As of Tuesday, April 24th at 10:30ish a.m., I am now four teeth short of wisdom. In other words, I had all four of my wisdom teeth extracted. So all you two-wisdom-teeth people can save your stories - I don't want to hear them (if that doesn't make sense ask Brian Regan.)
I mean, really, why are they called "wisdom teeth?"
I remember when they first started breaking through the surface in college, causing an immense amount of pain and what felt like a monstrous ear infection. Moaning around the dorm and Matt's apartment, I would lament their annoying existence but stubbornly refuse to take ibuprofen. I could tough it out. Meanwhile, Matt was bemoaning MY existence, wondering when I would quit annoying him and take the pain-killers!
At that time, I was far from wise. And, you know what? I still am. I still grumble during the painful times of discipline that lead me to wisdom. I still stubbornly refuse to seek help and try to tough it out on my own. However, I catch glimpses of maturity - though not to my credit but to His. Every once in a while, the groaning seems a bit shorter and the fruit of the spirit push through the surface. Love and patience, joy and peace, kindness and gentleness, goodness and faithfulness, and even a little bit of self-control peek their heads through. He continues to wash me in the water of the word. So gently. So subtly. So patiently. With all wisdom.