Silver linings

Paul Templer was born and raised in Zimbabwe, traveled the globe, served in the British military and then started a career in the safari industry back in his homeland. While leading a canoe safari, he had what he calls “a really bad day at the office” and found himself down the throat of a hippopotamus, ultimately losing his left arm.

“I was fortunate that I had a strong support structure,” Templer says. “As far as losing a limb, I had it about as good as I could get.”

Later, he survived the death of his child. Those experiences have set Paul, a Thrivent client who now lives in Chicago, on a worldwide course to help others.

Before the attack in 1996, I was living life full throttle as a safari guide and adventurer, exploring uncharted territories. The actual attack was pretty ferocious; I was a mess, with something like 38 major bite wounds on my body. I didn’t know that a human body could feel or survive as much pain as I experienced. I also knew I was staying alive for something, and I didn’t know what it was.

I felt sorry for myself; I couldn’t see how I was going to live. I never lost my faith, but I was angry. On a particularly bad day, my surgeon reminded me that “you are the sum of your choices. You’re exactly who, what and where you choose to be in life.” I heard him, but it wasn’t until later that I understood what he was saying. During the early stages of recovery, I played the heroic suffering card, and my best friend was alcohol. I’m 25 years sober now.

There were children around me who had lost limbs to landmines. I was acutely aware that they did not have access to the same resources that I had. A friend and I had talked about doing something that had never been done before, kayaking the Zambezi River, from her source to the sea. Having lost one arm just made things more interesting. My prosthetist made me a paddle so that I could kayak again. We set up a 501(c)(3) nonprofit in the U.S. and used the expedition to launch Make-A-Difference. It took us three months to paddle 1,600 miles down the Zambezi River. It was a success, the fullest descent of the Zambezi to date. We got to launch the foundation. We raised some money. We got to supply prosthetics to children. Life was good.

As part the foundation’s launch, we hired a journalist from the U.S. I met his family and fell in love with his sister. We married and started our life together in America. There wasn’t a huge demand for one armed safari guides in the Detroit area, so with my background, I started consulting, I got into leadership coaching and organizational development. And I started keynote speaking.

We had three children. Our second child, Erin, had health challenges, including brain surgery when she was four months old. The surgery wasn’t successful. Erin lived with intractable seizures and developmental challenges. She had a great doctor and the very best care I could have wished for. Life wasn’t easy but there was a lot of love in our home. Unfortunately, our marriage didn’t make it.

Erin kept living and defying the odds. She inspired me every single day as she faced each day’s challenges head on without complaint. She was a daily reminder that adversity doesn’t build character insomuch as it reveals it. She inspired our Early Intervention program, Erin’s Light, through which families in Zimbabwe have access to therapists, doctor’s and teachers who provide practical hands-on care for children with developmental disabilities. We also provide lifesaving epilepsy medications to children who otherwise would not have access to them.

I was devastated. But I have learned you can’t be grateful and grumpy at the same time. So, I would think about what I was grateful for about Erin, her love and the joyful moments we shared. Doing this helped me be able to show up to take care of myself and my family.

She’s really smart, a neuro-science coach with a master’s degree in theology, has impeccable dress sense, refined taste and is comfortable anywhere with anyone. She’s my best friend and I adore her. When Erin died, I never lost contact with God, but I was having a hard time navigating my faith. It was during COVID and Rebecca and I would spend hours talking on the phone as she helped me reconcile my grief with my faith. We worked on a project together and completely fell in love. She has been instrumental in helping organize the foundation, which was renamed the Templer Foundation.

At the start of every race as we all start running off into the wild, I think about the words from Psalm 121: “I lift up my eyes toward the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” I lean into it, and I run. There’s something both exhilarating and at the same time humbling about running extreme ultramarathons: It doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve got. As you cross the start line and for the next 155 miles, it’s just you, how well you’ve trained, mother nature and God.

I’ve come a little too close to death during a few of these races. But there are moments out there where I feel a connection to the Divine unlike anything I feel anywhere else. And it’s my way of recalibrating.

The first two times I tried to run multi-day ultramarathons I ran them on my ego and what I could find on the internet. I've always been a fairly physically active person, but my history and my ego weren’t enough. I failed the first two times. Rebecca said the only way she would support me racing again was if I got a great coach and trained properly. So, I did. Nikki Kimball from Bozeman, Montana, is one of the greatest ultra runners ever and she trains me.

Due to the hippo attack I don’t have an arm and also have some structural challenges in my legs and feet that impact my gait. Lingering lung damage doesn’t help either. Nikki and I figured out how to overcome these things. There are a lot of reasons that people come up with why they can’t do things. I’m a firm proponent that almost anything is possible. And living out of that philosophy has me doing stuff like this.

It’s mostly about the kids who’ll benefit. Our nonprofit strives to take care of the vulnerable and suffering people, especially children, in our world. But the run, in a way, also keeps Erin alive. I love the fact that good has come out of Erin’s struggles and passing. Her life continues to shine.

It’s a story about me but hopefully, it’ll help people to see the spark of the Divine in themselves and to realize that almost anything is possible. That regardless of whatever is going on in their lives, they get to choose how they respond to it, they get to choose what happens next.

Donna Hein is senior editor of Thrivent Magazine.