My first day in Nepal was literally a breath of fresh air. After the intense sensory overload of India, the milder weather and cleaner streets of Kathmandu were a warm welcome.
As soon as we made it to our hotel for a few days of debrief, I hit the streets with a few of my teammates. We bounced from shop to shop and sought out little hidden restaurants with momos that could set our tastebuds on fire. With my head leaned back and my eyes on the multicolored prayer flags stretched across the busy street, I was fully engaged with the awe of Nepal.
Suddenly I felt a tug on my arm. I looked down to see a little boy about 10 years old with an oversized, ratty t-shirt and freshly scabbed wounds on his right cheek. I looked him directly in his bright, brown eyes for a few moments and my heart began to break. He shouted something to me about a biscuit and the moment was gone. I was instantly annoyed as I felt like I was just another foreigner that he targeted as his next victim. I shrewdly snatched my hand away from him and began to pick up my pace to catch up with my friends. He probably would have simply given up the chase and proceeded to beg some other passerby for money or biscuits or whatever, and I could have probably gone on with my day with no real repercussions of ignoring him.
But I turned around.
It was almost as if Jesus Himself grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face the boy again. I approached him and he saw his chance. He grabbed my right hand and drug me into a small store tucked away into the sea of tightly packed shops. As soon as he stepped across the threshold, the shopkeeper reached across the counter and struck him across his left cheek. She reared back again as if to reinforce her distaste, but I stopped her hand by frantically gesturing that he was with me.
This really got my blood pumping. All of this happened in the course of about 60 seconds and all I had done was react to the things around me. Through the boy’s very broken English I heard, “Please! For my sister.” He ran to a shelf, grabbed a pack of what I would call “crackers,” and drug me to the counter for me to pay for them all while gripping tightly to my hand.
In an effort to gain control of the situation, I took them from the cashier and checked to see how much money I had. I only the equivalent of two US dollars and the pack he chose was three. We went back to the shelf and found another pack within our budget and returned to the counter. The angry woman reluctantly rang up the crackers, I handed over the money, and the boy ran out the door without so much as a simple “thanks”. Through the glass window I saw him sit down in a pile of garbage and used boxes with the crackers in hand.
Feeling annoyed with his response yet satisfied with my “good deed” I made my way out the door with every intention of just continuing on my merry way. I looked over at the boy one last time and felt my heart shatter.
This was the reason I came to Nepal in the first place. I was called here to love people and serve God. Even if I felt like this boy took advantage of me, he is still lost and broken without Jesus.
I stepped over to the pile of trash and sat down next to him. I grabbed his hand and asked him for his name. Avoiding eye contact, he introduced himself as Anil. He was obviously uncomfortable that the tables had turned and I became the one approaching him. He mumbled some things about his little sister who needed the crackers and he gripped them a little tighter as if he were afraid I would try to take them back. A nearby store owner tossed a box onto our pile and he flinched as if he were bracing for another beating.
His eyes finally met mine and asked him if he had ever heard about Jesus.
“Yesu?” he asked.
“Yeah! Yesu!” I said.
I proceeded to tell him that the crackers I bought him were not from me. They were from Yesu. I told him that he was loved by Yesu and that he was seen my Yesu. I told Anil as best as I knew how about the satisfaction and joy found in Yesu.
He seemed to not gather most of the things I said, but I gave him a hug and told him to give his little sister a hug from me and from Yesu. I stood up and left him sitting in a pile of garbage and my heart is honestly still in shambles.
Sharing the Gospel seems so easy on paper. All you have to do is talk about Jesus and how He gave Himself up for us. You just share about the freedom found in following Him and in submitting your life to Him. You just speak Life.
When I signed up for the Race I never anticipated the language barrier being so difficult. I imagined people flocking to our squad begging to learn more about this Jesus, but I’ve found out that a missionary’s life is nowhere near that simple. Sometimes sharing the Gospel looks like buying crackers in the name of Jesus and leaving a little seed behind.
I am praying that the seed I left with Anil will somehow fall between the cracks in the notorious “language barrier” and make its way to fertile soil.
I am praying for Anil to remember the day when Yesu sent a 22 year old guy from the U.S. to buy him a snack to help him and his sister make it another day.
I praying for the day that Anil gives his life to Christ.
I am looking forward to the day I greet him in Heaven and rejoice with him around the throne of my Savior.
For now I am praying to be more like Jesus, one “street kid” at a time.
