One Split Molar, One United Body

Special Gratitude Edition - Man Up Monday

Guest Post by Keith Barber

Every turn, every acceleration, every brake, even the slightest bump in the road was amplified, reverberating through the car and into pain receptors across my face. As a kid, I remember asking, "Are we there yet?" on the drive to Greer's Ferry Lake in central Arkansas for the long-awaited camping trip with my family. We would swim and ski, go on scavenger hunts, and roast marshmallows, while singing campfire songs late into the evening. These trips were always filled with wonder, laughter, and family time. My question back then was carefree and motivated by anticipation of the lake fun awaiting us.

But on this April day a half-century later, it was driven by incessant pain emanating from my face and jaw. Little did I know that God was about to answer that childhood question in a way I never expected. Yes, I was almost there—not to a lakeside retreat, but to a divine appointment in the most unlikely of places: a Level 1 Trauma ER.

Do Not Pass Go

A sudden, brief "gotcha" moment while eating a burger back in September escalated over months into a dental emergency. New crowns, dental adjustments, discovery of a cracked filling—each step promised to address the problem, yet the infection raged beneath the surface. In those final days before hospitalization, the pain became so severe that I couldn't sleep and was desperate to find any position of comfort. My sweet wife, Judy, massaged my face and applied warm and cold compresses to lessen the pain. At her encouragement, we sang praises to God—choosing to magnify Him rather than focus on my suffering. As we focused on Him, the pain eased and I finally fell asleep. It was a tangible touch of His kindness in the midst of my crisis. But the relief was temporary, and the infection continued to advance.

By the time I got to the endodontist Monday morning, I couldn't open my mouth wide enough to be fully examined. When she felt cellulitis below my jaw and saw that it was inhibiting swallowing and obstructing my airway, she gave us this sobering message: "Do not go home. Go straight to the ER. This is life-threatening!"

Ironically, her statement made me think of the dreaded jail sentence in the Monopoly board game I loved playing so many times as a child. But this was no game. She identified a nearby hospital with the necessary credentials for my condition. She also wrote a note of her assessment and recommendations to share with the hospital, and called ahead on my behalf. She was so thorough, caring and kind!

"Are we there yet?!" kept running through my mind as Judy followed GPS for what felt to me like hours of bumpy off-road mayhem, but in reality, was a smooth 15-minute drive to the hospital. While Judy looked for parking, I handed my doctor's note to the receptionist, filled out papers, and probably would have consented to selling my kidney to anyone who could make the pain go away—now! I walked through the double doors into the triage area, hoping to hear the ER chief call out, "get this suffering patient 4 cc's of morphine and an antibiotic IV drip, STAT!" Well, this wasn't a TV show and I wasn't that special. So many people were here suffering and seeking relief in this ER. My reality show entailed nearly 12 hours of waiting, mostly in hallways, and mostly alone since Judy wasn’t allowed to stay with me in the congested triage area.

But God was there.

A Brother in the Hallway

Several hours in, I began pacing and holding my face between my hands to find some relief from the incessant pounding. I walked past a man reclined in a chair. He looked up at me, smiled, and simply said he was praying for me. That touched my heart and I sat next to him while we chatted for a few minutes. I had noticed him lying there when I arrived, sleeping off and on, and covered in a blanket to stay warm in the chilly ER.

We talked briefly about our families, our faith in God, our maladies, and our careers. God encouraged me when I really needed it through this wife-loving, God-serving, tumor-toting, high school football coaching, NFL Super Bowl winning brother in Christ. We prayed together, acknowledging God's sovereignty over our situations, and shook hands in appreciation before he drifted back to sleep.

I returned to my pacing with a refreshed spirit of hope. Here was a man waiting for test results about a stomach tumor the size of a grapefruit—facing something far more serious than my infection. Yet he took the time to pray for me, to encourage a stranger in a hallway. He lived out for me the love and unity Jesus encouraged us all to walk in. I didn't need a campfire or a church building to experience God's presence—just a brother in Christ in a crowded ER corridor.

Alert When I Couldn't Be

When a room in the ER became available near midnight, Judy was finally authorized to join me. We were escorted there and informed that I would be getting the long-awaited IV antibiotic, ampicillin. In my impaired state, all I was able to understand was that help was in that bag of clear fluid. Judy, however, was in full alert mode when she heard the penicillin derivative—a medication we both have been allergic to since childhood.

