Why am I Motivated to do Humanitarian Work?

Twelve years ago, when I was 47, I went through a crisis. People joke about midlife crisis but it’s no joke when you are wading through misery.

Some people experience crisis around finances. They lose their job or their business goes bust. Many experience a life-threatening health crisis. Or for others the trauma revolves around relationships. The character flaws, mistakes and unresolved, buried issues of your life reach a volcanic head and erupt spewing forth a flood of pain that engulfs you and your loved ones. A crisis can be an opportunity for healing or the catalyst for a tragic unravelling. 

I left my husband and family and ran way to New York. Ostensibly I was looking for career opportunities beyond my coastal hometown in Australia that I’d outgrown. However there were unconscious, destructive forces at play, which I later uncovered in therapy. But at the time I boarded that plane I was running on automatic, in a childlike fantasy state.

My escapade ended in tears. I was heartbroken. My heart was shattered into tiny pieces, as if smashed with a sledgehammer. My identity was devastated. I felt completely isolated and alienated; cut adrift, floating in space, ostracised from all ties of love, belonging and security.

I will always remember the precise point of being broken. Consumed by emotional pain, I dropped to my knees while walking in a frenzy, to ease the gut-gnawing anxiety, wrapped in a winter coat, around the frozen lake in Central Park.

And then something happened, in this state of vulnerable humility, my defences in ruins, my eyes streaming with tears. I was overwhelmed with empathy. Suddenly I felt empathy for my husband and children. I felt the pain I’d caused them, through my mistakes and failures. I saw my selfish actions from their perspective. I recalled everyone I had hurt and damaged throughout my life. The pain was overwhelming. But this was pain for others, not self-pity.

This is when I experienced remorse; a kind of living death; grief and sorrow for everyone I’d ever hurt. I’d arrived at the moment of truth, kneeling before my Maker.

Something else happened; a spiritual awakening. I knew in my broken heart that I needed a saviour. I cried out to God to forgive my sins. I’d heard about this kind of confession and praying for forgiveness in Sunday school but it was just a story then. This experience was real.

I found my way to a Baptist Church in Harlem and collapsed into the loving arms of my black soul sisters and brothers, conspicuously the only white person in the congregation. After a few weeks of sobbing through hymns, I answered the alter call and accepted Christ as my saviour and guiding light and I was baptised in that beautiful, comforting church before hopping on the plane at JFK and heading home to save my marriage and family. 

I started my walk of Repentance; an intensive process of soul searching. I attended church and workshops, read copious psychology and theology books, journalled, did counselling sessions and group therapy and delved deep into my psyche, my childhood and my entire past. I regressed, regretted, reproached myself, grieved, cried, made connections, gained insights and emerged a wiser woman. This I believe is called the Ashes stage of life.

I came to understand myself and heal old wounds. I learned positive new core values to replace distorted beliefs formed from early traumas. I developed new qualities of forgiveness, grace, devotion, gratitude, joy, kindness, understanding, empathy and compassion.

That harrowing introspective passage, the Dark Night of the Soul, lasted three years from 2004. It was 2007, when I turned 50 that I began to feel normal again, strong and whole inside and enriched with deeper qualities of a mended heart.

Through this process of Repentance, which means to “re-think” your whole life, I was rewarded with the seven R’s: Resurrection, Redemption, Renewal, Restoration, Reclamation, Reconciliation and Recovery.

We did rebuild our marriage and close, loving family on a new foundation of solid values and in 2009 moved countries to pursue shared dreams of expanded horizons. 

As I now sit at my desk in our tranquil home in rural England, perched on the edge of a new year, the Year 2016, I realise I emerged from that painful cocoon nine long years ago. I have clocked up almost a whole decade of living, travelling and writing since then.

If Repentance is an inner process of reviewing and transforming your emotional and mental state there has to be something beyond the wallowing that imbues this agonising process with a higher purpose.

I’ve come to believe that on the other side of the soul searching journey is a wide-open, glorious vista of New Life.

While Repentance focuses on Thinking and Feeling, the exciting stage of New Life focuses on Doing – at last it’s time to put into action those endless hours of introspection.

Christianity calls this next stage of the journey Atonement, where we get to make amends for the mistakes and sins of our life; to do good instead of harm. I have arrived at a place of courage and empowerment with a desire to help those in need. This genuine desire goes beyond childish self-centredness to mature altruism.

