"Life is not fair."

A friend of mine invited me over for dinner the other night. They have five kids so it was noisy. And I relished in every scream, cry and laughter. I welcomed the chaos. I soaked in the opportunity to help with their homework. I even confessed that I had no clue how to solve the algebra problem of a sixth grader. Yikes. A bit embarrassing but none the less, very true. It confirmed the fact that numbers are a foreign language to me. I simply don't understand it.
Similar to life. I don't get it.
As soon as their homework was complete, we all moved to the family room. This time it was their seventh grader that stumped me. I don't remember exactly what we were talking about but whatever it was, it prompted him to tease his mom by saying, "I know, life isn't fair." He went on to say, "But God is fair. Right?"
I was thankful he was looking at his mom while waiting for a response. I waited too. I had no idea how I would have answered him. I still don't.
I am sure theologians or devout Christians are squirming in their seat reading this. But more times than not, I am like the people of Israel in Exodus 16. I grumble. I doubt. I question whether or not God provides everything I think I need. I want more. Similar to the people of Israel who weren't completely sure God would provide the amount of manna (food) that they thought they needed.
If I am honest, I would answer Trent by replying with a bit of arrogance, "No. God is not fair. Look at my life. It's not suppose to be like this."
I. Want. More.
But it's times like these that I need to savor those moments that God reminds me He is there. FA and all.
On Friday my friend from out of town and I went to our favorite restaurant. After we were seated and Delsie resumed her position under the table our waitress came and sat at our table. "I have never had this happen before but a man came up to me and handed me forty dollars. He told me that he wanted to pay for the table with the dog."
A tear streamed down my face as I realized although I may not understand algebra or this life with FA, God is there in those moments.
Even in my grumbling.

bucket list

A few years ago the hype was all about the movie, "Bucket List". Honestly, I don't remember the details of the movie. However, like most who saw it, I was prompted to dream about the things I wanted to accomplish before I die. Last year, my oldest sister and brother in law, Cherie and Rob made it possible for me to check off one of things on my bucket list. A motorcycle ride in a side car with Delsie.
It was a moment I would never forget. Delsie loved it. A few times I choked up from emotions that were overwhelming. A memory to cling to when times got tough. Mission accomplished. Check mark on my list.
This year, our kind, new friends called again to see if Delsie and I would be interested in another ride. Cherie didn't have to ask me twice.

Today, Delsie and I traversed through the beauty of the fall colors in the 70 degrees October day. It was breathtaking. Simply amazing. I loved it. I think Delsie did, too.

As much as I dread having ataxia, it's moments like these that I am thankful. Having FA forces me to make a "Bucket List" and having it, blesses me with people like Richard and Karen with motorcycle rides in a side car.


I anticipate the day I can make a huge check mark next to the words on my list "A cure".

a letter to FA.

Dear FA,
I am not a huge fan of you. Not in the least. I am tired. Extremely tired. I hate that my sister told me that I looked tired. "I can not stop yawning." I replied. "Yea, those black bags under your eyes are telling", she said.
FA, you are responsible for those unwanted bags. I am pointing the finger at you for the fall at two in the morning on my bathroom floor. Jokes on you as I didn't injure anything. But you threw it right back at me when I realized the challenge I had to get back in my wheelchair.
Totally your fault, FA and I am not at all happy about it.
And FA, you're to blame for making everything so exhausting to accomplish. A trip to the grocery store to pick up some decaf coffee and cat food is greeted by a stranger, a stranger gawking as I exit out my van with Delsie. The first thing that comes out of her mouth are the words, "You're still getting around?" You did this to me, FA. It's your fault that I am made to feel different.
You are behind the dumb comments but are rooted in the desire of people to ignore you. But you make it impossible for me or anyone else, for that matter, to ignore. I want to scream mean things at you. I would love to throw my kitchen chair at you. And the whole time laugh in your face as you remain defenseless. That's what I feel like your doing to me.
I hate you, FA. I really do.
And I think that's okay. It's this angst in my life that causes this tension. A discontent to force me to fight. A reality of carrying the bags under my eyes with a sense of pride. It is because of you that I respond to ill timed comments from strangers with grace.
FA, I loathe you. But you are not me. You are this unwanted thing in my life. I can't ignore you but I can stand firm in my faith that one day, your diagnosis will be a thing of the past.
And maybe, just maybe, Lady GaGa won't feel the need to kiss me because you are with me. The day will come that that "it" will kiss me for my good looks...
sooner than later, I hope. These bags are getting heavy.
Your #1 enemy,
Holly