I wrote this story a month ago on my personal blog. It’s my story of being a Christian in a non-Christian home and the things that I’ve seen and encountered while I visited my home country earlier this year. It’s very personal to me and I hope it can encourage others.
Love. I think it’s an expensive word to say. I think people say it too easily without even meaning it. It has become a courtesy to say that quick ‘I love you!’ to your friends. Maybe it’s the right thing to do: maybe you really do love your friends. If that’s the case, you’re doing it better than I do.
I say it too. So cheaply that sometimes I don’t even think about it. Sometimes I say it because I want people to know that I’m a nice person, that I’m caring and loving. But my concept of love has changed. I don’t just simply say ‘I love you’ anymore, not for the sake of courtesy at least. I have learned what it means to love on a whole new level.
After two and a half years of being away from home and not being able to see my parents, I decided to go back home to Indonesia for winter break. I must admit that I was a bit nervous and I asked bunch of my friends to pray for me during my stay at home.
I was welcomed with the hot and humid air of Jakarta, the capital city of Indonesia. My dad picked me up at the airport and we embraced each other. It was sincere and loving- after all, we hadn’t seen each other for a while. The beginning of my journey home was stress-free.
I gazed out of the window from my seat. It’s not good-looking houses with mowed lawns anymore that I’m looking at, but small unsteady structures that they call “houses” with roofs made from leaves. It’s not flat and wide roads that we’re driving on, but narrow and bumpy roads. I could smell it in the coarse wind that was blowing in the van— poverty.
We stopped for lunch at a restaurant, and I was sitting near the outer part of the restaurant sipping my favorite ice tea when I saw her. She was carrying a baby in her fragile arms and she looked so malnourished and tired from the heat. Sweat poured down from her forehead, she didn’t have shoes on and her baby was silent. She approached me and raised up her right hand and said “tolong,” which means help.
Then the owner of the restaurant shooed her away with annoyance and complaints. I didn’t really know what to do. Nobody in the restaurant cared either: they continued with their meals. I stopped eating. When we were about to get back into the van, I approached the lady and gave her a roll of paper. There was some money in it and a note that said ‘Tuhan Yesus mengasihi kamu’ which translated means; Jesus loves you.
I hoped she knew how to read, because I wanted her to know the truth; that Jesus loves her. I started to feel numb and guilty. I felt like I should have done something more for the woman. It was a five-hour drive back to my home town, and everywhere I looked along the way there was poverty in all shapes and forms.
Finally I arrived at home, my mother and brother greeted me and we embraced each other. It’s a good feeling, to be able to be with your family again. That night I was thankful in my prayers, thankful that I’d arrived home safely and that I got to be with my family again. I prayed for strength for the next 30 days with my family. I felt like I was in a boat with no paddle in the middle of the ocean—and I hoped that there would be no storm.
The first few days were good, there weren’t any of the dramas or conflicts that I had feared would happen. But I guess good things don’t always last very long, because on the fourth day that I was at home, the much-feared conflict begun.
“Our people worship the spirits of our ancestors and gods that live in the clouds,” said my dad. “Why did you choose to become a Christian? You are too young, too easily influenced by what people told you to believe. You’re my oldest son, it’s such a shame for you to be like this. What have I done to you?! Why do you disobey my commands and go on your own ways?”
“You should focused on your career, be successful and well-off. Don’t be like us,” said my mom. “We had no education and no money, life was hard for me and your dad. We sent you to America so you can have a good life, don’t waste it for the sake of religion. Don’t break our hope for you. You have to focus on your future career, not your faith.”
“Religion is for the weak,” said my dad. “I’ve always known that you’re weak and have no ambition or strength. You choose to believe some white foreigners over your parents. Your God is everything for you, and I know you think that we’re lower than dogs in your eyes. I curse you! How dare you treat us like this?!”
And it went on and on.
Finally I decided that I didn’t want to listen to all of this anymore. I went upstairs, my dad followed me—yelling and cursing louder. My mother followed too and with teary eyes she kept trying to convince me that I should listen to my dad and abandon my faith. I told her that I loved her and dad, that I would never abandon them, and that Jesus told me to honor and love them.
My dad was still yelling and getting more furious. Memories started to flow back to me, I remembered how I hated this feeling, how I was so scared of him. I remembered all the times that he had beaten me, abused me, embarrassed me, neglected me. I had forgiven him—or so I thought. And now I was looking at his eyes, they were red and fiery. I kept repeating the word “Jesus” in my heart. I just wanted all of this to stop.
“Renounce your faith! Make an oath right now that you will not believe in Jesus and do as I say”, said my dad. “Renounce your faith!”
It took only a second for me to whisper softly this one word; “No.” That word was like a trigger to a bomb or something, because as soon as I said that, my dad exploded in anger and he started throwing things at me. His curses didn’t end when I decided to get away from the scene. Tears didn’t matter anymore—I had told myself that I was stronger than this, but the truth is, my heart was wounded.
