pure sunshine

I end my call, and putting down my phone, I tell them bluntly (might as well get it over with): “Friday, you have a dental appointment.” Admittedly, it feels odd to say the word appointment again, especially with my mind full of new protocols–masks and me waiting in the car and everyone’s temperature checked upon arrival. I have two children who fiercely guard routine and predictability, and I have memories of early dental appointments with Adam that left me battered, inside and out.

But those days are gone, or at least it seems so. Now, Adam fusses at the hygienist and the dentist continually, but he lays in the chair, obedient, if not patient. From the waiting room, I can sometimes pick out the musical lilt of his deep voice, telling the staff, “Time to go now. Dentist is all done, sorry. ” I still remember laying on top of him while he screamed and writhed, how it took all of my strength to get him through a cleaning, so I count his mildly disgruntled self-expression as a blessing. Back then, you couldn’t have convinced me he’d ever manage that anxiety on his own.

I think of all this as I drop the bomb and watch their faces. Cue the groans, or at least that’s what I expect. Adam glances at me, making brief eye contact. “Yes,” he says softly, with quiet and peaceful acceptance, and this too I gather up, marveling.

“No,” Zoe says, glaring. “I don’t want to go to the dentist!”

“Who does?” I ask, because really: who does?

“Oh, we get to go see the dentist?!” Riley says, her voice rising with incredulous excitement. She waits, ramped. One assuring nod from me, eyebrows lifted in surprise, and she pumps her fist. “YES!!” Of course. Riley does. “I haven’t seen them in forever,” she says, grinning wide.

I haven’t seen them in forever.

And here I thought going to the dentist was about teeth cleaning that sets my nervous system on edge, or listening to Adam complain from the waiting room, or all the struggling that brought us to now, or, this time, wearing a mask and waiting in the car.

I haven’t seen them in forever.

Riley has me wondering if I ever really see them. I go, go, go, or at least I used to. But do I see beyond myself?

Once at the end of an appointment, I met our pediatric dentist, Dr. Robin, in the hallway for a progress report. It was late afternoon, and I was already imagining the snarl of work traffic we’d encounter on the way home. Dr. Robin pulled her mask aside (because back then she could do that), and beamed, touching me on the arm. “I need to tell you,” she began, and despite her smile, I prepared for news of cavities or Adam’s terrible brushing skills. “Seeing Riley makes my day! After a full schedule of kids, most of whom–let’s face it–really don’t want to be here, many of whom are crying or afraid of me, she’s a ray of pure sunshine! She’s so happy and she seems genuinely glad to see us. It’s amazing.” That’s how Dr. Robin sounded: amazed, even soaring. Something rose in my heart that day, a memory of that word–amazing–because in scripture it’s used again and again to describe the authentic love Jesus shows to all people. Astonishment is a common response in the gospels. And that day as I stood listening, stunned and beaming myself, I felt amazed too.

And now today Riley stands in front of me, rubbing her hands together. “I can’t wait to see Dr. Robin,” she says, which feels like the opposite of my usual, “I hate having my teeth cleaned!” In fact, Riley mentions nothing at all about her teeth or any of the procedures involved, because–and I can see this freedom twinkling now in her eyes–this isn’t about her. For Riley, this appointment is and will be an opportunity to reconnect with human beings she not only notices and values but for whom she naturally cares, not because of what they can or can’t do for her but because she immediately loves them. She reminds me, with searing clarity now as she twirls in a gleeful victory in front of me, that light-bearing comes as a natural by-product of showing genuine love for others, whether they serve us at a dental office or we wait behind them in traffic or we feed them at our table.