Teeth & Hair That Just Aren't There (Yet): A Lesson In Waiting

My daughter and I share many traits: we're built alike (okay, I'm taller), we have similar coloring, and we have the same smile. (We even have matching skirts. Thanks, Mom!) We both like animals and laughing and reading.

Lately, we've shared something else: impatience. But let's put a positive spin on it by calling it "eager anticipation".

Here are our similar situations:

My daughter is eagerly anticipating the loss of a baby tooth.
It's an important rite of passage among 6-year-olds, a sign you are growing up.
She has a barely-loose tooth.
She wiggles it several times a day.
Sometimes she asks me to check if it's any looser than it was yesterday.
Sometimes she wiggles it hard, hoping to loosen it manually.

I am eagerly anticipating the regrowth of my hair.
It's an important sign of healing, visual proof of restored health after chemotherapy.
My head is still sparsely covered with stubble that I never managed to completely shave during the trauma of my initial hair loss.
I check my head several times a day for evidence of new growth.
Sometimes I ask my husband to check if there's any new hair there that I just can't see myself.
Sometimes I even pull a stubbly piece hard, hoping to encourage its growth manually.

(I know, I know. It all sounds cute in a 6-year-old but obsessive in a grown-up.)

In both our cases, the process can't be rushed, no matter how badly we want it. We need to wait for the natural course to run. (Groan!) But, in both our cases, we have every reason to expect our desired outcome. I assure her that everyone loses their baby teeth eventually. It will happen.
I assure myself the same way. I only need to be patient. It really will happen.

But I know the truth: it probably really will happen. Teeth and hair are not sure things. My daughter's dentist and my oncologist want us to assume these eagerly anticipated events will happen because they are the expected outcomes. But anyone who has taken Biology 101 is aware that, when it comes to living creatures, there's an exception to almost every rule.

• For example, you learn that mammals, by definition, give birth to live young... and then you learn that the platypus is an egg-laying mammal. 
• The human heart is on the left side of the body... except in the 1/10,000 of the population who have situs inversus (mirror image arrangement of the internal organs). 

Likewise, if you prodded our dentist, he would probably slap you with a lawsuit for assault and battery but -- more to my point -- he would probably admit that, in rare instances, a person never loses their baby teeth. (Don't tell the 6-year-olds!) You know where this is going: I'm only one ill-advised google search away confirming my fear that some people never get their hair back after chemotherapy.

Even if there were a 99.5% chance that I will get my hair back, that wouldn't be not enough to completely reassure me. There would still that niggling little fear in the back of my mind, shaking its head tragically and whispering that I might be among those unfortunate 0.5%.  After all, I've beaten the odds (that is, been beaten by the odds) before: the risk of developing breast cancer at my age a mere 0.43%.

Isn't it funny that 99.5% assurance still wouldn't be enough? That we can feel overwhelmed by doubt and fear even when the odds are in our favor? It's sadly human to worry about the exceptions and rarities.

It reminds me, though, of what I can and should know with 100% certainty (Here it comes! If you've read this blog long enough, you know a spiritual lesson is about to be delivered...). I know with 100% certainty that God cares for me and will provide for me now and eternally.

Jesus' own words in Matthew 10:29-31,  

"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows."

These days I just love the imagery of God knowing how many hairs are on my head. I may not see them, but He sees those microscopic hairs forming (or not forming?!) deep in my follicles. I imagine Him smiling every time another one breaks the surface, knowing how pleased I'll be when I finally see a nice crop sprouting. Hairy or not, I can have 100% confidence of God's care for me, even though I can't see how He will provide for me or when He will provide or what He will provide. I can't even see God! So where does this assurance come from? It's called faith, and it's a gift rather than something you need to conjure on your own.

Hebrews 11:1, Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.

Faith is confidence in what we hope for. And don't diss hope! Christian hope isn't just wispy wistfulness, like hoping you'll get a pony for Christmas or hoping it won't rain on Saturday. It's absolute 100% confidence. After all, these promises were made by God. And, if you can't believe God's promises, what can you believe? Seriously. Every creature and concept and chemical in this universe is temporal and finite, therefore, not 100% eternally reliable. Your body, the person you love most, the pursuit of happiness, Social Security, the United Nations, the ozone layer, our sun, nitrogen atoms -- they ultimately all fail. But God? He is, was, and always will be. And His love for us is, was, and always will be!

Psalm 117:2, For great is His love toward us, and the faithfulness of the LORD endures forever.

I John 3:1, See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!

 100% assurance. It's better than hair.




P.S. Here are a few more irrational hair fears so you can laugh with me:

• Irrational fear #37: As infants, my children wore off sizable swathes of their fine baby hair by constantly turning their heads from side to side while lying on their backs. Of course, I think about this as I toss and turn at night, forced to sleep on my back while recovering from reconstructive surgery.
• Irrational fear #64: While inspecting my stubbly leftover hairs, I notice that mainly gray ones survived the chemo (tenacious little fiends!). Will natural selection (survival of the fittest) play out on my scalp, leaving me prematurely gray? Or could the gray stubble have such a strong head start that they will choke out regular hairs, like weeds in a vegetable garden? Does worrying about gray hairs cause gray hair?