange lady I met only once had made such an impression on me, and she was "one of them."

A week later, we went back up to the mountains to visit Allen's mom again, but this time - she had no life. My first funeral...and open casket. I had never seen a dead body before. My mom said I didn't have to go up to the casket if I didn't want to. My other siblings were not allowed. My curiosity and unexplainable compassion lead me to the long wooden box. I wanted to see this lady, the one who died because "her God said no." The closer I got, the more my heart pounded. Finally, I was standing right next to the box. Stretching up on my tippy toes, I slowly peered over the edge and there she was. But that didn't look like her. I was astounded by the difference one looks like with life inside and one with no life inside. Wow. Something huge happened here!!!

My little mind began to ponder deep thoughts for an eight year old girl. Big thoughts about mortality, God, beliefs, and how people differ in their views. Who do I believe God to be? How could I find out who He is? However, my heart sensed that God is a loving person, one that would want His people to be healthy even if that meant seeking medical care. So, is there more than one God? The God of my step grama and the God I sensed speaking into my young soul, even then... Through this experience, odd as it was, God was wooing me to Him through that short encounter with my dying cult-religious step grama and the curiosity He planted in me before the beginning of time. It was at this time that I began serious dialog with God: I talked - He listened. I can't tell for sure, but I think that was the beginning of my spiritual journey...

It's funny how a simple thing like listening to my dental hygienist vent about something she thought was absurd can crack open a long buried memory asleep in the neurons of my mind.

Nothing.

I haven't posted anything to my blog in over one month. What's up with that? And then tonight, I actually have time (my oldest son is on the phone with his girlfriend, my younger son is playing a racing game on XBOX and my husband is still at work) and here I sit - in front of my screen wondering what the heck to write about. It seems that I should write something of deep meaning or extreme interest or a revelation I've had about God, myself, someone else - anything. But here I am, staring at the little toolbar on the bottom of my screen. You know what I'm talking about...on the far right is the clock, then a little envelope signaling that an email has entered my Outlook inbox. I see an icon I've not noticed before, I don't know what it means or where it came from. I must investigate.

I feel as though I'm living a Seinfeld episode - the show about nothing. Maybe I'm tired. Maybe I'm uninspired. Is it possible to loose the creative juice? "Use it or loose it." I wonder if that applies to me right now. Writing is much like going to the gym. Once you go, you feel awesome! But it's the getting there that is painful. You make every excuse not to go and before you know it, you're out of shape and have gained a few pounds. Yup, that's me.

Now I totally understand the importance of writing on a regular basis. Writing alone keeps you sharp, interesting, it allows the creative juices to keep flowing - although, sometimes it's only a trickle. I'm out of shape. I'm out of routine. I need to live by the Nike ad - "just do it." I need to take my own advise, practice what I preach! Maybe I need the accountability of a gym partner?

Ah, I don't know... I just need to buck up and WRITE. Even this incessant rambling, made up of pixels and other technological things that I don't understand, is beginning the journey back to finding my hidden voice.

Do you ever get to this place? Wondering where your voice is...wondering if it's changed, or if it's changing. I guess it's all part of the creative journey, and I'm just on an unfamilar part of the path...but it's all good...