Everything Is Possible

by Jen Bricker

  “Mama,” I wailed, “she called my baby uggy!”

  My mother took me aside and gently explained that every creature is beautiful in God’s eyes. “Your baby isn’t uggy,” she told me. “That lady was just having a bad day.”

  And that’s how I grew up—knowing I was beautiful and perfect in God’s eyes. Our physical presence is only part of who we are as human beings. What’s inside is just as important, and maybe more so. My parents took me into their home and their lives with the fullest of hearts and the biggest of faiths. They knew life wouldn’t always be easy for me. They knew I would experience frustration and pain and people who saw me in the way that lady saw my troll doll. They also knew they couldn’t always protect me. I had to learn to fend for myself. However, they believed God gave me to them for a reason, and they felt an enormous responsibility to prepare me as best they could to tackle whatever challenges came my way. Can’t was never an option. Fear was never an option. I would rather fall flat on my face than regret not trying. And I’m blessed with parents who were courageous enough to let me try, let me fail, and let me find my way and my trust in God.

  My parents were very open about where I came from and the fact that I was adopted. They never thought it should be a source of shame or embarrassment. Some kids are born to their parents. Others are chosen. My mom says that one day when I was little, I asked her, “Mommy, do you think my parents gave me up because I didn’t have legs?” She thought long and hard before answering.

  “Jennifer,” she said softly, “Mommy’s tummy was broken, and God found you a really nice lady with a nice tummy so she could hold you until I could get to you.”

  I never questioned it again. It made perfect sense to me, and honestly, it still does.

  BELIEVE IT!

  These are the things I’ve come to know and believe with all my heart and soul. Think about them. Consider how they might apply to your own life or situation, and use them wherever and whenever you see fit. I’m not going to “school” you or tell you what to do. That’s just not who I am (although my brothers might disagree since they think I can be pretty bossy). But I will tell you this: all the knowledge in the world won’t do you any good if you sit on it. When you learn something, you need to put it into play. Otherwise, it’s like holding the basketball and never taking that jump shot!

  Everything Happens for a Reason

  Trust that every experience—good, bad, or ugly—shapes the person you are for the better. Every mistake or misfortune is an opportunity to grow and learn. It’s a matter of seeing the bigger picture, the purpose you are working toward, and how each thing you go through is part of the journey. I was born without legs. I could choose to have a woe-is-me attitude, and I don’t think anyone would hold that against me. But I don’t . . . ever. Instead, I see my body as a huge advantage because it provides me with the opportunity to have an extremely unique perspective on life. It also allows God to work through me to inspire and motivate others.

  Sure, my life is more difficult in some aspects. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. But it would be too easy to go down that negative road. Instead, I prefer to focus on all the positives that having no legs has brought to my life: the opportunities, the people, the chance for my voice to be heard. And when I do think of all those things, the good overwhelmingly overshadows the bad. Bottom line: if I hadn’t been born without legs, I wouldn’t have the life I have now. And I certainly wouldn’t be writing this book!

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWO

  A Bundle of Energy

  * * *

  I can do all things [which He has called me to do] through Him who strengthens and empowers me [to fulfill His purpose—I am self-sufficient in Christ’s sufficiency; I am ready for anything and equal to anything through Him who infuses me with inner strength and confident peace.]

  —Philippians 4:13 AMP

  We had two mules growing up, Sady and Sam. I rode horses and mules, despite having no legs to put into the stirrups. I just figured out a way to plant my butt in the saddle and balance my weight, sure and steady. One time I was riding Sam and something spooked him, so he turned sharply to the right and directly into a clothesline. I ducked down, and then he jolted and started running toward the road and off our property. I fell off to the side and was hanging on to the horn of the saddle with only one hand. He kept galloping away at full speed down the street, but I refused to let go. I remember glancing back at my parents and brothers chasing after us in a panic.

  “Stop screaming!” I shouted at them. “Calm down!” I was cool as a cucumber.

