Through the Fire

A Midnight Thoughts Reflection

Welcome

Some seasons of life feel less like a road and more like a fire.

You do not choose the heat.

You do not choose the pain.

You do not choose what is taken from you.

You simply find yourself standing in the middle of something you never imagined you would have to endure.

ALS has felt that way for me.

There are days when it seems as though everything familiar has been burned away.

Strength.

Independence.

Speech.

Movement.

The ability to eat.

The simple freedom to breathe without a machine.

And yet, somehow, I am still here.

Changed.

Weakened.

Scarred by the journey.

But not consumed.

---

Walking Through the Fire

There is a difference between standing near a fire and walking through one.

From a distance, suffering can look manageable.

People may tell you to stay strong.

To keep fighting.

To remain positive.

But when you are the one inside the fire, those words can feel very different.

The heat is real.

The fear is real.

The exhaustion is real.

There are moments when you wonder how much more you can take.

There are moments when you wonder whether there will be anything left of you when the fire finally passes.

I have asked those questions.

I still do sometimes.

ALS has taken me into places I never wanted to go.

But somewhere along the way, I began to realize something.

The goal is not always to escape the fire.

Sometimes the miracle is discovering that the fire did not destroy you.

---

What the Fire Takes

Fire changes things.

So does illness.

ALS has changed almost every part of my daily life.

My body no longer responds the way it once did.

I depend on a wheelchair.

I depend on a ventilator to breathe.

I cannot speak or swallow.

I communicate through an eye-gaze computer.

Things I once did without thinking now require equipment, assistance, patience, and the hands of caregivers.

There is grief in that.

I will never pretend otherwise.

There are parts of my old life that I miss deeply.

There are moments I wish I could step backward through time and return to the person I was before ALS.

But fire does something else too.

It reveals what remains.

And I have learned that ALS can weaken my body without taking everything that makes me who I am.

It cannot take my memories.

It cannot take my love for my family.

It cannot take my faith.

It cannot erase the person still living inside this body.

---

Scripture for This Reflection

“When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” — Isaiah 43:2, NIV

I have always loved the wording of this verse.

It does not say if you walk through the fire.

It says when.

God never promised that faith would keep us from every painful place.

He promised something greater.

That we would not have to walk through those places alone.

The fire may still burn around us.

The circumstances may not immediately change.

But God remains present in the middle of it.

---

The Hard Truth

Sometimes faith does not remove the fire.

That can be difficult to accept.

We pray for healing.

We pray for relief.

We pray for the situation to change.

And sometimes it does.

But sometimes the diagnosis remains.

The body continues to weaken.

The difficult road continues.

That does not mean God has abandoned us.

It means our faith must become deeper than our circumstances.

I am learning that faith is not always believing that God will take me out of the fire.

Sometimes faith is believing that He will stay with me while I am in it.

The fire may change me, but it does not get to decide who I become.

---

Still Here

There are things ALS has taken from me.

But there are also things I still have.

I still have thoughts.

I still have memories.

I still have purpose.

I still have love to give.

I still have words to share, even when those words must come through my eyes and a computer.

And as long as I am still here, my life still has meaning.

That has become important to me.

Because suffering has a way of making us believe that our usefulness has ended.

That once we can no longer do what we once did, we somehow matter less.

I do not believe that anymore.

My body may be weaker.

My life may look completely different.

But I am still here.

And that means there is still something I can give.

---

God Is Still Here

The story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego has taken on a deeper meaning for me.

They were thrown into a furnace.

The fire was real.

But they were not alone.

When King Nebuchadnezzar looked into the furnace, he expected to see three men being destroyed.

Instead, he saw four.

Someone was walking with them in the fire.

That image stays with me.

Because there are moments when life feels like a furnace.

Moments when fear rises.

Moments when weakness becomes overwhelming.

Moments when the future feels uncertain.

And still, God is there.

Not always removing the fire.

Not always explaining why it happened.

But walking beside us through it.

---

A New Kind of Forward

I used to think moving forward meant getting stronger.

Recovering.

Returning to normal.

Taking back what illness had taken away.

ALS has taught me a different meaning.

Sometimes moving forward means accepting that the road has changed.

It means living the life that is in front of you instead of constantly waiting for the old one to return.

It means finding purpose inside limitations.

Finding gratitude inside difficulty.

Finding moments of peace even while the fire is still burning.

I cannot control how long this journey will be.

I cannot control what ALS may take next.

But I can choose what the fire will not take from me.

My faith.

My love.

My gratitude.

My hope.

My identity.

---

A Quiet Invitation

What fire are you walking through right now?

What has life changed that you never expected to lose?

What part of you feels tired, discouraged, or afraid?

Take a quiet moment and look beyond what the fire has taken.

What still remains?

Your faith?

Your love for someone?

Your memories?

Your purpose?

Your ability to encourage another person?

Sometimes suffering makes us focus so much on what is gone that we forget to notice what is still alive within us.

You may not be able to change the fire today.

You may not even be able to see how this season will end.

But perhaps you can ask God for enough strength for this moment.

Enough courage for today.

Enough faith for the next breath.

And maybe, for now, that is enough.

---

Closing Thoughts

The fire changes us.

Sometimes it leaves scars.

Sometimes it takes things we thought we could never live without.

Sometimes it forces us to become someone we never expected to be.

But the fire does not get the final word.

ALS has changed nearly every part of my life, but it has not taken everything.

I am still here.

Still thinking.

Still loving.

Still believing.

Still finding purpose.

Still trusting God for the next breath.

I do not know what tomorrow will bring.

I do not know how much more of the fire I will have to walk through.

But I know this:

I have not walked through it alone.

And as long as God is still with me, there is still hope.

Maybe that is what it means to go through the fire, but not be consumed.

Not untouched.

Not unchanged.

But still here.

Still held.

Still moving forward.

One breath at a time.

Until next time, God bless.