I’m fascinated by two scriptures, which are blatant calls to action. In Matthew 25, Jesus tells his disciples:

“I was hungry and you fed me,

I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,

I was homeless and you gave me a room,

I was shivering and you gave me clothes,

I was sick and you stopped to visit,

I was in prison and you came to me.

Then those sheep are going to say, ‘Master what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?”

Then the King will say, ‘I’m telling you the truth: Whenever you did one of these things for someone overlooked or ignored, this was me – you did it to me.”        

Since reading this scripture years ago, I’ve had a smouldering desire to devote myself to humanitarian work to feed the hungry, give water to those deprived of this basic need, provide education for children and jobs for men and women, medical centres for communities and freedom from the imprisonment of abject poverty. The time has arrived in 2016 to start my work in Africa. It’s taken all these years but that’s okay. There is a perfect season for everything in the unforced rhythms of grace.

And Jesus gives a parable about investment. A man goes on a trip and gives his three servants a sum of money each to invest while he’s away. He gives one $5000, the second $2000 and the third $1000. The first and second servant went ahead and doubled their money and the master was pleased with their efforts when he returned. But the third servant hid his money in a safe place and refunded the exact amount to his master who was furious that he wasted the opportunity.

I don’t think this lesson is about investing money; it’s about investing your God-given talents to do the most good. I don’t want to get to the end of my life with my little bundle of talents wrapped up nice and neat under a bush!

I want to invest my talents to get the best Return On Investment!

I believe we reach a mature stage of life where we have an accumulation of experience, talents, skills, abilities and qualities to use in the best way possible for the benefit of others.

I have modest talents. I can research and understand issues and disseminate information through writing in the media. I can inform, influence and inspire.

I have qualifications and skills in psychology and can offer counselling and workshops to educate and empower girls and women about preventing the trauma and dangers of FGM and claiming their human rights. 

 I’m an organiser and can manage all kinds of projects. I know about plant-based nutrition and can cook healthy basic food and nurture, love and support subsistence communities in Africa.

My accumulated skillset isn’t really extraordinary however if I invest it wisely I can give the world maximum value. At nearly 60, although I’ve enjoyed a colourful career, I have not yet achieved my potential! I have so much more to give.  Some people achieve their potential early and lead full lives and die young. Other,s like me, need a whole lifetime to reach our potential!

Everyone’s altruistic calling is different. We must all find the cause that fits our skillset and personality. Some grandparents devote their mature years to supporting their families and local communities. Others have a global vision.

Over 50 we often go in search of the Lost Self of our youth. I know of mature-aged people who actively track down and re-connect with teenage sweethearts in pursuit of the thrilling vitality of those heady days.

However I want to reclaim the passionate campaigner of my youth. I want to re-activate the fiery, outspoken young girl who was determined to change the world. 

Altruistic humanitarian work will be challenging and fraught with hardships but also fulfilling, bringing pure joy and deep satisfaction.

To truly Make A Difference in this troubled world will be to gain a sense of empowerment rather than helplessness in the face of social injustice.

To be useful, effective and achieve results – even small ones – will be the source of immense fulfilment and sense of Purpose.

I want to join with like-minded people to reduce suffering and increase joy.

To find comrades in a worthy cause will be to forge the deepest friendships.

As we get older we have heartfelt emotional needs to be wanted and needed and valued, appreciated and respected for our lifetime of experience. We have loads of love to give and there’s a world out there desperate to be loved capable of returning the love in abundance. I’m ready for that new life.     

  

  

This is personal

I was a happy little girl, brimming with joy (coz that was my middle name), curiosity (how did those daffodils suddenly appear out of the ground?) and trust (I could rely on grown-ups to look after me).

At seven in Grade Two, I could cover my own exercise books; first the brown paper, neat corners, sticky tape, then a cheerful picture from an old greeting card stuck on with clag and finally a layer of smooth plastic. I was so good at this, my friend Leonie wanted me to cover her books too. That made me incredibly pleased with myself.

I could hardly wait for Old Miss McConky to read another chapter of The Magic Faraway Tree every afternoon. One sunny day after school Cheryl asked me to go to her house because she had some nail polish. We could paint our nails. I’d never done that before!

Giggling with excitement we raced across the park. But my secure little life was about to change. I was about to lose my innocence. There was a man in a car driving really slowly and smiling at me. At ME! Not Cheryl! It was ME he liked and I smiled back, blonde fringe and dimples and pretty dress.