  They eventually got Sam to slow down and hop back on the grass. When he finally came to a stop, I was still hanging on, stubborn as a mule myself. I gave my family a scare, but I was just fine—not even a scratch. Sam and I kind of liked our little escape act!

  I never ran out of steam as a child. Seriously, I was like the Energizer Bunny. Anyone given the task of getting me to slow down had a huge problem. Slow wasn’t one of my speeds, and frankly, I didn’t come with any brakes. My elementary school hired a lovely lady named Penny Carman to serve as my personal aide in kindergarten. I didn’t need anyone’s help, and I quickly informed Penny of this fact. No, I didn’t need assistance getting on and off the school bus. No, I wasn’t disabled. No, I didn’t need to make a scene everywhere I went. I could get around on my own perfectly fine, thank you. I might have given her a little bit of ’tude for a five-year-old, but Penny understood. She knew I desperately wanted to look and feel like a “regular” kid. The wheelchair wouldn’t cut it.

  “Can’t I just ride in a wagon?” I asked. “You can pull me in it!”

  So she made a few calls and got a sturdy little red wagon donated specifically for my use. I thought I looked pretty cool rolling in, and even better, all the kids wanted a ride.

  Recess was one of my favorite times of the school day because I craved being outside, playing in the rocks, swinging really high (too high) on the swings, and dangling from the monkey bars. I was always the last one standing on the merry-go-round, while all the other kids stumbled off, dizzy. By God’s good graces, I rarely wound up with more than a bump, bruise, or scratch. I would try anything once (but usually twice or three times). I seized any opportunity to get dirty and dusty. My poor mom would dress me in pretty girly outfits, and I’d come home caked in dirt like I’d been in a mud-wrestling match, not in a classroom. She also tied my hair into pigtails—no surprise I barely ever made it home with them intact. Hair was a big thing for my mom. As a child, she wore her hair short and hated it. No daughter of hers was going to have short hair! I had such long, thick hair that the ponytails or pigtails had to sit on the very top of my head so my hair wouldn’t get in my way. At one point, I remember my hair was longer than my whole body! If I would leave it down, it would drag on the ground and get leaves in it. I hated when my mom brushed it, and she had to chase me around to get me to stay still long enough to work out the tangles. I would cry, and she used to call our old cat, Mickey, over “to get the rats in my hair.” I would laugh, and suddenly the brushing felt a little more tolerable. But not much.

  I brought my lunch to school in a lunch box in the shape of Mickey Mouse’s head. Yep, Mickey’s head opened up to reveal PB&J sandwiches, Capri Sun juice pouches, and Fruit by the Foot snacks. My other favorite lunch included a bologna, cheese, and mayo sandwich. I can still taste it today if I close my eyes. For a little snip of a thing, I always seemed to be starving. I loved eating cereal late at night—Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Cap’n Crunch, Apple Jacks. I poured ridiculous globs of Hershey’s Syrup into milk and drank Nesquik chocolate milk by the gallon. I guess I burned all that sugar pretty quick and easy. Ah, youth!

  I remember having the biggest crush on JTT—Jonathan Taylor Thomas from the TV sitcom Home Improvement. I listened to NSYNC and the Backstreet Boys, but my very first CD was the Spice Girls—I was totally Posh Spice! I loved watching Nickelodeon, Hey Arnold!, Are You Afraid of the Dark?, and Saturday-morn
ing Looney Tunes cartoons. I was optimistic that Wile E. Coyote would catch the Road Runner at least one time. I was nuts about the Power Rangers and, of course, wanted to be the pink one.

  I was always a whirlwind: hard to pin down and hard to convince that anything was unsafe. I was all about pushing myself to test my limits and defying what people expected of me (not to mention gravity!). The only time I “settled down” was for carpet time, the time when Mrs. Butcher gathered our class around her on a tiny rug to talk about something.

