Life Without Limits (29 page)

When we arrived in South Africa after a long flight, our host was waiting for us at the airport as promised, but for some reason I’d pictured John Pingo to be an older man, maybe not as old as my parents but at least in his thirties.

He was nineteen years old! That was a year younger than I was at the time.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea
, I thought when we met at the airport. Fortunately, John proved to be a very mature and capable bloke, who opened my eyes to more poverty and need than I’d ever witnessed. He told me how he had been inspired by my life story when he saw my video, but I came to realize that his story was every bit as compelling, and his dedication to his faith humbled me.

He grew up on a livestock farm in the Republic of the Orange
Free State in southern South Africa. He’d run with a bad crowd earlier in life, but he’d become an avid Christian and was now the owner of a small trucking company. He was grateful to God for helping him change his life and for blessing him.

John was so determined to have me speak words of faith and inspiration around his country that he’d sold his own car to raise enough money for our tour of churches, schools, orphanages, and prisons. Then he’d borrowed his aunt’s blue van to haul me to speaking engagements in Cape Town, Pretoria, Johannesburg, and all points in between.

It was a crazy schedule, and we often went with just four or five hours of sleep each day. But this trip introduced me to people, places, and things that changed my life forever. It helped me realize what I wanted to do with the rest of my life: to share my message of encouragement and faith around the globe.

Aaron and I thought we’d seen a bit growing up in Australia and living for a short time in California. But on this trip we realized we were babes in these woods. That realization really sank in when we left the airport and were driving through Johannesburg. Aaron looked out his window at an intersection and saw a sign that terrified him: “Smash and Grab Area.”

Aaron looked at our driver. “John, what does that sign mean?”

“Oh, that means this is an area where they will smash your car windows, grab your things out of the car, and run off,” said John.

We locked the doors and began scanning all around us. We noted that many people lived in homes surrounded by high concrete walls with barbed-wire fencing at the top. Several people we met in the first couple days told of being mugged or robbed, but eventually we found that South Africa was no more dangerous than many other regions where poverty and crime are concerns.

In fact, Aaron and I both fell in love with South Africa and its people. Despite all this nation’s problems, we found South Africans to be wonderful, filled with hope and joy despite their circumstances.
We’d never seen such depths of poverty and despair, nor such inexplicable joy and unyielding faith, as we found there.

The orphanages were both heart-wrenching and inspiring. We visited one orphanage dedicated to rescuing abandoned children who had been left in trash cans and on park benches. Most of them were sick and suffering from malnutrition. They affected us so much that we returned the next day with pizza, soft drinks, toys, soccer balls, and other simple gifts. The children were ecstatic about them.

But we also saw children with open wounds from flesh-eating bacteria, children and adults dying of AIDS, and families living day to day in search of food and clean water to drink. To see that up close, to smell the sickness and death hovering over human beings in agony, and to know that all I could do was pray over them to comfort them, was such an eye-opening experience. I had never seen such poverty and suffering. It was so much worse than anything I’ve ever endured, and it made my life seem pampered by comparison. I was overwhelmed with conflicting feelings: compassion that made me want to leap into action and save everyone I could, and anger at the existence of such suffering and its seeming unchangeability.

Our father often spoke of his childhood in Serbia, having only a piece of bread and a little water and sugar for dinner at night. His father, my grandfather, had been a barber by trade. He had worked in a government salon, but when he refused to join the Communist Party, he was forced out. It was difficult for him to operate his own shop because of constant pressure from the Communists. The family had to move once or twice a year so that my grandfather, whose faith prohibited him from bearing arms, could avoid being drafted into the military. When he contracted tuberculosis and could no longer work at his trade, my grandmother had to support their six children with work as a seamstress.

