With apologies to The Beatles

Recently, I was satisfying my curiosity about The Beatles by doing lots of research about them and their music. (I'm more of a Monkees fan.) I took a somewhat music-nerdy approach to this process because I didn't grow up in a house where The Beatles were listened to or liked. (I think that whole "We're more popular than Jesus" remark hit a perpetually sour note for the non-hippies who raised me.) I grew up in a house where extremely easy listening music, classical music, and hymns were enjoyed and performed. But throughout my 37 years, I've discovered that The Beatles are ubiquitous in American pop culture. Their music is everywhere. I didn't officially listen to The Beatles when I was a kid, but I did listen to people covering their songs, from the theme to The Wonder Years to Elton John's version of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" to a major chunk of The Carpenters' repertoire.

And during my research, I found out some very interesting things, like how each of The Beatles sought different religions, and about how I have to be careful which of their songs I listen to, or I'll accidentally sing along with a meditation mantra. (I hope I don't offend you if you're into that sort of thing; it's just that I belong completely, indubitably, eternally to Jesus Christ. He's jealous for me, and He's uncool with me summoning any other gods. And so am I.) After so much hype, I was a little bit disappointed to hear some of their original studio-recorded songs, because in my opinion, The Beatles sounded pretty gritty and sloppy in the studio. Maybe it was all the drugs. But that's just my opinion; I realize that billions of fans worldwide probably disagree with me. And I'm OK with that.

But I think almost everyone reading this can agree with the fact that The Beatles were definitely one of the most -- if not THE most -- influential bands in the history of recorded music. Lennon and McCartney's songs had intoxicating melodies that were skillfully woven together in unforgettable ways. Maybe Elton John's funky-groovy version of "Lucy" just spoiled me, or maybe Richard Carpenter's excruciatingly beautiful arrangement of "Ticket to Ride" appeals to me more, but I think even the covers of The Beatles' songs do the tunes a tremendous justice. I've discovered that if I'm going to be involved with music in any form or fashion in my future, I need to respect The Beatles. They truly had a talent and a knack for music. Their melodies are uncannily profound. I think they're a wonderful example of how wildly and effectively music can impact an entire culture for generations on end.

The only Beatles song that I personally, truly like -- their original, not a cover -- is "Hey Jude," the 1968 song that only lasts for about 3 minutes and has a 4-minute selah tagged at the end. From what I understand, Paul McCartney wrote this song to comfort John Lennon's son Julian during his parents' divorce. Even amidst the recording's wild shouting and embedded profanity, the song is built on a basic, sweet foundation: comforting a child.

I will now transition to the second half of this post by quoting a Beatles song in a cheesy way: If you have rotting teeth of wisdom, don't let them be.

Perhaps you remember me blogging previously about my new adventures at the dentist office or about my absurdly high tolerance for mouth pain. Or perhaps I simply inherited my late grandmother's extreme stubbornness. She wore clip-on earrings because, according to her, if God had wanted her to have holes in her ears, He would have given them to her. I sort of felt the same way about my wisdom teeth: if God gave them to me, He wanted me to have them, right?

Well, not exactly. I did some online research awhile back and learned that people don't necessarily know why wisdom teeth exist. But one interesting theory caught my attention. Wisdom teeth are scheduled to come in later in life (say, around age 18) to compensate for any other teeth that have fallen out. Imagine that you're living in biblical times and wandering around in the wilderness. Perhaps if dental hygiene isn't the greatest, you'll lose an incisor or two. If you've got a couple of wisdom teeth coming in, perhaps the other teeth will shift around and make room for the wisdom teeth. Voila. However, nowadays, we've got plenty of access to good dental hygiene, and we fix our front teeth with braces so that they'll stay in place forever. And, voila, your wisdom teeth have no room to erupt safely, so they must be removed.

I think that was the case with me. Every dentist that looked inside my mouth since I was a teenager said that my wisdom teeth should be removed because my mouth wasn't big enough to hold them. And they were right. My top wisdom teeth came out OK -- rather, one of them came out OK, but the other one came out slanted/crooked and would scrape against my cheek. My bottom wisdom teeth were impacted; one of them would erupt, then heal, then erupt again, then heal again, and then it finally remained partially erupted. But I have an inhumanly high tolerance for mouth pain, and I thought I could keep my wisdom teeth, even though they would hurt like crazy every few months.

