I’m Still Me

A Midnight Thought

In the Stillness of the Night

In the stillness of the night,
when the noise fades
and the world grows quiet,
some thoughts gently rise to the surface.

Thoughts about faith.
About identity.
About who we are when everything around us changes.

Welcome to Midnight Thoughts—
shared breath by breath through my journey of living with ALS.

Tonight’s reflection is called:

“I’m Still Me.”

---

The Question Beneath the Surface

Something changes when a serious illness enters your life.

People may begin to look at you differently.

They speak more softly.
They may become uncertain about what to say.
Sometimes, they see the wheelchair before they see the person sitting in it.

Sometimes, they notice the ventilator, the tubing, or the eye-gaze device before they notice the man behind them.

ALS has changed many things about my life.

It has changed how I move.
How I communicate.
How I eat.
How I breathe.

It has taken away abilities I once depended on without giving them a second thought.

But ALS has not changed who I am.

I’m still the same man who loves deeply.

I’m still a husband.
Still a brother.
Still a friend.

I still have memories that make me smile.
Thoughts I want to share.
Lessons I am still learning.
And a purpose that still matters.

I’m still the same soul who talks with God during the quiet hours of the night.

My body may be weaker.
My abilities may have changed.
My life may look different from the outside.

But identity runs deeper than muscles, movement, or speech.

And that truth matters.

---

The Scripture

Hebrews 13:8 says:

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.”

It is a short verse, but it carries enormous weight.

We live in a world where almost everything changes.

Health changes.
Strength changes.
Relationships change.
Plans change.
Circumstances change.

Life can change so quickly that we barely have time to understand what has happened before we are forced to adjust again.

But Jesus does not change.

He was not altered by my diagnosis.
He was not surprised by the progression of ALS.
He is not shaken by the things that shake me.

He is the same.

The same Savior who walked with me before ALS walks with me now.

The same God who loved me when I was strong loves me in my weakness.

The same Lord who gave my life meaning before my diagnosis continues to give it meaning today.

Because He remains the same, the identity I have in Him remains secure.

---

What ALS Cannot Touch

ALS can affect my muscles.

It can limit my movement.
It can take away my natural voice.
It can make me dependent on a wheelchair, a feeding tube, an eye-gaze computer, and a ventilator for every breath.

But there are places ALS cannot reach.

It cannot erase my memories.
It cannot silence my thoughts.
It cannot destroy my faith.
It cannot cancel the purpose God has given me.
It cannot remove the image of God placed within me.

ALS can change how I express myself, but it cannot erase the person doing the expressing.

The world often measures people by what they can produce, accomplish, or physically contribute.

It celebrates independence.
Strength.
Speed.
Achievement.

When those things are taken away, it can become easy to feel as though your value is disappearing with them.

But God does not measure a life by physical strength.

He does not look at me and see only what has been lost.

He sees His child.

He sees the heart beneath the weakened body.
The faith beneath the fear.
The person beneath the diagnosis.

If Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever, then His love for me is unchanged.

His grace has not weakened.
His promises have not faded.
His presence has not moved farther away.

I am still loved by the same God.

I still belong to Him.

I am not merely a diagnosis.
I am not a collection of limitations.
I am not a fading version of the person I used to be.

I’m still me.

---

More Than What My Body Can Do

There is a strange kind of peace that comes when you begin to understand that your truest identity was never tied to your physical strength.

For much of life, we connect our identity to what we do.

Our careers.
Our responsibilities.
Our hobbies.
Our ability to help others.
Our independence.

I once worked with my hands.
I walked where I wanted to walk.
I spoke with my own voice.
I breathed without thinking about it.

Those things were part of my life, and losing them has brought real grief.

But they were never the deepest part of who I was.

My identity was never held together by my muscles.

It was held together by Christ.

The same Savior who walked with me through strong seasons walks with me through fragile ones.

The same God who gave me purpose then gives me purpose now.

That purpose may look different today.

I may no longer serve in the ways I once did, but I can still encourage someone.

I can still share my story.
I can still offer hope.
I can still pray.
I can still love.
I can still remind others that suffering does not mean God has abandoned them.

My body has changed.

My purpose has not disappeared.

---

When Others See the Illness First

One of the most difficult parts of living with a visible illness is realizing that people may sometimes see the equipment before they see you.

They may see the wheelchair.
The tracheostomy.
The ventilator tubing.
The computer that speaks for me.

They may see everything I need in order to live before they see the life still being lived.

I understand that the equipment is noticeable.

But behind all of it, I am still here.

I still understand what is happening around me.
I still recognize the people I love.
I still feel joy, frustration, gratitude, sadness, humor, and hope.

I may communicate differently, but I still have something to say.

I may need help with nearly every physical part of life, but I am not less human.

I do not need to be treated as though I have disappeared.

I need to be spoken to, not merely spoken about.

I need others to remember that the person they knew before ALS is still present.

Changed, yes.

Dependent, yes.

But still here.

Still thinking.
Still feeling.
Still loving.

Still me.

---

The Soul Remains

ALS has shown me how quickly the outside of a life can change.

The body can weaken.
Plans can disappear.
Independence can be replaced by dependence.

Yet the soul remains.

Faith remains.

Love remains.

The relationships that matter most remain.

The desire to live with meaning remains.

Nothing about God has changed.

And because my life is held by Him, nothing essential about who I am has been erased.

The outside may look different.

The voice may come through a computer.
The breath may come through a machine.
Movement may require the hands of another person.

But the soul remains steady in the hands of God.

---

A Quiet Reflection

Perhaps you are also walking through a season of change.

Maybe illness has altered your body.

Maybe loss has changed your family.

Maybe aging has taken away abilities you once relied on.

Maybe circumstances have forced you into a life you never expected to live.

You may feel as though pieces of who you are are slowly slipping away.

But listen carefully:

Your value has not diminished.

Your worth has not decreased.

Your identity has not expired.

You are more than what your body can do.

You are more than your productivity.
More than your limitations.
More than the losses you have endured.

And you are more than the way others may see you.

When your life is anchored in Christ, the deepest part of who you are remains secure.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

His love has not changed.
His grace has not changed.
His promises have not changed.

And in Him,

you are still you.

---

Closing Thought

Tonight, I hold on to this truth:

ALS has changed the way I live, but it has not erased the person God created me to be.

I may no longer move as I once moved.

I may no longer speak with my natural voice.

I may depend on machines and caregivers for the basic needs of life.

But I am still here.

I still love.
I still believe.
I still have purpose.
I still belong to God.

I am not only the man I was before ALS.

I am also the man God is shaping through it.

And through every loss, every adjustment, and every breath—

I’m Still Me.

---

Thank you for spending these quiet moments with me tonight.

Perhaps this reflection reminded you of someone who feels overlooked, defined by an illness, or forgotten beneath the weight of their circumstances.

Share it with them and remind them that their life still has meaning.

Their voice still matters.

Their presence still matters.

And they are still deeply loved.

You can find more Midnight Thoughts, ALS reflections, and caregiver resources at:

Breath By Breath With ALS
https://breathbybreathwithals1.com

You can also follow my journey on YouTube:
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCgm2Hrc7FEz3Ic0hpXm-O-Q

Until next time,
God bless.