My father’s stories of his family’s struggles carried new meaning
for me after I witnessed poverty and hunger up close in South Africa; now I’d seen anguish in the eyes of dying mothers and heard their children screaming because of their aching, empty stomachs. We visited slums where families lived in tiny tin sheds no bigger than storage rooms, with newspapers for insulation and no running water. I spoke at a prison where the inmates filled the chapel and a courtyard outside it. We learned that many of the prisoners were still awaiting trial and that the only crime of many was to owe money to someone with the power to have them arrested. We met one prisoner who’d been sentenced to serve ten years because he owed $200. That day the prisoners sang for us, and their voices soared with amazing joy in such a desolate place.

I’d gone to South Africa as a young man full of himself, sure that I could make a difference in this vast land. But it was South Africa that made a difference in me.

When you step outside of yourself and your own concerns to reach out for others, it will change you. You will be humbled. You will be inspired. More than anything and more than ever, you will be overwhelmed with the feeling that you are part of something much bigger than yourself. Not only that, you will also realize that you can make a contribution. Everything you do to make someone else’s life better makes your life more meaningful.

After our first few days in South Africa, I came to understand why John Pingo was so dedicated and driven to help me deliver my message of hope and faith around his country. He had seen more than I’d ever seen. I’d led a very self-centered and selfish existence, I realized; the demanding boy with no arms or legs could not conceive that anyone suffered as much as he.

Since that trip I’ve never felt the same in a grocery store. The
abundance of food even in my neighborhood grocery is beyond the imagination of the orphans and slum dwellers I met in South Africa. Even today I reflect on that trip when I’m feeling pampered in an air-conditioned office, or when I’m given a cool drink; such simple comforts are rarities in that part of the world.

Aaron, who is now a high school math and science teacher in Australia, still talks about what a reality check that trip was. We were saddened at some sights, but amazed by so much else. We agree that it was the best trip of our lives. We both came home wondering,
What can we do to ease the suffering of others? What is the best way to contribute? How could I ever live the same way, knowing that people are suffering so much?

You don’t have to travel far to find someone in need of help. In fact, our trip to South Africa made us more aware of the needy people in our own community and our own country. You can easily find places to give of your time, your talents, or your money at your local churches, nursing homes, the American Red Cross, the Salvation Army, homeless shelters, food banks, and soup kitchens. Whatever you can share will make a difference; whether it is money, your time, your resources, or your network of friends and co-workers.

That first trip to South Africa made me so excited about kicking off my mission that I gave away a good portion of my savings, $20,000; while we were there we raised another $20,000 and gave that away too! We spent entire days buying presents for orphans, feeding them, and stocking up on books and blankets and beds. We gave the orphanages television sets and DVD players, donating funds through a half-dozen charitable networks.

Twenty thousand dollars is still a considerable amount of money in my book, but looking back, I wish I’d had more to give. Just being able to affect a few lives in a few places gave me a greater sense of fulfillment than I’d ever known. My mum wasn’t too happy when I
returned from South Africa with “nothing” in my savings account, but she saw that my life was enriched beyond measure on that journey.

One of the most emotionally raw and unforgettable scenes from our South Africa trip came when I spoke at a certain church. Hundreds of sick, disabled, and dying people had lined up to seek a healing miracle there. Normally I make a few joking references to my lack of limbs, just to put people at ease. In this church, no one laughed! They were not there for humor. They were there for healing. They wanted miracles.

Every single night they came to this church in neck braces, on crutches, and in wheelchairs with hope for a healing. Two people with AIDS had been dragged on mattresses to the church. Others had walked four and five hours to get there. The back of the church was lined with crutches and wheelchairs that were said to have been left by those who’d been healed. My brother and I talked to a man whose leg and foot were swollen to nearly twice their normal size. He was in agony, but he’d walked to this church to be healed.

