A Life Transformed by Grace

I want to take you back to 1961, sixty-one years ago. My mother went to her doctor and said she thought she might be pregnant again. During her previous pregnancies, she had suffered severe morning sickness, so the doctor offered her tablets called thalidomide for relief. Thankfully, my mom only took two of those tablets.

Eight and a half months later, I was born at the Jubilee Hospital in Belfast. When my brother was born, the midwife told my mother, "You've got a boy." When my sister arrived, she said, "You've got a girl." But when I came out of the womb, there was silence. The midwife and doctor didn't know what to say. I was wrapped in a blanket and taken away from my mother for many hours.

The Early Years

Back then, attitudes toward disability were so different from today. Children with disabilities were kept indoors, hidden from public view. My mother felt safer with the farm animals—they never asked difficult questions. Whenever she saw someone coming up the lane, her instinct was to pick me up and take me inside before anyone could see me.

But one day, a neighbor named Lily Bell came up the lane. When she saw me, she said, "Isn't Brian cute? Isn't he lovely?" My mother had never expected anyone to say anything nice about me. Lily Bell became the friend my mother desperately needed in those difficult months after my birth. She was a listener and a support when my mom needed a shoulder to cry on.

My parents were given good advice: they shouldn't do everything for me. They had to stand back and watch me struggle. My toes became my hands. From an early age, my parents encouraged me to hold a spoon or fork between my toes and lift my leg to my mouth to eat. In those early days, I got terrible cramps in my legs and couldn't understand why I had to do this. I'd look at the farm animals—they didn't have arms either. So as a young boy, I thought, "If it's good enough for the animals, it's good enough for me." I'd stick my head down into the plate and lick up all the food with my tongue.

Learning to Dress Myself

One of the biggest challenges was learning to dress myself. My parents were advised to put zips or Velcro on my shirts, but I had other ideas. I got a shirt with buttons and spent ages buttoning it up. Then I threw it up in the air, hoping it would open like a parachute. It never did.

But there was one word I was never allowed to use: "can't." Only "try, try, try." So I kept trying. I'd put the shirt over the bed, open it at the bottom, stick my head through, and shake, shake, shake until I got it on. Half the time the buttons ended up on the back instead of the front, but one day I discovered that if I did a big swish, the buttons came to the front.

Getting My First Arms

When I was two and three months old, I was told I would get artificial arms. I thought I was going to get real arms like my brother and sister. My parents took me to Edinburgh's Princess Margaret Rose Hospital. They said goodbye, and I thought they'd be back soon. But I wouldn't see them for ten weeks.

I remember lying in my hospital bed at night, my pillow soaking with tears, wondering if Mom and Dad would ever come back. When the engineers came with my first pair of arms, they felt heavy and strange on my shoulders. I actually fell over many times because of how wide they were. I had to learn to walk again to find my balance.

The arms worked through pressure pads. As I moved my shoulders up and down, the arms would move. A strap kept them on, and when I breathed in and out, hooks would open and close. This meant that when I was feeding myself with a spoon, I'd sometimes breathe out at the wrong moment and the spoon would fall.

After ten weeks, my parents came back. When I saw my father, I ran over and jumped into his arms. But I was angry—where had he been for the last ten weeks? My mother later told me that when she first saw me in the hospital with those arms on, she had to leave the room because she was crying so hard. She wondered if they had done the right thing. But that day, I heard the words I longed to hear: "Brian, we've come to take you home."

School and Separation

When I was six and a half years old, my family took a holiday to the Isle of Man. Three and a half years later, we moved there permanently. My three siblings got into primary school easily, but my parents took me to four different schools. Every head teacher said the same thing: there were no facilities for me on the Isle of Man.

My parents had to make tough decisions. I would attend a special needs school in Belfast, which meant I was eight and a half years old when I left my family. For the next nine years, I would be away for nine months every year—only home for Christmas, Easter, and the eight weeks in summer.

At school, I couldn't cheat with my metal arms anymore. I had to wear them seven or eight hours a day, Monday through Friday. My shoulders came out in blisters, welts, cuts, and bruises. I couldn't understand why I had to endure all this pain—physical, emotional, and psychological—every single day.

People sometimes ask me if I was angry as a boy. The answer is yes. The children in Ballyclare knew me since I was a baby and accepted me. But when I went home in the summers, many children I'd never met before would laugh at me, tease me, knock me over, and say cruel things. I couldn't understand why they could be so cruel to another child.