That was the day I was molested by a stranger; the day I started to believe I was dirty and there was something wrong with me. It was my secret. I was a good girl on the outside but I was bad inside, full of guilt, full of shame. It was my fault because I was so silly to get in his car. And then there were the nightmares. He was coming through the window to kill me with a knife, or a gun. I would scream and climb into bed with mum, sobbing and trembling.

This is why I understand and empathise, with every fibre of my being, what it’s like to be a happy little girl skipping along enjoying childhood innocence and then suddenly one act, just one single trauma, changes you, shames you, forever. 

The little girl in Africa, dark skin, tight curls, beautiful smile, big brown eyes, is dancing through the desert dust to class to learn and sing and laugh. After school she helps her mummy make family meals and she plays with her pet goat. One day this sweet child is taken to a terrifying secret place, held down, her tiny legs are forced apart and her tender parts sliced off with a razor blade, blood gushing, the wound sealed with thorns, the pain swamps her body and crushes her heart, destroying her trust forever.

In this troubled world, there are so many problems to solve, so much cruelty to stop, so many worthy causes to champion. Which one will I choose? The issue of female genital mutilation breaks my heart and outrages my mind because I was once an innocent little girl who suffered a life-changing trauma too.

My experience of being molested was traumatic but doesn’t compare in magnitude to the extreme trauma of being mutilated. If the little African girl survives the shock, the blood loss and infection, she will suffer for the rest of her life; every time she wees it hurts, and later, every time she menstruates is agony. Having sex with her husband will be excruciating, not pleasure. And childbirth; a horrendous, life-threatened ordeal.

8000 girls a day are subjected to FGM; three million girls a year globally. 200 million women around the world live with the post traumatic emotional and physical damage of being mutilated as children. Yes this is a cause that demands attention. Our genitals are a source of power. Female empowerment depends on stopping this violent crime.

There’s another reason I can relate to this disturbing issue, even though I’m a pale-faced, mature-aged woman who grew up in suburban Australia and is now living in rural England, not a remote village in Somalia, Ethiopia, Uganda, Sudan or Kenya.

For 12 years, after giving birth to my second child, I suffered undiagnosed endometriosis. Every month I was incapacitated with overwhelming menstrual pain until a hysterectomy at 44 ended my roller coaster of suffering.

Now I want to join the fight to stop the needless suffering of other women because a lifetime of pain is preventable. Empowerment is possible. The empowerment of future generations of women all over the world begins with the end of this widespread, disempowering abuse.

Of all the worthy causes in this troubled world, stopping FGM is a cause worth fighting for. Will you join the fight to protect innocent little girls from the worst form of child abuse?              

The Art of ‘Generativity’ – Finding Purpose through Giving to Future Generations

Some of the elderly residents in the retirement village have twinkling eyes, a ready joke and full calendars! Other resident are full of hatred and bitterness and petty grievances. One old man is convinced his gardening spade has been stolen, an indignant old lady is furious about the bossy bitch who has taken over the social committee.

In loud conversations on driveways, they compare and compete about their painful ailments, the heart scares, the bad knees, the hip ops, the emergency hospital visits, without listening or caring about the other’s suffering.

Another faction villifies, in vicious huddles, those horrible dogs that leave messes on their manicured lawns and vehemently condemns irresponsible dog-owners. They should be thrown in jail!

The wrinkled, hunched old wives grip the flabby arms of their senile husbands when a younger woman walks by and smiles ‘Hello’; jealously guarding the old relic and oozing envy for the youth she has lost; buried photo memories deep in the drawer with the sparkly ear rings she once wore, dazzling the dance floor with haughty elegance!

I am fearful of ending up like this; shrinking smaller and smaller and withering, bitter and twisted, lonely and isolated, in a segregated old people’s ghetto, discarded by mainstream community, waiting…waiting for something? What is it? Are these cranky old folks aching for Grace; for Love to swoop in, like a huge soft white dove, and cradle them, a visit from the ungrateful grown-up children who are busy with their interesting lives.

Perhaps they are waiting for genuine friendship that pierces their dense armour of complaints and touches the heart with lightness, joy, humour and gratitude in still being alive! Or perhaps they are waiting to be recognised as useful; the realisation by youngsters that all their years of experience must be good for something!  