Everyone wishes for the power to heal those in pain. I’ve certainly done my share of praying for a miracle to give me arms and legs. But my request has never been granted, and most of the people we met at that South African church did not get their miracles either. But that does not mean miracles cannot occur. My life may well qualify as a miracle someday, given that I’ve been able to reach so many diverse audiences, speaking words of faith and inspiration. The fact that this Australian Christian of Serbian descent with no limbs has received invitations to speak from government leaders in Costa Rica, Colombia, Egypt, and China is no small miracle. I’ve met with Pope Shenouda III of the Coptic Church and with the grand imam Sheikh Mohammed Sayed Tantawi, not to mention
with leaders of the Church of Latter-Day Saints. My life is testimony to the fact that there are no limits other than those we impose upon ourselves!

Living without limits means knowing that you always have something to give, something that might ease the burden of others. Even small kindnesses and a few dollars can have a powerful impact. After the terrible earthquake in Haiti in 2010, the American Red Cross quickly set up a program for people to help right away. They made it possible to donate ten dollars by taking a cell phone and texting “HAITI” to the number 90999.

Now, ten dollars doesn’t seem like much, and texting it didn’t take much effort. It was a small act of charity. But if you were one of those who participated, you made a huge difference. The last time I checked, according to the Red Cross, more than three million people made ten-dollar donations to Haiti on their cell phones. As a result, the Red Cross had received more than $32 million to finance its efforts to help the people of Haiti!

Today my Life Without Limbs nonprofit organization helps support more than ten different charities, including the Apostolic Christian Church Foundation, which sends missionaries around the world; it operates orphanages and churches, including Bombay Teen Challenge in India, which I wrote about earlier in the book. We also partner with Joni and Friends to give away refurbished wheelchairs to people in need.

You can take whatever you love to do, and do it for the benefit of others. Do you play tennis? Ride a bike? Love to dance? Turn your favorite activity into philanthropy: a tennis tournament to benefit your local YMCA, a bike ride for the Boys and Girls Club, or a dance marathon to buy clothing for needy kids.

Hilary Lister loves sailing. At thirty-seven, she decided to try to
sail solo around the island of Great Britain. She planned the forty-day sailing trip as a benefit for her charity, Hilary’s Dream Trust, which helps disabled and disadvantaged adults learn to sail. She believes sailing can boost the spirits and confidence of people with disabilities.

Hilary’s belief in the healing power of sailing is based on personal experience. She has not had the use of her arms or legs since the age of fifteen because of a progressive neurological disorder. A quadriplegic with a degree from Oxford, she sails her custom-outfitted boat using a “sip and puff” system with three straws to operate the controls. One straw controls the tiller, while the others help her steer. She is the first quadriplegic sailor to solo-sail across the English Channel and around Britain.

Two years after our amazing experience in South Africa, I got an invitation to speak in Indonesia. The invitation came by e-mail from a gentleman in Perth whose nickname was Han-Han. He was of Chinese descent and pastor of a group of Indonesian churches in Australia.

Upon receiving his e-mail, I called Han-Han, and we spent hours on the phone discussing his proposal. He said my ministry was well known in Indonesia because of my DVDs and videos on the Internet. He offered to set up a speaking tour that would include appearances before tens of thousands of people each weekend. My parents and I prayed over his proposal, and they agreed that I should go, giving their blessings.

I never grow tired of seeing new parts of the world and meeting diverse people, experiencing their cultures and foods. Han-Han had put together a very demanding speaking schedule for me, and I began to have concerns about the rigorous timetable, especially
when I discovered that the caregiver they’d provided for me didn’t speak English. The language barrier became a huge problem when I developed a digestive virus. My caregiver’s inability to understand me and my lack of fingers to gesture and give hand signs led to some very frustrating situations.

My hosts staged a very thoughtful party to celebrate my twenty-third birthday, but my stomach and I were not exactly in the mood for the festivities. I was in so much pain at one point that I prayed for God’s help. As I did so, I envisioned Jesus on the cross, and my pain subsided. I then thanked God and enjoyed the rest of my party. The next day I received medical attention, and my condition improved dramatically before I returned to Australia.