Life Without Limits (7 page)

I was excited that there were scientists and inventors intent on providing me with limbs someday. But I became all the more determined to do whatever I could without waiting for someone else to find something that would improve my life—I had to find my own answers. Even today I welcome anyone who helps me, whether it is opening a door for my wheelchair or giving me a drink from a glass of water. We need to take responsibility for our own happiness and success. Your friends and family may reach out to you in times of need. Be grateful for that. Welcome their efforts, but keep pushing on your own too. The more effort you put into it, the more opportunities you create.

Sometimes you may feel like you are just about to realize your goal only to fall short. That is no reason to quit. Defeat happens only to those who refuse to try again. I still believe that one day I will be able to walk and lift and hold utensils like a regular person. It will be a miracle when that happens, whether God does it on His own or through his agents on earth. The technology for robotic limbs is advancing rapidly. Someday I may be able to wear prosthetic arms and legs that work efficiently, but for now I’m happy to be just as I am.

Often the very challenges that we think are holding us back are,
in fact, making us stronger. You should be open to the possibility that today’s handicap might be tomorrow’s advantage. I’ve come to see my lack of limbs as an asset. Men, women, and children who can’t speak my language only have to see me to know that I have overcome many challenges. My lessons, they know, did not come easily.

When I tell my audiences to hold on for better days, I speak from experience. You can believe and trust in what I say because I have been there. At one point in my life I gave up hope.

This low point in my mostly happy childhood came around the age of ten, when negative thoughts overwhelmed me. No matter how optimistic and determined and inventive I tried to be, there were some tasks I just could not do. Some of them were simple, everyday activities. It really bothered me, for example, that I couldn’t grab a soda out of the refrigerator like every other kid. I couldn’t feed myself, and I hated to ask other people to do it. I felt bad that they had to interrupt their meals to help me.

Other, bigger issues haunted me in this period of my life:
Would I ever find a wife to love me? How would I provide for her and our children? How could I protect them if they were threatened?

Most people have such thoughts. You probably have wondered at some point whether you would ever have a lasting relationship, a secure job, or a safe place to live. It is normal and healthy to look ahead because that is how we develop a vision for our lives. The problem comes when negative thoughts block your vision for the future and cloud your mind. I pray and I remind myself of the word of God, who helps me know that He is with me. He never leaves me. He hasn’t forgotten me. He will cause even the worst things to come together for the good. I remind myself to hold on to the promises
of God, no matter what I see on the outside. I know that God is good. If He allows something bad to happen, I may not understand, but I can hold on to His goodness.

As my eleventh birthday approached, I entered the tricky adolescent stage when our brains rewire and strange chemicals flow through out bodies. Other boys and girls my age were starting to pair up, which added to my growing sense of alienation.
Would any girl ever want a boyfriend who couldn’t hold her hand or dance with her?

Without even being aware of it, I allowed those dark thoughts and negative feelings to burden my spirit with growing frequency. Often they came creeping into my mind late at night when I couldn’t sleep, or when I was tired after a long day at school. You know the feeling; you are so weary and out of sorts that the whole world seems to be weighing on your shoulders. We all experience down times, especially when lack of sleep, illness, and other challenges make us vulnerable.

No one is happy and perky one hundred percent of the time. Your more somber moods are natural. They serve a purpose too. According to recent psychological studies, a darker mood can make you look at your work more critically and analytically. That outlook is helpful when you are involved in tasks like balancing your checkbook, figuring out your taxes, or editing a paper. As long as you are aware and in control of your emotions, negative thoughts can produce positive consequences. Only when you let your emotions control your actions do you risk spiraling down into depression and self-destructive behaviors.

The key is to refuse to be overwhelmed or swept away by negative emotions or feelings of depression. Fortunately, you have that
power to adjust your attitude. When you detect negative thoughts running through your mind, you can choose to hit the “off” switch. Acknowledge them and understand their source, but stay focused on the solutions instead of on the problems. I remember from Bible class a picture of the “whole armor of God” with the breastplate of righteousness, the belt of truth, the shield of faith, the sword of the Spirit, and the helmet of salvation. I’d learned that those were all the weapons that a Christian boy would ever need. I see the word of God as a sword to fight negative thoughts. The sword is the Bible. You also hold up the shield of faith to defend yourself.

At that critical age of adolescence when self-esteem and self-image are so important, I let my worries and fears overtake me. Everything that was wrong with me overpowered all that was right.

I drew the short straw. How will I ever lead a normal life with a job, a wife, and kids? I will always be a burden to those around me
.

I was never crippled until I lost hope. Believe me, the loss of hope is far worse than the loss of limbs. If you have ever experienced grief or depression, you know just how bad despair can be. More than ever I felt angry, hurt, and confused.

I prayed, asking God why He couldn’t give me what He’d given everyone else.
Did I do something wrong? Is that why you don’t answer my prayers for arms and legs? Why won’t you help me? Why do you make me suffer?

Neither God nor my doctors could explain to me why I’d been born without arms or legs. The lack of an explanation, even a scientific one, only made me feel worse. I kept thinking that if there was some reason, spiritual, medical, or otherwise, it might be easier to handle. The pain might not be so great.

Many times I felt so low that I refused to go to school. Self-pity hadn’t been a problem before. I had been constantly striving to overcome my disability, to do normal activities, to play as other kids played. Most of the time I impressed my parents, my teachers, and my classmates with my determination and self-sufficiency. Yet I harbored hurt inside.

I’d been raised as a spiritual kid. I’d always gone to church and believed in prayer and God’s healing power. I was so into Jesus that when we had dinner, I’d smile, thinking of Him with us there at the table, sitting in our empty chair while we ate. I prayed for arms and legs. For a while I expected to wake up some morning with arms and legs. I’d settle for just getting one arm or leg at a time. When they did not appear, I grew angry with God.