The nurse assured us that it must not be an issue since it was prescribed and my records clearly showed an allergy to penicillin. A quick Google search confirmed Judy's concern and her resistance strengthened. The nurse clicked deeper into the electronic records and discovered that the ampicillin had initially been authorized but later replaced with a safer medication for me. For some reason the change in the order had not trickled down soon enough to affect the selection from the dispensary.

Thanks to Judy's persistence, the nurse learned of the error before any harm was done. God had positioned her there, alert and advocating, when I was too impaired to notice. In that moment, she wasn't just my wife—she was my protector, my voice when I had none. With the correct IV antibiotics dripping and initial pain meds swallowed, we began the long three days trying to quiet the roar of my raging infection.

Visitors in the Valley

The pain medication used a two-pronged attack: morphine as a quick response that faded like clockwork 60 minutes later, and hydrocodone that would take effect about an hour later and last anywhere from three to five hours. About half the time the pain meds lapsed an hour or two before the next dose was authorized, letting me know the battle was still in full swing.

Throughout the three days, there was no outward sign that the antibiotic was working, only a gradual decline in the white blood cell count. The pressure in my face had extended to behind my left eye and the swelling throughout the left side of my face had distorted my otherwise balanced appearance.

 My dear daughter-in-love, Natalie, came to visit the second day, bringing Dani, our precious five-month-old granddaughter. Usually, Dani loves to snuggle with her Poppi. But on this visit, only half of Poppi's face was recognizable and Dani was not too sure about her Poppi time! We all had a good laugh that afternoon! During their visit, one of Judy's friends from her Bible study arrived—a caring woman I'd heard about but never met—carrying a bag chock-full of goodies and treats for the long days ahead.

Sometimes the greatest ministry is simply showing up. Natalie didn't need to bring solutions or sage advice—she brought laughter and my tender granddaughter to brighten my day. Judy's friend didn't need a prior relationship with me—she simply cared enough to come. In that hospital room, surrounded by family I loved and a sister in Christ I'd just met, I was reminded that we don't have to walk through valleys alone. The body of Christ shows up—with laughter, with texts, with bags of snacks, with their simple presence—and that's often exactly what we need most. I'd always thought my favorite memories were tied to happy experiences—family time, lakeside campfires, boats on the water, skiing in the mountains. But when love shows up in the valley, it can create beautiful memories that rival those made on the mountain tops.

Reluctant Whispers

Everyone knows that a hospital is not the choice destination when you want uninterrupted rest. There is always something of higher importance to be done by the caregivers every few hours. These tasks often require the dark, sleepy room to be transformed into the bright side of the sun! Thus, daytime naps became a necessity for me. While I enjoyed one of these naps, Judy stepped out to get lunch and a young nurse's assistant came in. She came close to the bed, perhaps to check my vital signs, but more likely suspecting that my days were few. She spoke softly and tenderly: "Do you know Jesus?"

Whether I was asleep or not when she walked in, I really don't know. But by the time she finished asking her question, I was fully present. I shared that I do and that I appreciated her asking. We spoke for several minutes while she shared her love for the Lord and, through tears, how other’s apathy and rejection could be so discouraging. I encouraged her in her faith, her walk with God, and to continue her bold approach to sharing God's love with others.

Her boldness brightened my day! In a place where she witnesses suffering daily, she still had the courage to ask the most important question anyone can ask. God had brought another precious believer across my path to remind me that I was not alone. And perhaps, in that moment, I reminded her that she wasn't alone either—that there are still people who welcome that question, who are hungry for those conversations about faith in the middle of ordinary moments.

Praying at the Curb

By Wednesday, my blood work was indicating the infection was in retreat. The doctor expected me to be discharged the following morning, and cautioned that we needed to act quickly to get the tooth removed. The next day, the hospital staff was very efficient in getting me processed and checked out by noon. While Judy went to get the car, the discharge nurse wheeled me through the halls toward the exit.

She asked about our ER and hospital experience. I shared some highs and lows about our visit, then finished by sharing that God had brought me through the ordeal.