Erik Erikson was a German-born American developmental psychologist and psychoanalyst (1902 – 1994) who extended the developmental theories of Freud to include the entire lifespan.

Erikson identified eight stages of development, not just in childhood, but right throughout life into old age and death. He claimed each stage held an inherent struggle and desired outcome.

He claimed from birth to age one, the baby has to resolve a crisis between Trust and Mistrust of parents or caregivers with the desired outcome of Hope; from one to two, the toddler grapples with Autonomy versus Shame and Doubt with the desired outcome of Will; from age three to five, the young child faces a crisis of Initiative over Guilt within the family with the desired outcome of Purpose. From age six to 11, the child is challenged with Industriousness over Inferiority at school with a desired outcome of Competence.

Stage Five, Adolescence, brings conflict between Identity and Role Confusion within peer groups with the desired outcome of Fidelity, the ability to be true to an integrated sense of self.

In Young Adulthood, the challenge is finding Intimacy over Isolation with a spouse and amongst friends with the desired outcome of Love.

Which brings us to Stage Seven, Middle Adulthood where we are challenged to discover “generativity”, a term coined by Erikson, rather than self-absorption within our family, community and work. The desired outcome is Care.

Generativity means the ability to look beyond yourself and to express concern for the future of the world and younger generations. The self-absorbed person is preoccupied with personal wellbeing and material gain.

When I hit 50 I was also hit with an overpowering desire to go MAD; that is, to Make a Difference to the world. I wanted to contribute to solving problems and reducing suffering on a global level. Having lived more than half of my life, the balance was tipped to the approach of the end and I started thinking about legacy, concerned about what I would leave behind after I’m gone.

So that is when my husband and I migrated from far-flung Australia to the UK to be close to the centre of the world stage, where we felt better placed to make a positive difference to global issues.

My progress in making a difference on a grand scale has been slow. I’ve done much soul searching about my talents and skills and researched causes and charities to support.

On my 57^th birthday we had a night out in London and saw the brilliant stage show War Horse, with the most talented, creative performers operating intricate life-like puppets, singing, dancing and acting with utter perfection to tell a glorious, triumphant story.

The next day I took to my bed and my journal and tried to figure out what I was good at! I realised that I am not a perfectionist who could spend hours every day for years mastering an instrument or difficult skill. I searched my formative years and remembered how I discovered the joy of writing stories at age 11 and the thrill of being published! 

Then at 17, I discovered the empowerment of becoming a vocal campaigner! And I recalled how I was a passionate activist in my 20s; how in my 30s I was elected a local government councillor to work for my community.

Then in my 40s I experienced a crisis and wallowed in a bottomless lake of therapy and self-analysis and had to wade my way back to focusing on others. And so we left the endless summer of coastal Queensland and came to bustling London for a new lease on life. And these years of my fifties have been wonderful, full of city pleasures, exciting travel and adventures!

So at 57, I was reminded of my true Purpose (beyond fun times) and decided to devote the rest of my life to using my writing skills to campaign for good causes; human rights, peace, animal and environmental protection; all the good stuff that will allow our damaged world to heal, survive and flourish in the future.

Now I am nearly 59 and I am ready. I am passionately committed to future generations of girls across Africa discovering their human rights and becoming empowered, free from abuse, suffering and poverty. This is my mission for my sixties, for the next decade of my life.

If a person in their 50s, 60s and 70s shifts focus to making a difference for others, then he or she will face old age with a sense of dignity, satisfaction and personal fulfillment.

Middle-aged and older people thrive when they use their lifetime of experience to mentor teenagers and young adults or lavish patient love on grandchildren or volunteer in community, environmental or humanitarian projects.

Those mature-aged people who choose to contribute rather than expecting to be coddled by the young and fit are ironically the ones who thrive with a sense of purpose, joy and gratitude, despite their aches and pains.

The elderly do not have to end up bitter and twisted, nursing grudges and resentment, burdened by a sense of futility and despair, disappointment and failure.

If we need role models, consider the inspirational David Attenborough, who has devoted his life to educating us all about the wonders of animals and the natural world. He continues in his creative film making at the sprightly age of 89.

In Old Age, the final stage of life, Stage Eight according to Erikson, we face a struggle between Integrity and Despair. And the desired outcome is Wisdom.

I hope that Wisdom will lead you in your mature years to Integrity; the choice to make a difference for future generations because “generativity” is the hope of the future.

