I’ve been to many of the poorest slums in all corners of the world. This was one of the worst as far as the environment， but it was also one of the most heart-warming in spirit. We squeezed nearly 150 people into a very small concrete building that served as their church. As I began speaking， I was struck by the joy and happiness radiating from my audience. They were simply beaming at me. My life has rarely seemed so blessed. I gave thanks that their faith lifted them above their circumstances as I told them how Jesus had changed my life too.
I spoke with church leaders there about how lives in the village had changed through the power of God. Their hope wasn‘t put on this earth， but their hope is in eternity. In the meantime they’ll believe in miracles and thank God for who He is and what He has done. Before we left， we presented some families with rice， tea， and a small amount of cash that would buy them enough food for several weeks. We also distributed sports equipment， soccer balls， and jump ropes to the children. They immediately invited our group to play with them， and we had a ball， laughing and enjoying each other even though we were surrounded by squalor. I will never forget those children and their smiles. It just proved to me again that happiness can come to us under any circumstance if we put our total trust in God.
How can such impoverished children laugh？ How can prisoners sing with joy？ They rise above by accepting that certain events are beyond their control and beyond their understanding too， and then focusing instead on what they can understand and control. My parents did just that. They moved forward by deciding to trust in God‘s Word that “all things work for the good of those who love God， who are called according to His purpose.”
A FAMILY OF FAITH
My mum and dad were both born into strong Christian families in the part of Yugoslavia now known as Serbia. Their families immigrated separately to Australia while they were young because of Communist repression. Their parents were Apostolic Christians， and their faith included conscientious objection to bearing arms. The Communists discriminated against them and persecuted them for their beliefs. They had to hold services in secret. They suffered financially because they refused to join the Communist Party， which controlled every aspect of life. When my father was young， he often went hungry for that reason.
Both sets of my grandparents joined many thousands of Serbian Christians who immigrated to Australia and also to the United States and Canada after World War II. My parents’ families moved to Australia， where they and their children could be free to practice their Christian beliefs. Other members of their families moved to the United States and Canada around the same time， so I have many relatives in those countries too.
My parents met in a Melbourne church. My mum， Dushka， was in her second year of nursing school at the Royal Children‘s Hospital in Victoria. My dad， Boris， worked in office administration and cost accounting. He later became a lay pastor in addition to his job. When I was about seven years old， my parents began considering a move to the United States because they felt there might be better access to new prosthetics and medical care to help us deal with my disabilities.
My uncle Batta Vujicic had a construction and property management business in Agoura Hills just 35 miles outside Los Angeles. Batta always told my father he’d give him a job if he could obtain a work visa. There was a large community of Serbian Christians with several churches around Los Angeles， which also appealed to my parents. My father learned that obtaining a work visa was a long， drawn-out process. He decided to apply， but in the meantime my family moved a thousand miles north to Brisbane， Queensland， where the climate was better for me， as I had allergies along with my other challenges.
I was approaching ten years old and in my fourth year of elementary school when everything finally fell into place for a move to the United States. My parents felt that my younger siblings—my brother Aaron and sister Michelle—and I were at a good age for assimilating into the United States school system. We waited in Queensland for over eighteen months for Dad‘s three-year work visa to be arranged， finally moving in 1994.
Unfortunately， the move to California did not work out for several reasons. When we left Australia， I had already started sixth grade. My new school in Agoura Hills was very crowded. They could only get me into advanced classes， which was difficult enough， but in addition the curriculums were very different. I’d always been a good student， but I struggled to adapt to the change. Due to different school calendars， I was literally behind before I even started my classes in California. I had a difficult time catching up. The junior high I attended also required students to change classrooms for each subject， which was unlike Australia and added to the challenges of my adjustment.
We‘d moved in with my uncle Batta， his wife Rita， and their six children， which made for a pretty crowded house even though they had a large home in Agoura Hills. We had planned to move into our own home as soon as possible， but home prices were much higher than in Australia. My father worked for Batta’s real estate management company. My mother did not continue her nursing career because her first priority was to get us settled into our new schools and environment， and so she had not applied to become licensed to practice nursing in California.
