The Easy Road

I’m terrified of the dentist. Not just mildly frightened—I’m the kind of person who would happily be sedated for a basic cleaning. Have I ever actually been sedated? No. Have I even used laughing gas? Also no. My fear, as it turns out, is slightly less powerful than my unwillingness to pay an extra $150.

So, naturally, I’ve always been the type to stretch out the time between visits. Twice a year? That seems… excessive. Seven months? Eight? Nine? Honestly, wouldn’t an annual visit be fine? Besides, I take excellent care of my teeth. I brush twice a day, floss every night, and even wield one of those medieval torture devices known as a tongue scraper.

And then, at one point, I just stopped going to the dentist entirely.

I’m not proud of this. I’m also not going to admit how many years elapsed between my last check-up and the fateful morning when I spat out a chunk of my molar.

At that point, avoidance was no longer an option. So I called my friend and dentist, Dr. Thomas, and scheduled an appointment.

I braced myself for the worst. The shame. The scolding. The eye-rolls of disappointment. Not to mention the physical pain and the financial cost that surely awaited me.

But when I arrived, I was met with nothing but kindness:

“Would you like a blanket?”

“Just sit back and relax.”

“Let’s get an x-ray real quick.”

No one lectured me about my missed appointments. No one gave me a condescending talk about responsible adulting. No one even appeared shocked at my poor, broken molar—though they gently suggested replacing my silver fillings so this wouldn’t happen again. The hygienist, bless her, actually complimented my flossing while slipping in a few tips on how to up my game.

Then came the x-rays. And, of course, another cavity.

Dr. Thomas strolled in, flashing his dimpled grin, asked about my family, and reassured me he’d get me all fixed up and back on “the easy road”—by which he meant regular cleanings, preventative care, and some very fancy two-part mouthwash.

As I sat in that chair, mouth full of dust as Dr. T ground down my tooth to prepare for a crown, I couldn’t help but think: This is how we should treat people when they come to us for help.

No judgment. No lectures. No shame.

No “Where have you been?” No “What were you thinking?” No “Look at the consequences!”

I was already facing the consequences. (And that was before I paid for the crown.)

How often do we waste time and damage relationships by piling on guilt when someone already knows they’ve messed up? I thought about kids coming home after making mistakes. About people who drift from a faith community and then return. About anyone who hesitates to ask for help because they fear the reaction.

In those moments, we don’t need questions about where we’ve been or criticism about our actions. Most of us don’t need a reminder of our mistakes—we need a reason to believe we can do better. We need dimpled smiles, warm blankets, natural consequences, and a gentle hand guiding us back to “the easy road.”

People don’t change because they’re shamed into it. We change because someone believes in us enough to help us move forward. Judgment builds walls. Kindness builds bridges. And most of us are just looking for a way across.