Unseen Arms: Reaching Out

Born without arms or legs and abandoned by her birth parents, Amy Brooks has an amazing story of faith, hope, and accomplishment.

Said Karen Lambert, “The old saying goes, ‘when life hands you lemons, make lemonade.’ This does not apply to Amy. Her story is more like, ‘when life hands you lemons, make grape juice, and sit back and watch the world ask how you did it.’ I am lucky I know Amy and her family for as far back as I can remember but not well enough to have known the intimate details shared in this story. Certain parts I cried, others I laughed until I cried. Amy takes us through the journey of her life and allows us to see a very private side of this humble, beautiful, intelligent angel sent from heaven to bless all who encounter her. I can honestly say from the bottom of my heart, this is one of the most heartwarming stories you will ever read.

Sour Arrow excerpt:

Show of hands if you have them: how many of you have read my first book, straight up titled Unseen Arms? If you have, you likely remember the fundraiser.

Question: What happened to the arrow?

Remember that fundraising arrow, how it not only hit the target, but also passed through and––metaphorically and in reality––kept going?      

Remember its figurative and literal sweetness from the untold number of chocolate bars that were sold to purchase my service dog and best friend, Jade?

What happened to that arrow?

Where did it go?

As you think it over, you may want to put your arm down, so you don’t look silly if you’re reading in public.

But what happened to that arrow?

Granted, it’s an imaginary one and the question is hypothetical, but where do you suppose it would have gone if that arrow were real?

May I offer a very tangible answer to a suppositious inquiry?

Somewhere along the way, that arrow became contaminated, and it came back to me, bitter and deadly.   

That arrow––that sweet, precious, lucrative projectile––that spiraling dart of goodness and hope––somehow it returned as a poisonous spear.

Its target was Jade.

I never said goodbye.

I have often regretted that.

I could have nuzzled her a final time. I could have whispered my gratitude. I could have reminded her of how much she meant to me, of how much I loved her, of how beautiful she was.  Perhaps I could have managed a fake smile for her green eyes to behold before forever closing them.

But I didn’t.

She was gone.

Sour Arrow

You can bend it, break it, or whittle it down––only to find that it reduces to one simple word, the meaning of which I had never before experienced.

Sorrow