Life Without Limits (4 page)

Everyone goes through times when they feel excluded, alienated, or unloved. We all have our insecurities. Most kids fear they’ll be mocked because their noses are too big or their hair is too curly. Adults fear that they won’t be able to pay the bills or that they will fail to live up to expectations.

You will face moments of doubt and fear. We all do. Feeling down is natural; it is part of being perfectly human. Such feelings pose a danger only if you allow negative thoughts to stick around instead of just letting them wash over you.

When you trust that you have blessings—talents, knowledge, love—to share with others, you will begin the journey to self acceptance even if your gifts are not yet apparent. Once you begin that walk, others will find you and walk with you.

I found the path to my purpose while trying to reach out to my classmates. If you’ve ever had to be the new kid in the corner, eating lunch all by yourself, I’m sure you understand that being the new kid in the corner in a wheelchair could be all the more difficult. Our moves from Melbourne to Brisbane, to the United States, and back to Brisbane forced me to make adjustments that added to my challenges.

My new classmates often assumed I was mentally as well as physically disabled. They usually kept their distance unless I summoned the courage to strike up conversations in the lunchroom or in the hallway. The more I did this, the more they accepted that I really wasn’t an alien dropped into their midst.

Sometimes, you see, God expects you to help out with the heavy lifting. You can wish. You can dream. You can hope. But you must
also act upon those wishes, those dreams, and those hopes. You have to stretch beyond where you are to reach where you want to be. I wanted people at my school to know that I was just like them on the inside, but I had to go outside my comfort zone to do that. Reaching out to them in this way brought out awesome rewards.

In time these discussions with classmates about coping in a world made for arms and legs led to invitations for me to speak to student groups, church youth groups, and other teen organizations. There’s a wonderful truth that’s so central to living. I find it extraordinary that schools do not teach it. The essential truth is this: Each of us has some gift—a talent, a skill, a craft, a knack—that gives us pleasure and engages us, and the path to our happiness often lies within that gift.

If you are still searching, still trying to figure out where you fit in and what fulfills you, I suggest you do a self-assessment. Sit down with a pen and paper or at a computer and make a list of your favorite activities. What do you find yourself drawn to do? What can you spend hours doing, losing track of time and place, and still want to do it again and again? Now, what is it that other people see in you? Do they compliment your talent for organization or your analytical skills? If you’re not really sure what others see in you, ask your family and friends what they think you are best at.

These are the clues to finding your life’s path, a path that lies secreted within you. We all arrive on this earth naked and full of promise. We come packed with presents waiting to be opened. When you find something that so fully engages you that you would do it for free all day every day, then you are on course. When you find someone who is willing to pay you for it, then you have a career.

At first my informal little talks to other young people were a way to reach out to them, to show that I was just like them. I was focused inward, grateful for a chance to share my world and to
make connections. I knew what speaking did for me, but it took a while to realize that what I had to say might have an impact on others.

One day I gave a talk to a group of about three hundred teenage students, probably the biggest group I’d ever addressed. I was sharing my feelings and my faith when something wonderful happened. Now and then students or teachers would shed tears when I told them about challenges I’d faced, but during this particular talk a girl in the audience completely broke down sobbing. I wasn’t sure what had happened—perhaps I’d triggered some terrible memory for her. I was amazed when she then summoned the courage to raise her hand to speak, despite her sadness and tears. Bravely, she asked if she could come forward and give me a hug. Wow! I was floored.

I invited her up, and she wiped away her tears as she walked to the front of the room. She then gave me this huge hug, one of the best of my life. By then nearly everyone in the room was teary-eyed, including me. But I lost it entirely when she whispered in my ear:

“Nobody has ever told me that I’m beautiful the way that I am. No one has ever said that they love me,” she said. “You’ve changed my life, and you are a beautiful person too.”

Up to that point, I was still constantly questioning my own worth. I’d thought of myself as someone who simply gave little talks as a way of reaching out to other teens. First of all she called me “beautiful” (which didn’t hurt), but more than anything she gave me that first real inkling that my speaking could help others. This girl changed my perspective.
Maybe I really do have something to contribute
, I thought.

Experiences like that helped me realize that being “different” just might help me contribute something special to the world. I found that people were willing to listen to me speak because
they had only to look at me to know I’d faced and overcome my challenges. I did not lack credibility. Instinctively, people felt I might have something to say that could help them with their own problems.

God has used me to reach people in countless schools, churches, prisons, orphanages, hospitals, stadiums, and meeting halls. Even better, I’ve hugged thousands of people in face-to-face encounters that allow me to tell them how very precious they are. It’s also my pleasure to assure them that He does have a plan for their lives. God took my unusual body and invested me with the ability to uplift hearts and encourage spirits, just as He says in the Bible: “For I know the plans I have for you … plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Life can seem cruel, no doubt about it. Sometimes the bad breaks pile up and you just can’t see a way out. You may not like the sound of that, but maybe you still aren’t convinced that it can happen for you right now.

The fact is that as mere mortals, you and I have limited vision. We can’t possibly see what lies ahead. That’s both the bad news and the good news. My encouragement to you is that what lies ahead may be far better than anything you ever thought possible. But it’s up to you to get over it, get up, and show up!

Whether your life is good and you want to make it better, or whether it’s so bad you just want to stay in bed, the fact is that what happens from this very moment is up to you and your Maker. True, you can’t control everything. Too often bad stuff happens to people no matter how good they are. It may not be fair that you weren’t born into a life of ease, but if that is your reality, you have to work with it.

You may stumble. Others may doubt you. When I focused on
public speaking as a career path, even my parents questioned my decision.