Then a few months ago, my dentist gently told me that my wisdom teeth needed to be extracted because they were decaying. He referred me to an oral surgeon, who observed that one of my impacted wisdom teeth was black and the one above it had a hole in it. He also extremely cautiously warned me that my bottom wisdom teeth had grown very close to the nerve in my jaw; so, I could have permanent nerve damage if these rotting teeth were removed. Of course, I was concerned, but it became increasingly obvious that these 4 teeth that I'd been growing for half my lifetime needed to be removed.

Even though I probably should have had these 4 teeth pulled 18 years ago, I'm thankful for how God arranged the timing of this extraction. I found a friend to drive me to/from the surgery, I was able to take off lots of time from work, I'm an adult who can take care of myself, and I'm mentally healthy enough to trust myself around a pantry full of medicine. This extraction almost didn't happen. I felt myself getting under the weather last week, but God healed me. Then I got a callus from hades on my foot (which I thought was a stress fracture), but God relieved the inflammation. Then I arrived at my surgery appointment with high blood pressure, but God made sure that it decreased for the procedure (and the numbing stuff they gave me helped a ton). So, bye-bye rotting wisdom teeth. See you never again!

Of course, I would be a fool to experience actual physical surgery for the first time (especially since I was awake and mostly alert during the whole thing) and not use it as an extended metaphor here.

When I hear Psalm 147:3 quoted, it's usually with warm fuzzies. And yes, God does heal the brokenhearted and bind up their wounds, and it does involve warm fuzzies (which I've been experiencing myself). But the context of that verse in the entire psalm doesn't seem all that warm-fuzzy to me. Verse 2 says that God builds up Jerusalem. As you may have read my opinion previously, construction can be a long, grueling process. Believe it or not, my apartment complex is STILL remodeling its exterior after 7 months. (Painters were retouching my front porch on the day of my wisdom-teeth extraction.) I don't know why it's taking so long. I think maybe the owner is picky and wants everything done just right. Or maybe they're committed to completing the construction debt-free. Or maybe construction just takes forever... because it's construction.

I've heard that sometimes God can heal people -- physically or emotionally -- instantly, presto-chango-rearrango. I have rarely experienced this instantaneousness. My wisdom teeth are yet another example of how healing can be an extremely long process that involves lots of TLC.

So far, I've only been able to eat soups and other soft foods. I've had to sleep with my head propped very high. I've had to take antibiotics. I've had to take pain medication. I've had to apply ice packs to my face, and pretty soon I may need to start applying a heating pad instead. In the photo at the beginning of this post (which I selected for the sake of eliciting pity, because I really don't look or feel that bad), you can see my jaw beginning to bruise. And ibuprofen is currently helping much better than the prescription drug that was making me dizzy.

If something inside me is rotting, I must have it removed before it destroys whatever it touches -- physically or emotionally. And I think the longer the rottenness has been festering, the longer and more delicate the healing process.

For example, I think getting healed from things such as rejection, abandonment, and disappointment can be a slowgoing, grueling, ridiculously painful process. For a while, the healthy-boundary "no"s I was getting from people were hurting like crazy. I would hold on tight and try to not swirl back down into a depression anytime someone would tell me "no," and God knew that, so He was having to retrain me emotionally like a toddler and teach me that "no" is OK. Maybe just try eating soups first before moving on to the nachos. Maybe just apply an ice pack to the swollen area before venturing out in public. Maybe stick to your prescribed medication so that the pain will be controlled. Maybe if you develop a callus from hades, you should stop trying to walk so much, take an ibuprofen, and elevate your foot. Maybe if you feel like you're under the weather, take it easy and try to get better. Maybe if everybody you love keeps telling you "no," and you're all alone, try hanging out more with God, because He'll tell you "yes," and His presence is always soothing, even though He is a consuming fire.

I think I understand more why Jesus said to beware of the leaven of the Pharisees (Matthew 16 and Luke 12). From what I understand about baking, if you mix some leaven into some dough to make it puffy, the leaven probably won't conveniently stay in a tiny little corner of the dough so that you can remove it later if you change your mind. It'll spread.

So, when Jesus redeems us and has to squeeze religion out of us ("religion" meaning the Pharisees' attitude of "I'm better than you because I'm holier than you"), it can be an extremely messy process. He recently showed me that religion destroyed my love of music. If He has work for me to do in the realm of music, and I had religion stuck in my artsy-fartsyness like a rotting, useless wisdom tooth in a delicately working jaw... well, I shouldn't just let it sit there. I need to let Him pull it out and throw it away.

Maybe when I wake up tomorrow morning, my entire face will be covered with bruises. Who knows? Healing is a process that's full of surprises. But it's worth it.

I have experienced at least one surprise while God has been restoring my love of music. I have a favorite Beatle now: Paul McCartney. Hmm. This never happened before.