And, honestly, so strong is Katie's need to control her look, my mother and I had pretty much resigned ourselves to the belief that Katie would just not be losing her baby teeth. But then, much to everyone's surprise, one of her teeth began to wobble.
Katie began to pray that God would take her tooth out Himself. I tried to explain, nicely, that God had a lot on His plate right now, what with Afghanistan and the economy and all, and that sometimes He uses people in our lives--people with hands--to pull our teeth. Figuratively speaking.
She didn't buy that argument at all. "God has hands," she assured me. "He made the whole world with His hands and He will pull my tooth."
Now what was I supposed to say to that?
Meanwhile, the tooth was getting looser and looser and flapping like a saloon door when she spoke or even inhaled. I was worrying that she'd inhale it, be traumatized and have to have the rest of her teeth pulled by a dentist.
Every time I pushed aside my queasiness and tried to get permission to wiggle it, she would say, "No, thank you, God is going to pull my tooth, and it's not going to bleed at all." And I heard her several times praying for exactly that.
Tuesday night we were sitting in the living room and suddenly the tooth fell--literally fell!--into her hand. "Oh!" she said, startled, but not surprised, "It's out! My tooth is out! I better go show Daddy." She ran up the stairs, leaving me slackjawed on the couch. I heard her upstairs showing the tooth to Scott and TESTIFYING that "God pulled my tooth, and look, it's not bleeding at all. God made the thunder and the lightening and God pulled my tooth, too."
One of these days I am going to learn not to argue with Katie.