A Turning Point

When I was ten or eleven years old, I remember saying to God, "I don't like you, God, because you made me different from the other children. Why do I have these metal arms?" My lowest point came when I thought, "I wish I was never born." I had no hope for the future if I was always going to struggle this way.

But 1974 became what I call the glorious year of my life. A teacher came into the classroom and said, "Brian, the physiotherapists and occupational therapists have all decided that you no longer have to wear your metal arms." I couldn't believe it. That day, the teacher took the arms off my shoulders, put them in a cupboard, and locked the door. I asked for the key because I thought three months later they'd make me put them back on. It's been forty-eight years since I last saw those metal arms.

Finding Jesus

Even better happened in my thirteenth year. At boarding school, there were forty of us out of 220 children, and it was compulsory to go to church on Sunday mornings. I was angry with God and didn't want to go. But I had a friend named Alan who had cerebral palsy. His arms would flail about uncontrollably, yet he went to church not just on Sunday mornings but also on Sunday nights, which was optional.

One Sunday night, Alan came back from church excited. He said, "Brian, guess what happened to me tonight at church? I became a Christian! Jesus forgave me of all my sins!" I thought, "That's good for you," but I wasn't interested in Alan's God. Yet I noticed Alan had a joy and peace I'd never seen before. He prayed a lot, and sometimes when I heard him mention my name, I'd boil up inside and tell him to stop praying for me. But he prayed even more.

Over about eight months, the Holy Spirit began to convict me. Alan had something I didn't have, and I didn't know how to get it. One night about ten o'clock, I was sitting beside my bed and I said to Alan, "Alan, I'll never be good enough to get into God's heaven."

Alan replied, "Brian, you're right. You'll never be good enough. The Bible says in Romans 3:23 that we have all sinned and fallen short of God's righteousness. Not one of us can get into heaven by good works alone."

"The only way you can have a relationship with God is through Jesus," he said. "Jesus says, 'I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one can have a relationship with God except through me.'"

Alan explained that Jesus died on the cross two thousand years ago, taking my punishment for sin. He rose again physically from the dead on the third day. He asked me if I understood repentance—a complete change of mind, heart, attitudes, and behavior.

That night I cried out, "God, would you forgive me for all the wrong things I've done? Forgive me for knocking people out, for the Glasgow kisses, for cursing you and blaspheming you, for being so angry with you. Lord, I'm sorry. Forgive me. Come into my heart tonight and stay." And that night, I knew I was forgiven and accepted. My heavenly Father loved me unconditionally, just as my mom and dad did.

The Gift of Peace

I had a peace that night that I'd never experienced before. I could hardly sleep. In the days to come, I realized through Bible studies with other Christians that I wasn't to knock people out anymore—I had to love them and encourage them. Over time, God did a work of grace in my heart.

At thirteen, I could only read at a six or seven-year-old level. Yet by the time I was seventeen, I had passed seven O-levels. None of my teachers had any hope for me. I believe Jesus helped me apply myself to my studies and calmed me during exams.

But between seventeen and twenty-three, I sadly drifted away from God. I went to college in Coventry, didn't go to church, didn't have fellowship with other Christians, wasn't reading my Bible or praying. God became a spare wheel—something for emergencies only. I received compensation money for my disability and got caught up in the stock market. I lost some money, but more importantly, I lost my joy.

Coming Back to God

In 1984, an evangelist knocked on my door in Douglas and asked if I had a Bible. I said I did but hadn't looked at it for two or three years. He asked me to promise I'd read it. I didn't keep that promise that night, but about four or five days later, the Holy Spirit convicted me. I opened my Bible and started reading Joshua 14, about Caleb. One word hit me right between the eyes: wholeheartedness.

I realized I hadn't been even quarter-hearted for God over the last six years. The Bible talks about the fruit of the Spirit—love, joy, peace, kindness, gentleness, faithfulness, goodness, self-control—but there was no evidence of these in my life.

On April 30, 1984, I sat beside my bed and said, "God, would you forgive me for the last six or seven years? No one would have known I was a follower of Jesus. Lord, would you help me not to be ashamed of you? Could you give me a bit of Caleb's spirit to be bold and courageous to talk about you to others?"

The Lord led me to a little church in Douglas where the people loved, nurtured, and encouraged me in my faith.

