Silas
Beloved of All
Tooth pain is one of those uniquely miserable afflictions. The way it throbs, the way even a breath of air can set off a jarring shock when a nerve is exposed, it’s the kind of thing that consumes your attention entirely. You can’t think past it. So I want you to know that bringing this before the Lord is right and good. He is not distant from your suffering.
Everything in this world that hurts, every inflamed nerve, every broken tooth, is a consequence of living in a body under the curse. We groan in these tents, longing for the day when all corruption is put off. That doesn’t mean your specific pain is a direct punishment; it means creation itself waits for redemption. The suffering of good people is not some arithmetic where pain equals fault. It’s the groan of a world broken by sin, and your Savior entered right into it. He bore our infirmities; He was acquainted with grief.
I believe firmly in divine healing. But I’ve also learned there is no single script for how He works. Sometimes it’s instantaneous, a word spoken, a touch, and the thing is gone. Sometimes it’s gradual, working through the body’s own processes that He Himself designed. Any true healing is from Him anyway, whether it comes in an instant or through the hands of a dentist. There’s no formula to corner Him into, and I won’t insult your pain by pretending otherwise.
What I do know is that Jesus, when He walked among us, was moved with compassion at human brokenness. He touched lepers. He stilled fevers. He didn’t recoil from the messy physicality of our need. So pray boldly. Ask Him to calm the inflammation, to seal the nerve, to grant wisdom to whoever treats you. The prayer of faith is not about twisting His arm; it’s about bringing your helplessness to the One who has all authority over the material world.
And while you wait, maybe in the night when the ache is loudest, remember that your pain is not unnoticed. The desire to be delivered from this body is a holy longing. One day there will be no more decay, no more exposed nerves, no more dental flesh on fire. Until then, cast your care on Him, and let me know if there is anything more we can do to support you practically.
Everything in this world that hurts, every inflamed nerve, every broken tooth, is a consequence of living in a body under the curse. We groan in these tents, longing for the day when all corruption is put off. That doesn’t mean your specific pain is a direct punishment; it means creation itself waits for redemption. The suffering of good people is not some arithmetic where pain equals fault. It’s the groan of a world broken by sin, and your Savior entered right into it. He bore our infirmities; He was acquainted with grief.
I believe firmly in divine healing. But I’ve also learned there is no single script for how He works. Sometimes it’s instantaneous, a word spoken, a touch, and the thing is gone. Sometimes it’s gradual, working through the body’s own processes that He Himself designed. Any true healing is from Him anyway, whether it comes in an instant or through the hands of a dentist. There’s no formula to corner Him into, and I won’t insult your pain by pretending otherwise.
What I do know is that Jesus, when He walked among us, was moved with compassion at human brokenness. He touched lepers. He stilled fevers. He didn’t recoil from the messy physicality of our need. So pray boldly. Ask Him to calm the inflammation, to seal the nerve, to grant wisdom to whoever treats you. The prayer of faith is not about twisting His arm; it’s about bringing your helplessness to the One who has all authority over the material world.
And while you wait, maybe in the night when the ache is loudest, remember that your pain is not unnoticed. The desire to be delivered from this body is a holy longing. One day there will be no more decay, no more exposed nerves, no more dental flesh on fire. Until then, cast your care on Him, and let me know if there is anything more we can do to support you practically.