“Don’t you think that an accounting career, with your own practice, would be more appropriate for your circumstances and provide a better future?” my dad asked.

Yes, from most perspectives a career in accounting probably made more sense for me because I do have a talent for number-crunching. But from an early age I’ve had this absolute passion for sharing my faith and my hope of a better life. When you find your true purpose, passion follows. You absolutely live to pursue it.

If you are still searching for your path in life, know that it’s okay to feel a little frustration. This is a marathon, not a sprint. Your yearning for more meaning is a sign that you are growing, moving beyond limitations, and developing your talents. It’s healthy to look at where you are from time to time and to consider whether your actions and priorities are serving your highest purpose.

At fifteen years old I made my life right with God, asking Him for forgiveness and for direction. I asked Him to light my path of purpose. After being baptized four years later, I began speaking about my faith to others and knew I had found my calling. My career as a speaker and evangelist grew into a global ministry, and just a few years ago, quite unexpectedly, something happened that lifted my heart even higher and confirmed for me that I’d chosen the right path.

Nothing felt out of the ordinary on that Sunday morning when I rolled into a California church for a speaking engagement. Unlike most of my appearances, which happened in far-off corners of the world, this one was close to home. The Knott Avenue Christian Church in Anaheim is just down the road from my house.

As I entered in my wheelchair, the choir was beginning its opening
song, and the service was starting. I took a seat on a bench at the front as the congregation filled the large church, and I began to mentally prepare for my speech. This would be my first time talking to the people at Knott Avenue, and I didn’t expect they knew much about me, so I was surprised to hear someone calling, “Nick! Nick!” over the singing voices.

I didn’t recognize the voice and was not even sure that I was the “Nick” being summoned. But when I turned around, I saw an older gentleman waving directly at me.

“Nick! Over here!” he shouted again.

Now that he had my attention, he pointed to a younger man standing next to him in the packed church who appeared to be holding a child. There were so many people crowded together that at first I could see only a flash of the toddler’s bright eyes, a thatch of shiny brown hair, and a big gap-toothed baby smile.

Then the man held the little boy higher above the crowd so I could see him more clearly. The full view sent a wave of feeling through me so intense that (if I’d had them) it would have made my knees buckle.

The bright-eyed boy was just like me. No arms. No legs. He even had a little left foot like mine. Though he was only nineteen months old, he was
exactly
like me. I understood why the two men were so eager for me to see him. As I later learned, this boy’s name is Daniel Martinez, the son of Chris and Patty.

I was supposed to be preparing for my speech, but seeing Daniel—seeing myself in that child—triggered such a swirl of feelings that I couldn’t think straight. I first felt compassion for him and his family. But then sharp memories and anguished emotions bombarded me as I was vividly brought back to how I had felt at about that age, and I realized that he must have been going through the same things.

I know how he feels
, I thought.
I’ve already been through what he will experience
. Looking at Daniel, I felt this incredible connection
and a surge of empathy for him. Old feelings of insecurity, frustration, and loneliness flooded back, pulling the air out of my lungs. I felt like I was baking under the stage lights. I felt woozy. It wasn’t a panic attack exactly; the vision of this boy in front of me touched the boy inside me.

Then I had a revelation that brought a sense of calm.
When I was growing up, I had no one who shared my situation who could help guide me, but now Daniel has someone. I can help him. My parents can help his parents. He doesn’t have to go through what I went through. Perhaps I can spare him some of the pain that I had to endure
. Here I could clearly see that as difficult as it might be to live without limbs, my life still had value to be shared. There was nothing I lacked that would prevent me from making a difference in the world. My joy would be to encourage and inspire others. Even if I didn’t change this planet as much as I would like, I’d still know with certainty that my life was not wasted. I was and am determined to make a contribution. You should believe in your power to do the same.

Life without meaning has no hope. Life without hope has no faith. If you find a way to contribute, you will find your meaning, and hope and faith will naturally follow and accompany you into your future.

My visit to the Knott Avenue church was intended to inspire and encourage others. Though seeing a boy so much like me floating over the crowd initially threw me off, he was a powerful confirmation of the difference I could make in the lives of many people, especially those facing major challenges, such as Daniel and his parents.

This encounter was so compelling that I had to share what I was seeing and feeling with the congregation, so I invited Daniel’s parents to bring him up to the podium.

“There are no coincidences in life,” I said. “Every breath, every
step is ordained by God. It was no coincidence that another boy with no arms and no legs is in this room.”

As I said that, Daniel flashed a radiant smile, captivating everyone in the church. The congregation fell silent as his father held him upright and alongside me. The sight of us together, a young man and an infant with shared challenges, beaming at each other, set off weeping and sniffling in the pews around us.

I don’t cry easily, but as everyone around me unleashed a flood of tears, I couldn’t help but get swept up too. At home that night, I remember saying not a single word. I kept thinking of this child and how he must be feeling just what I’d felt at his age. I thought also of how he would feel as his awareness grew, as he encountered the cruelties and rejection I’d experienced. I was sad for him and the suffering he likely would endure, but then I was heartened because I knew my parents and I could ease his burden and even light hope in his heart. I couldn’t wait to tell my parents because I knew they would be eager to meet this boy and to give him and his parents hope. My mum and dad had been through so much and they’d had no one to guide them. I knew they would be grateful for the opportunity to help this family.

It had been a surreal, awestruck moment for me. I had been speechless (a rarity), and when Daniel looked up at me, my heart had melted. I still thought of myself as a kid, and having never seen anybody else like me, I badly wanted to know I wasn’t alone, that I wasn’t different from every single person on the planet. I felt that no one really understood what I was going through or could comprehend my pain or my loneliness.