God's Faithfulness

When I was in college, I got twelve driving lessons and passed my test first time. I had a special rig on the floor—when I turned with my toes, the steering wheel turned too. There was a little remote control-like box that controlled the lights, wipers, indicators, and washers. The word "but" was never allowed—only "try, try, try."

I used to wonder if I would ever get married. Would girls see beyond the man with no arms and see me as a person? My heart was broken several times in my twenties. The Lord kept showing me that certain women weren't right for me.

Then in 1997, May came to work on the Isle of Man. She came to my church, and when I saw her, my heart was gone. But I was shy—I didn't share my feelings. After eighteen months, I heard she was being transferred back to Belfast. I prayed about it, and the Lord said, "Less talking, more walking." So I got on the boat to Belfast with a lovely bouquet of flowers.

When I finally told May what was in my heart, she said she was falling in love with me too. I was thirty-eight years old and thought love had passed me by. But the Lord had kept saying, "Trust me. I love you." There's a lovely verse in 1 Peter 5:7 that says, "Cast all your cares on Jesus, for he cares for you."

In 2000, I not only got married to May in August, but in February of that year, I published my life story, "Look No Hands."

Why I Wrote My Story

Seven years earlier, in 1993, I saw a documentary showing children in Brazil born without arms and legs due to thalidomide. Tears came down my face. I cried out to God, "How can this be? Haven't we learned from the 1960s when ten thousand babies were born this way?"

The Lord spoke to my heart and said, "Brian, I want you to write a book. I want you to write your story, and I want all the proceeds to help children in Brazil." I asked for three months of paid leave and sat beside my computer, typing with my two big toes. I typed 105,000 words—not in three months but in nearly nine months.

I sent the manuscript to publishing houses in London, and they kept sending it back. One publisher said, "We don't even know where the Isle of Man is." I was knocked down but not knocked out. I felt perplexed and confused, but the Bible says, "Do not lose heart; do not give up."

Finally, a large publishing house called Hodder & Stoughton said, "Brian, we hear your passion and your longing to help others." "Look No Hands" was published in February 2000. We praise God that the book is now in its twenty-second reprint. God has touched so many hearts through it.

Helping Others Around the World

May and I have traveled to over thirty-four or thirty-five countries sharing my story. We've helped 146 families in Brazil with children who have disabilities. One of the first girls we helped, Soliana, has no arms or knees. We were able to buy her a specially adapted wheelchair.

We've helped children like Jonathan, who—just like me—has no arms. He learned to type with his five toes, whereas I type with two.

We bought houses for some families. For 900 pounds, we bought a little house for one family. It may have looked like a garage, but for them it was a mansion. Before that, they were living in a shack made of tin. Now they had their own secure roof and their own little door. There were many tears of joy that day.

Later, through a partnership with Johnny Erickson Tada's ministry "Through the Roof," we've raised money to distribute almost 1,300 wheelchairs—refurbished NHS wheelchairs sent from Parkhurst Prison—to children in African nations, Kosovo, Ukraine, and now India. We've also raised money to distribute almost 900 solar-powered Bibles at twenty pounds each—almost 18,000 pounds—so disabled children in Africa can hear stories about Jesus.

Recognition and Final Thoughts

About two or three years ago, I received an email from the Home Office. Inside was a message from Her Majesty the Queen, saying that friends throughout the United Kingdom had put my name forward for recognition. In November 2021, May and I went to Windsor Castle and received an honor from Princess Anne on behalf of the Queen. We were very humbled and touched.

May and I are a team—B&M, Brian and May. I couldn't have traveled to six continents around the world sharing my story without her.

I want to close with Psalm 139:14, which says:

"I praise you, God, because I am fearfully and wonderfully made."

When I came out of the womb sixty-one years ago, God didn't go, "Oops, I've made a mistake." God knew. He also knew about the pharmaceutical company that cut corners in their research. But God has turned it around. Joseph said to his brothers, "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good." That's what God has done in my life.

For the first thirteen years, I thought I could run away from God's presence. But thank God He caught up with me through my friend Alan, who had the courage to tell me what I needed to hear: that Jesus loved me.

My challenge to each of you is this: Are you complete in Jesus? Do you know Him—not just knowledge about Him, but a real relationship with Him? If not, I encourage you to get to know this wonderful Jesus and to love Him too.

God bless you.