I thought I’d figured out God’s purpose in creating me, which was to be His partner in a miracle so the world would recognize that He was real. I would pray: “God, if you gave me arms and legs, I would go around the world and share the miracle. I would go on national television and tell everyone what had happened, and the world would see the power of God.” I was telling Him that I got it and was willing to follow through on my end. I remember praying,
God, I know You made me this way so You could give me arms and legs and the miracle would prove to people Your power and love
.

As a child, I learned that God speaks to us in many ways. I felt he might answer me by placing a feeling in my heart. But there was only silence. I felt nothing.

My parents would tell me, “Only God knows why you were born this way.” Then I’d ask God, and He wouldn’t tell me. These unfulfilled appeals and unanswered questions hurt me deeply because I had felt so close to God before.

I had other challenges to face. We were moving a thousand miles north, up the coast to Queensland, away from my huge family.
My protective cocoon of aunts and uncles and twenty-six cousins was being stripped away. The stress of moving was wearing on my parents too. Despite their assurances and their love and support, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was a tremendous burden to them.

It was as though I’d put on dark blinders that prevented me from seeing any light in my life. I couldn’t see how I could ever be of use to anyone. I felt I was just a mistake, a freak of nature, God’s forgotten child. My dad and mum did their best to tell me otherwise. They read to me from the Bible. They took me to church. My Sunday school teachers taught that God loves us all. But I couldn’t move beyond my pain and anger.

There were brighter moments. In Sunday school I felt joy when I joined my classmates singing, “ ‘Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world, red and yellow black and white, they are precious in His sight, and Jesus loves the little children of the world.’ ” Surrounded by people who supported and loved me, I took that hymn to heart. It comforted me.

I wanted to believe that He cared for me deeply, but then when I was tired or not feeling well, the dark thoughts would creep in. I’d sit in my wheelchair on the playground wondering:
If God really loves me like all the other children, then why didn’t He give me arms and legs? Why did He make me so different from His other children?

Those thoughts began to intrude even during the day and in normally happy circumstances. I’d been struggling with feelings of despair and the sense that my life was always going to be difficult. God didn’t seem to answer my prayers.

One day I sat on the high kitchen countertop, watching my loving mum cook dinner, which I usually found reassuring and relaxing. But suddenly these negative thoughts overcame me. It struck me that I didn’t want to stick around and be a burden to her. I had the urge to throw myself off the counter. I looked down.
I tried to work out what angle I should use to make sure I snapped my neck and killed myself.

But I talked myself out of doing it, mostly because if I failed to kill myself, I’d have to explain why I was in such despair. The fact that I came so close to hurting myself that way frightened me. I should have told my mother what I’d been thinking, but I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to scare her.

I was young, and even though I was surrounded by people who loved me, I didn’t reach out and tell them the depth of my feelings. I had resources but didn’t use them, and that was a mistake.

If you feel overcome by dark moods, you don’t have to handle it yourself. Those who love you won’t feel burdened. They
want
to help you. If you feel you can’t confide in them, reach out to professional counselors at school, at work, in your community. You are not alone. I was not alone. I see that now, and I don’t want you to ever come as close as I did to making a fatal mistake.

But at that time I was becoming swept up in hopelessness. I decided that to end my pain, I had to end my life.

One afternoon after school I asked my mother if she could put me in the bath to soak for a while. I asked her to shut the door when she left the bathroom. Then I put my ears under water. In the silence, very heavy thoughts ran through my mind. I had planned in advance what I wanted to do.

If God will not take away my pain and if there is no purpose for me in this life … if I’m here only to experience rejection and loneliness … I’m a burden to everyone and I have no future … I should just end it now
.

As I mentioned when I described learning to swim, I’d float on my back by filling my lungs with air. Now I tried to gauge how
much air to keep in my lungs before I flipped over.
Do I hold my breath before I turn over? Do I take a full deep breath, or do I just do half? Should I just empty my lungs and flip over?

I finally just turned and plunged my face under water. Instinctively, I held my breath. Because my lungs were strong, I stayed afloat for what seemed like a long time.

When my air gave out, I flipped back over.

I can’t do this
.

But the dark thoughts persisted:
I want to get out of here. I just want to disappear
.

I blew most of the air out of my lungs and flipped over again. I knew I could hold my breath for at least ten seconds, so I counted down
 … 10 … 9 … 8 … 7 … 6 … 5 … 4 … 3 …

As I counted, an image flashed in my mind of my dad and mum standing at my grave crying. I saw my seven-year-old brother, Aaron, crying too. They were all weeping, saying it was their fault, that they should have done more for me.

I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them feeling responsible for my death for the rest of their lives.

I’m being selfish
.

I flipped back over and drew a deep breath. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave my family with such a burden of loss and guilt.

But my anguish was unbearable. That night in our shared bedroom, I told Aaron, “I’m planning to commit suicide when I’m twenty-one.”

I thought I could stick it out through high school and university maybe, but I couldn’t see myself beyond that. I didn’t feel like I could ever get a job or get married like other men. What woman would want to marry me? So the age of twenty-one seemed like the end of the road for me. At my age, of course, it also seemed like a long time away.

“I’m telling Dad you said that,” my little brother replied.

I told him not to tell anyone and closed my eyes to sleep. The
next thing I knew, I felt the weight of my father as he sat down on my trundle bed.

“What is this about you wanting to kill yourself?” he asked.

In a warm and reassuring tone, he talked to me about all the good things awaiting me. As he spoke, he combed my hair with his fingers. I always loved it when he did that.