  I loved, loved, loved Mrs. Butcher! She was small, about four foot nothing, with a warm, nurturing voice and a beautiful smile. I was captivated by her. I think I also loved just being physically close to everyone in that circle and checking their faces out and seeing their reactions (maybe this is where my love of people watching started). You can learn a lot about someone just from watching their eyes. I loved trying to figure out what made my classmates tick. I loved the idea that I could read their minds and secretly wished for that superpower.

  I remember we had this little brightly colored playhouse in the corner of our classroom, and we could climb in, on, and through it. I was always playing and hiding in it, even when I wasn’t supposed to. I also remember painting at the easel and all the colors and the water cups we’d use to rinse out the brushes. I loved mixing the thick, gooey paint to create new colors. It blew my mind when I learned that yellow and blue made green. Who knew?

  I was outgoing and chatty. Blake, a cool kid with a long rattail trailing down his back, was one of my first friends. We met in line at kindergarten registration and stayed friends through high school and long after. There was also Ashley. I remember one time she went to Mexico with her family on a vacation and came back tan with her hair in tiny little braids with beads on the ends. How amazing, I thought, to travel somewhere else in the world and come back changed by it. It’s funny how you realize things when you’re writing a book and reflecting on your life. Even as a kid, I had wanderlust. Staying in one place—or one small town—was not in the cards.

  I think most kids liked that I was fun-loving, adventurous, and always down for anything. I was also a talker. Basically, I never shut up. Every report card I ever got said the same thing: “Jen is so great, well-organized, uses her time wisely, works well with others . . . but she talks way too much in class!” I remember only one kid in kindergarten who didn’t instantly take to me. One day, out of nowhere, a girl in the yard at recess pushed me out of my wheelchair. I landed hard on some rocks and just stayed there, staring up at her. Frankly, I was really confused and wondered, Where did this come from? What did I do to make her so angry? The answer was nothing. I had done nothing. She had experienced a rough upbringing and had a lot going on at home—I got in her way. It wasn’t about me at all; it was about her. That taught me this valuable lesson: violence is seldom about the person it’s aimed at. She was in pain and needed to lash out. I was an easy target. She should have thought twice about that beforehand though, because all my friends rushed to my aid and jumped on her like white on rice!

  Imagine That

  My body wasn’t the only thing always in motion when I was a child; my mind raced as well. Once I mastered reading, I found a little place in our apple tree out back to squeeze my booty into. I’d climb up high, tuck myself between a few sturdy branches, and plow through book after book. Finishing one only fueled my desire to start another. It was my first “me time,” where I learned how important it was to find moments and places to connect with myself and my thoughts. Later it would become my time to pray and connect with God as well.

  * * *

  My VIPs

  My Kindergarten Teacher: Christie Butcher

  I remember Jennifer on the second day of kindergarten. She came in the room in a wheelchair, and her parents left with the rest of the parents. Her eyes were wide as she looked around—not nervously, but in wonder. I had a little art center set up, and she had this beautiful little dress on. I turned around for two seconds, and when I looked back, she had moved the chair over and climbed up on it then on top of a little desk. I have no idea how she did all that, but she did! She was covered head to toe in paint and was happy as a lark! I thought to myself, What do I do? What do I say? This certainly was not my plan! But it was obviously hers. So I said, “Jennifer, what are you doing?” She looked at me with those big eyes and replied, “I’m an artist, and I’m making a work of art.” I had to try to keep a straight face as we went over the class rules: we do things when the teacher says it’s time—not when you do.

  She was so strong-willed! She would take her legs off, and I’d ask, “Why did you do that?” Her response was, “Because I can run faster without them. They get in my way.” People at the school wanted to physically change the building for her, to put in ramps and an elevator chair. Jennifer would have none of it. “Mrs. Butcher, no! I don’t need it. I’m tough, and it doesn’t bother me.” That was the truth. She would come in with skinned elbows, and I’d say, “My goodness, Jennifer. What happened?” and she’d cheerfully tell the class she’d been roller skating the day before or playing softball. Bloody hands and elbows were a small price to pay.