Inspired to be a Warrior for Good

The enticing book sat on my shelf for eight years since it was published in 2007. But I felt such anguish about the death of the legendary Steve Irwin I couldn’t bring myself to read it.

Like most Aussies I adored Steve Irwin and on top of his irresistible charisma, the passionate larrikin reminded me of my own loveable, curly haired, bronzed brother Steve who died young in a car crash at just 24. The grief and sense of unfairness for the loss of my brother still makes my heart ache almost four decades later. And recalling the heroic vision of Steve Irwin just compounds the pain.

But on a visit to my mum from the UK where we now live, returning to the Sunshine Coast, my former home town where the spirit of Steve Irwin dominates, the time is right, September 2015, to tackle the mighty Steve in a full body crocodile embrace.

Reading the book, My Steve by Terri Irwin, his devoted wife, soul mate and partner in wildlife protection is just the inspiration I need. Although I’m not planning to become a Wildlife Warrior, like so many young people inspired by Steve’s courageous example, I am planning a MAD adventure of my own to Make A Difference for humanity, championing human rights for little girls in Africa.

I need all the inspiration I can get to motivate me in this tough challenge and in Terri’s extraordinary story I’m finding inspiration in truckloads.

The first thing that strikes me about Steve and Terri’s captivating story is the fact theirs is a true love story. Their powerful, loving bond was formed from their shared passion and higher purpose for protecting the endangered and misunderstood wildlife of this fragile planet.

When Terri met Steve in 1991, as an enthusiastic 27-year-old American, she was already devoted to saving cougars and rescuing and rehabilitating all kinds of animals in her home in Oregon, north of California. Simultaneously on the other side of the world, a 29-year-old dynamic bloke was running a little reptile park, having been raised by his parents to befriend animals. His mum Lyn taught him to care for injured wildlife and growing up he went bush with his dad Bob to save and study venomous snakes and capture and relocate crocodiles. 

No wonder they fell in love. Having studied relationship dynamics for many years, I am fascinated to realise that Terri and Steve intuitively hit on the love formula that eludes most of us; they shared a sense of purpose as deep as the ocean and as big as the sky for a cause greater than themselves and together embarked on a mission that would change human understanding of the natural world.

Although Terri was a strong woman, it was Steve who took the masculine leadership role. He pursued her to America after a chance holiday encounter in Australia. It was Steve who proposed, all covered in sweat and dirt after a day’s hard work. It was Steve who decided the time was right to have babies and Steve who named their two precious children. He was the empowered husband most women crave.

As their love evolved through exhilarating adventures, and teaching her how to face the dangers of the harsh Aussie bush and jump on ferocious crocodiles, Terri came to understand, trust, respect, support and hero worship her amazing husband.

Many viewers of Steve Irwin’s wildlife shows considered him quite child-like and naïve in his love of all animals. However the khaki-clad entertainer’s delight in animals came from genuine empathy and compassion of the most profound kind. He filmed more than 50 astonishing TV documentaries in rugged Outback Australia, Sumatra, the Kalahari Desert, the Antarctic and many other beautiful, remote wilderness locations.

Steve Irwin revered crocs as apex predators with complex behaviours and social systems; an ancient species going back 60 million years to the dinosaur era. The title ‘Crocodile Hunter’ was misleading because Steve didn’t hunt these magnificent, maligned beasts to kill them but rather to catch them and relocate them to safety (dodging the bullets of hateful humans) and to install tracking devices for research.   

He was incredibly intelligent and incredibly talented. He possessed an impressive academic and scientific knowledge base of wildlife and the environment (and was about to be honoured as a professor by the University of Queensland. He was highly skilled at bush craft; able to set up camp, drive a boat, sense the presence of crocs, and cook dinner over a campfire and then go spotlighting on rivers at night. He was brilliant at building and all forms of manual work and did most of the early expansion on Australia Zoo single-handed.

On his favourite local beaches and giant surf breaks around the world, Steve manoeuvred his powerful body, gracefully surfing the formidable waves and in later years mastered a strenuous form of martial arts as another outlet for all that irrepressible energy.

But this for fearless lover of life, the top priority was always his family. He was devoted to Terri and his precious daughter, Bindi and Baby Bob and determined to instill in his children an affinity and confidence with wildlife, the way his parents had taught him, to lead the next generation of Wildlife Warriors fighting for conservation.

