My name is Abraham. Jesus helped me overcome caste divisions and prejudice. I love the least of these. This is my story.
I am the youngest of nine children; my father was a Hindu priest and a radical. I was his favorite son. His dream was for me to follow him into the priesthood, but I was not able to speak normally, so being a priest was not a possibility for me.
I could not communicate, so I was very lonely growing up. At an early age I started to smoke and drink. My addiction quickly progressed to the point where I could not fall asleep without having a drink or a smoke.
One day, when I was sixteen, a pastor of a church in my city stopped me in the street and started talking to me about Jesus. He gave me a Bible. I took it to be polite, but did not read it. I had heard of Jesus while I was growing up, but my father made it clear Jesus was for white people and black people, and we were brown. We needed to follow our gods. I shoved the Bible deep in my mattress and promptly forgot about it.
One night, about six to seven months later, I was tearing my home apart in search of something to help me sleep. I went to every bottle, but they were empty. I dug through my mattress looking for something to smoke, and instead found the Bible.
This god is for white people and black people, I thought, but maybe he can be for brown people too.
I opened the Bible to Matthew 11:28: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” I was astonished. In Hinduism, you must sacrifice to the gods in order to get rest. You cannot get anything without first giving something. But this god—this Jesus—would give me rest without asking anything in return? Could it be possible?
If this is true, then I will serve Jesus, I thought. I closed the Bible and had the best sleep of my life. Not only was I well-rested for the first time in many years, but the next day I found that I was able to speak! This god was for brown people, too.
Desperate to understand and learn more, I walked the streets for four hours, hoping to meet the pastor who had given me the Bible. I did not find him, but I knew of a church near my home, so I started going on Saturday, which is the holy day in Nepal.
But my father, he noticed something was wrong. He saw that I did not sacrifice to the Hindu gods anymore. He was especially upset about church. There is a caste system in Nepal, and we are Brahmin, the highest caste. When I was little, we had low-caste people working in our home, but they were not permitted to eat with us. They would wash our dishes; then, once they had eaten, my father would send them out of the house to wash in a separate sink. My mother would take gold, mix it with water and sprinkle it on the dishes they had eaten from to purify them.
But in the church I attended, I was sitting and eating with low-caste people, spending time with them, and laughing with them. One day my father came to me and showed me all the riches he possessed and said, “This is your inheritance, my son. You may have it all, if you recant these ways and follow the Hindu gods.”
I told my father I could not do as he asked. “What is the difference between us and them?” I asked. “We are human. They are human. We are the same.”
From that moment on, my father refused to speak to me. For nine years he has refused to speak to me. Nine years he has not seen my face.
My father kicked me out of our home, so I moved here, where I met my wife. I was afraid to marry her because I could not provide for her. “I have only my love to give,” I said. She said that was enough, and we were married. Shortly after, we became pregnant with my eldest son.
At that point, I had no choice. We needed money. So I left my wife with her mother and went to Saudi Arabia to find work. I worked in supermarkets in Saudi Arabia, Qatar, and Dubai for many years and sent money back to my wife. While I was there, I worked to plant churches, but it never felt like enough. I had a good life. Good money. But God kept whispering to my heart.
Finally, I came back home. One day as I was walking around the city, some low-caste kids came running up to me, hanging on my legs. They had no father, no mother, no one to take care. In that moment I heard God say to me, “Take care of my people.” I spent many days with those kids, sitting with them talking and eating with them. Now, three years later, I run a children’s home.
My friends helped me start this home. I said, “Okay, we know the work we have to do, let’s work!” They came around me and helped me. One friend paid the rent on this home—a five year lease. We have never asked for money, but we do need things. We cannot just feed the boys whatever; we have to feed them good food.
Now the home has been open for six months. The Lord has provided for every need. One time I got a call from a stranger who wanted to give me $500! I said, “I don’t know you, how do you know me?” and he sent me a picture of a my story that someone had posted on the bulletin board at his church. Who did that? I don’t know! But I am grateful to God for providing what we need.
Recently, my father had surgery and he called me to come home! I have now seen his face—the first time in nine years!—and am going back tonight to see him. If he will permit it, I will bring him here, to this house. I do not know if he will be able to overcome his prejudice. But I know that we are all human, and in God’s eyes there is no division of caste. I pray that my father is able to see this one day, as I have come to see it.
Pray with me:
– That God would continue to provide for the children’s home. We do not have any income, and rely on the generosity of donors.
– For the children to continue to adjust.
– For my family, specifically my boys, that they would not be lost in the mix of our ministry.
– For God to soften my father’s heart.
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*names have been changed*
