Southpaw

      Whether it was launching a baseball from the warning track to the catcher, pinpointing a frisbee 75 yards to the end zone, or landing a fierce jab to the gut of a foe, I've always relied on my right arm. Even when it came to the easy stuff like brushing my teeth, holding my phone, lifting a pint of beer, my right arm always won out. 

      Now a days this is no longer the case. When ALS threw the kitchen sink at me it collided with the right side of my body. Tripping over my right foot is where this fight started and now it's turned me into a southpaw. Put a 50 lbs oven mit on your right hand and try to write an email or pick up the remote. That's what it feels like in my fingers and arm. My brain tells my arm to move but it stays basically motionless unless I whip out a killer shoulder shrug or move it with my left arm. 

      A fellow ALS fighter just wrote a blog where she shot down the idea that giving up independence might as well be a death sentence. I've struggled mightily at every point that I've had to concede and give up independence. Rocky had Mickey in his corner. I've got God in my corner as I'm training to become a southpaw (look it up). God does not promise ease; however, He does promise to never leave you or forsake you. It is this chapter of my life that has changed me. I've got a new fighting style. With new eyes and a new fist, I see the things that matter. I see and feel the Grace. This fight isn't even close to over.