A lesson on serving

Sometimes, I really struggle with my Muscular Dystrophy. On good days, it's the greatest thing in the world, to know I've got the strength to play with the dogs, walk through Wal-Mart, or in extreme cases, to destroy my energy playing airsoft. On the rougher days, I'm achy, irritable, and lethargic for days on end. Most days, I'm in between. As in, I don't have a problem walking around the house, or up and down the stairs, or whatever, provided I'm wearing shoes (and hence have the firm arch-supports that help me so much).

I like to think I know my limits pretty well. Granted, these aren't always something I can express to others in terms they understand, but I know when I need to sit down, when I can stand up, and when I want my wheelchair. Usually, the goal of my day is to balance energy conservation with a satisfactory amount of things done. This is one reason it can take a week to get my room clean; it's not usually trashed that badly, just that I can only put a limited amount of stuff away before I've hit the end of my energy for that day.

Don't be fooled into thinking that my established energy levels are nonnegotiable. While I know my limits, I know better how to push them. I can lock my knees when my shins, thighs, and hips are hurting. With enough rest breaks, I can extend my period spent standing indefinitely. If nothing else, I can resign myself to the couch for an evening or so if it means getting done all that needs to be done.

With this balance explained, I want to share part of the struggle I have sometimes. Do I help maintain my energy levels and physical abilities over the coming weeks, or do I give to the needy?

Most of the time, I do as much as I can for others.

Yep, it makes me a whole lot weaker than I want to be.

Does it bother me? No. I praise God for it, because when I am weak then I am strong.