"At least I still have..."
Over the past year I have become good friends with a woman here in Fort Wayne who has multiple sclerosis, and has struggled with some pretty aggressive digressions in her strength and health lately. She is a remarkable human being, and I love so much about her, from her sassy curly haircut, to her Brooklyn, NY accent, to her candid way of being authentic about her thoughts, to her faith in the Lord that keeps getting a daily workout. We talk a lot about disability and faith, and how to hang on to hope in the dark moments of loss and depression. We've also talked about our "thresholds," as in, the limits we imagine our hope might have. "At least I can still sit up," she might say. "I don't know what I'll do when I have to lay down all the time." Last year around this time, she said something like, "At least I can still use my hands..." only, the thing is, she lost the strength in her hands this year and can no longer feed herself and