Her countenance brightened and she shared that she was a believer, too. We talked for a while then thanked our heavenly Father and prayed for one another right there at the curb. Our unity in that moment displayed a beauty and power that touched my heart. After we prayed, she noticed the valet standing nearby and called out to him, "You need to get in on this blessing!" As we drove away, we saw her talking to the valet. Perhaps another blessing was in the works.

Good Friday Grace

Before leaving the hospital, our dentist provided the number for an oral surgeon friend of his who was already briefed on my situation. Judy made a 7:45 a.m. appointment for the next day—Good Friday. We were told no food or medications after midnight in the event the surgeon felt I was stable enough to have the surgery. What we didn't know at the time was that our dentist’s friend was unavailable, but his associate agreed to come in exclusively for me on this holiday. While I was focused on my own discomfort, God was coordinating schedules, moving hearts, and positioning people to serve—even on a day when they could have rested.

Going without pain medication the night before my appointment was tough. The last 3 days with systematic care had lulled me into believing I was much better than I really was. By morning, simply getting to the surgeon’s office took everything I had. After the examination, we both pleaded with the surgeon to consider me fit enough to carry out the tooth extraction then and there. I had nothing left in my proverbial tank. Praise God, after some hesitation, the surgeon agreed. What happened next felt like one more sign of God's hand on the entire ordeal. The surgery that was projected to take 45 minutes was completed in just 25. The infected tooth, weakened by weeks of infection, broke cleanly in half, allowing the surgeon to extract it quickly and spend most of his time milking the infection from my jaw.

It was as if even the tooth itself was ready to surrender. The immediate threat was finally removed, though it would take a month for the swelling to go down and three months for feeling to return to the entire left side of my face—a lingering reminder of how serious the infection had been. God's deliverance was immediate, but the healing would be gradual.

Suffering’s Sacred Space

Reflecting back on this chapter in my life, I can see how these individual moments were pointing me to the bigger picture of God’s grace. Yes, the infection was real. Yes, the pain was undeniable. Yes, the medical emergency was life-threatening. But woven through every moment of suffering was a golden thread of divine appointments—culminating, appropriately, on Good Friday itself:

A physician who clearly and decisively sounded the alarm.

A football coach with a “benign” (Praise God!) tumor who prayed for a stranger in pain.

A wife who stayed alert when I couldn't, catching a potentially fatal error.

A daughter-in-love and granddaughter who brought laughter to a hospital room.

A stranger who simply showed up with kindness in her bag and left as a new friend.

A young nurse's assistant who risked rejection to ask the most important question.

A discharge nurse who turned a mundane exit interview into a sacred moment of prayer.

An oral surgeon who gave up his holiday for a patient he'd never met.

God didn't cause the infection... but He certainly used it! He took my "Are we there yet?" desperation and transformed it into an invitation to see Him at work in the most unlikely place. That hospital wasn't just a place of treatment; it became holy ground where the body of Christ gathered—in hallways, in rooms, in moments between pain meds—to remind one another that our faith surpasses our circumstances.

I believe it's no coincidence that this journey ended on Good Friday—the day we remember Christ's suffering. On the cross, even in agony, Jesus was doing his Father’s work and touching others around Him: forgiving, promising, caring, fulfilling. My experience in the hospital revealed this simple idea—that suffering doesn't have to isolate us; sometimes it can reveal how deeply our connection runs. As believers, we are truly one body with one Spirit.

I went to that hospital seeking relief from physical pain. What I found was something far more valuable: a community of believers scattered along my path, each one strategically positioned by God to encourage, protect, serve, and pray. We were strangers—we are family, connected not by our maladies, but by our shared hope in a God who walks with us through every valley.

The next time you find yourself in a place of suffering—whether it's a hospital bed, a financial crisis, a broken relationship, or any other valley—look up. God is right there—He never left! He is always ready to meet you with His comforting Spirit and through beautiful encounters with fellow believers.

Sometimes the answer to "Are we there yet?" isn't about arriving at the destination we expected.

Sometimes we discover it right where we are—exactly where God needs us to be—in the waiting room, in the hallway, in the pain—so He can show us that His presence, and the presence of His people, is what makes any place sacred.

And that's a destination worth the journey.

“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.” – Colossians 3:12-14