Haunted by a premonition of dying young, he made Terri promise she and the children would carry on his legacy of dedicating their lives to saving wildlife.

And Terri has honoured her promise to her husband to ensure Australia Zoo and their pioneering conservation work continues to thrive, and with Bindi and Bob, carries on Steve’s tireless work around the world, educating humans about the wonders of other species, evoking a love and respect and desire to protect and care for wildlife for future generations.

While on my stay on the Sunshine Coast, I immersed myself in the Steve Irwin legend, devouring Terri’s book, watching the fantastic action-packed Hollywood movie Steve and Terri made in 2002 and visiting the awe-inspiring Australia Zoo, a living testament to what is possible with enough passion, determination and devotion to all that’s good in our troubled world.

Some cynics criticise the cost of admission and the vast amount of merchandise as “commercialisation” however all proceeds from the Zoo and spin-off products are poured into vital conservation projects around the planet.

The couple bought vast tracts of land for conservation including 650 acres near the Great Dividing Range called Ironbark Station where Steve planted thousands of trees.

In July 2007, the Government dedicated 320,000 acres as the Steve Irwin Wildlife Reserve, an idyllic crocodile habitat, on the Cape York Peninsula in his memory.  

From humble beginnings when the couple married in June 1992, the Zoo is now a spectacular international attraction with the famous Crocoseum (Steve’s grand vision); the Africa park, the wildlife hospital (in honour of Steve’s mother) and the latest unique exciting kids’ draw card of Bindi’s Island, with a three-storey tree house with ring-tailed lemurs, giant Aldabran tortoises, stunning macaws and boa constrictors.

My good friends, Glenda and Sheila (whose daughter Kezia works at the Zoo as a photographer) and I strolled around the glorious natural gardens, absolutely gob-smacked and exhilarated by this vibrant wonderland, a nurturing habitat and celebration of an abundance of rare and endangered species. Crikey! We were thrilled by the exciting Croc Show, with Murray the ferocious saltwater croc doing his best to eat the gutsy, quick-witted handlers! Our fantastic day was the highlight of my trip!

Australia Zoo now has hundreds of mammals, reptiles and birds from all over the world and employs hundreds of dedicated staff. Steve’s creative ideas, that came to him while staring into the campfire, have now expanded beyond even his wild imaginings! Thanks to his passionate family, friends and loyal supporters, Steve posthumously, has achieved his dream of inspiring a multitude of Wildlife Warriors to carry on his important work.

Steve died in a freak accident, pierced by the barb of a stingray in his generous, loving heart, while scuba diving and filming a show, at the height of his glory at the young age of 44 on September 4, 2006.

Terri’s grief at the loss of her soul mate was excruciating. The sudden loss of their fun, affectionate Daddy was bewildering for toddler Bob and courageous eight-year-old Bindi. For Steve’s father and close mates, Wes and John, the pain was worse than any savage croc attack. His two sisters were bereft. (Steve’s mum had died tragically in a car accident in February 2000 and was spared suffering the agony of losing her beloved son).  

Steve was so loved by Australians and international fans, his death was devastating and the Memorial Service at Australia Zoo was unbearably sad for the 300 million viewers around the world.

Everyone felt they knew this warm, friendly, exuberant, open and funny Ocker bloke personally from his up close and personal TV wildlife documentaries. The nation was overwhelmed with grief, as if we had all lost a close family member. The grief still hurts nine years later. He has become a treasured icon.

This dynamo of a man who worked from early morning until late at night managed to fit twice as much into every day as the average person! So I figure he actually lived a full 88 years compressed into his power-packed 44 years. 

He was a role model to men, idolised and swooned over by women and a champion to children everywhere. Countless thousands of idealistic young people have dedicated their lives to becoming Wildlife Warriors, saving endangered animals and our fragile environment.

Whenever any of us takes on a worthy cause and does some heroic act for others, we evoke the spirit of Steve Irwin.

This Wildlife Warrior, along with my own brother Steve, remains in my heart as a source of strength, courage and inspiration, empathy, compassion and love for all forms of life driving me on to Make A Difference and create a legacy of my own.

If you are seeking inspiration to pursue your own purpose in life, read Terri Irwin’s book My Steve and visit Australia Zoo and absorb the extraordinary Wildlife Warrior into your heart. And know you can achieve anything!