  She never saw herself as having any limitations, and I didn’t either. She was bright, happy, helpful, and always interested and excited—Jennifer was the first to do anything, to try anything. She had that go-getter attitude, and her parents let her be who she was. There is something innate that pushes her forward—there always has been and there always will be.

  * * *

  I discovered The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis and became hooked—I couldn’t read those books fast enough and was drawn to the mystical creatures and breathtaking adventures. It was the idea of a foreign world that called to me, including magical, marvelous creatures that could fly and breathe underwater. And animals that could talk! Why, I wondered, does it have to be fantasy? Why can’t believing something is true actually make it that way? I thought so hard about these imaginary scenarios, it made my head hurt! I tried to picture what I would look like with a mermaid tail or fairy wings. What if I drank a magical elixir like Alice from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and it made me shrink or grow really tall? If I had Aladdin’s magic carpet, who would I invite to take a ride with me (and would my brothers fight if I chose one over the other)? Did fairy dust exist like in the movie Hook—and how could I get some from Tinker Bell?

  I was a little girl who got lost in these make-believe worlds because they showed me a realm where anything and everything was possible. They definitely planted seeds of curiosity. If horses could fly in Narnia, why couldn’t I?

  Fifth grade was a big year for me. My teacher was Mrs. Sweat. She had wild, curly brown hair with streaks of blonde and red, and she always had really long fingernails, so I loved the sound of her tapping on the keyboard: tick-tick-tick-tick. She carried her coffee cup with her everywhere, and it was stained with red lipstick. She buried her reading glasses in her epic hair most of the time, and she dressed uniquely. She had spelling bees in the classroom and always gave out awesome gifts as rewards for the winner (this was a good thing for me, because I was great at spelling). I have no idea why, but she let us sit on our classroom tables. Sitting on a table was something my mom never let any of us do at home—it simply wasn’t polite. But Mrs. Sweat had no issue with it.

  I met my best friend, Krine, that year. She was in Mr. Waldrop’s class, the class I thought had all the “troublemakers” in it. But it didn’t seem to bother me. Krine was a bit of a wild child, and I was a Goody Two-shoes, yet we clicked. She also was adopted, so we bonded over that, though her grandparents raised her. The girl was a pistol (still is!). When she got older, she loved to party and always had the hottest boyfriends. I, however, was a quirky, funny, slightly uptight teen who lectured people not to smoke, drink, or sleep around. Like I said, the good girl. As Krine and I got older and became extremely close in high school, her confidence gave me confidence. She taught me how to bust out of my sh
ell and not be self-conscious about anything. We were total opposites, and God gifted us with each other. We would talk and talk for hours, a lot of the time about my spiritual beliefs. Krine was never big on faith and was very vocal about it (as she was about everything), but I was equally vocal about how I felt about God. That’s the thing I love about our friendship, even to this day. We can be 100 percent raw, real, and truthful about how we feel about something, even if we don’t agree, and no one’s feelings get hurt. But God worked on her heart through our friendship, and she eventually became a believer.

  “I don’t know where I’d be without you,” she likes to tell me. But I honestly don’t know where I’d be without her. She taught me so much, loved me so deeply, stood up and fought for me. God brings people into our lives to help us learn, not just about the world, but about ourselves. Looking back, I see that Krine gave me my first opportunities to speak about my love for God. She helped me find my voice. When I think back on it, we seemed the most unlikely duo—but God knew better.

  Famous for the Right Reasons

  Fifth grade was also my year to soar—literally. It was the first time I went on a plane. I was asked to be on The Maury Povich Show (before it got a bit more salacious). It was my very first time outside our little community speaking about myself and my life. I had been on local TV, and a film crew had been shooting a documentary about me for four years. But for Maury, I had to go to New York City, and the producers flew us first class and sent a white stretch limo to pick us up from the airport and take us to the studio. I felt like a celebrity! I remember being backstage, wondering why they were making such a fuss over me. I was twelve and didn’t have a clue. I hadn’t yet figured out that God had made me this way so I could inspire others.