I didn’t talk with my dad for a week after that. I didn’t talk much with my mom either. I couldn’t go to church, and I tried to read my Bible when they couldn’t see me. It was a strange circumstance. I’ve had all the freedom that I could possibly think of in the United States when it comes to expressing my faith. I never thought that my own family would think that I was a disgrace to them and their society because I’m a Christian.
My dad had to leave town for a business trip for a couple of days. By this time, every day when I went on the internet, I would receive 5-6 emails from my friends in the US, sometimes I would even get emails from people that I didn’t know. They all sent me encouraging messages and scriptures, they told me that they were praying for me. I appreciated their efforts. It was what kept my faith in order.
While my dad was gone, I had the opportunity to show the JESUS film to my mother and my younger brother. I shared the Gospel with them, hoping that they would receive Christ. I was hoping that with the absence of my dad, things would be easier, but maybe I was too hopeful. My mom didn’t become a Christian and she thought the movie was lame.
My dad came home with my sister. It was a joyous moment to be able to see my older sister. I had missed her. We instantly connected and shared stories about our lives, she felt sorry for the way my dad treated me. My sister is a Catholic and although she hasn’t been supportive with my evangelical faith in the past, somehow she had learned to accept me. There was one morning when we went upstairs and we prayed for our parents so that God would soften their callous heart and they would receive Christ as their Savior.
I spent the rest of my time at home wandering around the town. Everywhere I went, I saw brokenness. There were people who prayed five times a day to a god who doesn’t love back. There were people who burn incense and offer animal sacrifices to countless gods. My house was filled with idol statues and I felt so heavy every time I entered it. The spiritual warfare in places that I’ve been at home was very real. I got tired of all of this, and I didn’t know what to do. It was overwhelming and all I wanted was to get out.
I said my goodbyes to my family early in the morning, got into the car and left. I didn’t look back, I didn’t say anything. I was glad that I was on my way to the U.S.
Months passed, but I was not the same anymore. I still lead Bible studies even though my heart was not in it. I barely went to church or read my Bible. Everything seemed meaningless and empty.
I was mad. Mad at God.
I didn’t know why God let all these things happened to me. I was mad at myself too, mad that I thought this was the end of the world while being sure that others had suffered more than I did.
I felt weak, and hopeless.
It took months before I finally let God come into my life again. There was a moment where I came to the realization that God is worth it all. I realized that God wanted me to see and to feel those things at home- poverty, brokenness, and persecution- because He wants me to do something about it. He wants me to be bothered by it, to be broken by it. So that He can use me to make some changes. To bring light and tell the world about Christ.
It’s not easy to follow Jesus. It’s not easy to love your enemies. It’s not easy to trust God in all situations. I thought that going home was going to be wonderful and filled with laughter. But it didn’t ended up quite like that. Actually it was more of a disaster. But there’s something beautiful in it.
My faith and dependency on God has grown to a whole new level. My character is shaped and my armor thickens. In the midst of darkness I saw light and hope. I still believe that God can do the impossible. And already, I’ve felt glimpses of hope in my family.
I called my mom last month asking how she’s doing. She said she’s doing well, although she said she had a strange experience while visiting my sister in Singapore. She told me that she had a dream. In her dream, she was bothered by demonic spirits. She told me that these spirits wouldn’t leave her alone and they’d begun to hurt her physically. Then out of nowhere, she found herself repeating one word: Jesus.
The demons continued to bother her and finally my mom said these words in her dream: “In the name of the Lord Jesus, go away.” Immediately the demonic spirits vanished and my mom awakened from her sleep.
I was speechless.
How could this be even possible?? After that, I told my mom that God is real and He is protecting her even in her dreams. I sent my mom a copy of my Indonesian Bible for her to read. It’s my prayer that she would accept Christ one day.
The fact that my mom encountered the power of God in her dream when she didn’t believe in God is a miracle. When we had thought that our prayers went unheard, God is working in amazing way to reveal himself to the lost.
When Jesus called us to love our neighbor as ourselves, it seems easy at first to do it. But I still find it really heard to follow that call. I mean it should be easy to forgive and love your own family right? I confess that it’s hard, because things that they have said and done are hurtful and it’s only through the grace of Jesus that I can forgive and love them.
To say I love you is still hard for me, but perhaps one day it’ll change.
I’m not exactly sure what I’m trying to convey or what advice that I’m trying to tell you through this story. But I wanted to share it in hope that even though you’ve had bitter encounters in your life, you’ll know that God is working mightily to change even the worst disaster into something that’s beautiful. Praise be to God!
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Thank you so much for reading this story. I am currently fundraising a total of $16, 285 to be able to go on the World Race July 2014 Route 2 and if you are interested in supporting me financially, please click Support Me on the left tab of my blog. I need to meet my first deadline and to raise $3500 by May 2014. I can’t do this on my own strength, it requires complete trust in Jesus and the support of God’s people. So if you feel called to support me please do so! If you have further questions, feel free to ask me! Again, thank you so much for reading my story. God bless!
