I was born in Kerala, in South India. My family were members of the Syrian Orthodox Church. But I had joined the army and strayed from the faith. I had developed many bad habits, including smoking , drinking and gambling.
In 1971 I was stationed with the army in Kashmir at the northern tip of India. There it was that God was pleased to save me on October 1st of that year.
So when I wrote of my salvation experience to my father, he immediately became very happy. He asked me to send the money I saved from discontinuing those vices so that he might buy some land for me. That was his way of investing, and he had become a well-to-do man, owning a small rubber estate. But soon something happened that caused him to change his opinion of me.
Urge for baptism
I was growing fast in the Lord, learning God's Word, and spending much time praying with other believers. One day, as I jumped over a small book on the way to the army office where I worked, I remembered witnessing a baptism service in my home church. The minister immersed a family who had come from a non-Christian background. Only those from non-Christian families were baptized by immersion.
Jumping over that brook made me wish I could also be baptized. But since I had been baptized as a child, another baptism by immersion in my church was out of the question. I decided to pursue baptism, anyway, and felt happy about it--until I came home for lunch and told my wife. She immediately was upset.
"You must have met some Christians with some new and strange doctrine," she said.
I said, "Let us pray."
As we knelt, I pulled out the Soul Winner's New Testament that I had in my pocket. I opened it at random and my eyes fell on the last few verses of Acts 2: "Then they that gladly received his word were baptized."
I said to Lilly, "That settles it."
We were baptized by immersion on March 12, 1972.
I wrote about this glad news to my father. He did not reply. He was angry that I was straying away from the tradition of our religion. There was not even one person in our whole clan who had been baptized by immersion.
The next w
eek I went to see my parents. No one in my family was happy to see my zeal for God in praising Him and sharing about Him to every one I met.
When it was time for the evening meal, my dad said, "If you will come with us to the church and worship God the way my forefathers worshipped, you will have the family inheritance. If you want to forsake that faith, you can leave the house, too. You have three hours to decide."
Tough decision
I walked out and stood in the front yard, looking at the sky and asking God to speak to me. I needed a word of assurance, a sign that would tell me that He would be with me. Did God not speak to Abraham to leave his house and his inheritance? I was willing to leave mine, too, if God gave me some kind of sign.
But God was silent. Even though I cried out, prayed, and talked to God, I got no visible, audible answer. Finally, after two hours of this pleading, I decided to go back inside the house. As I was going into the house, I glanced up one more time and saw a bright, shooting star. A thought flashed in my mind, "Abraham looked at the stars and believed."
I went into the house. My father was walking in the living room, rubbing his hands together. He seemed totally unsettled and worried.
I said, "Papa, I don't need three hours. I have made up my mind. I will go with God and worship Him the same way as the apostles and the first-century believers worshipped God. I will follow the God of Abraham, even if I lose all the wealth you can give me."
Daddy said, "It is your choice. You can leave or stay. Stay with us and be one among us. Or take your wife and son and leave."
The next day I took all our clothes and walked out. I said goodbye to all, and every one was cold. We had servants in the house, and I thought my parents would send one of them to carry my bag to the bus stop that was almost 2 km away. But they didn't. Lilly carried our three-month-old baby, and I hefted the big, heavy bag and began to walk.
As we were walking out the gate, my daddy said, "Wait a minute. Our car is going to town. The driver will drop you there." We were happy.
In town, as we were getting out of the car, the driver said, "Your father instructed me to charge you taxi fare."
I was shocked. I did not have much money.
I gave him what money I could spare and told him, "Tell Papa that this is all I can give now, and I will give one rupee some time later." Already I realized the meaning of rejection and what it meant to be disowned.
I had just one rupee left in my pocket--just enough to take us to Lilly's home by bus.
An impoverished life 
We walked in the faith of Abraham, talking about Jesus wherever we went--on the bus, in the marketplace, in front of the movie theatre, in villages and army camps everywhere.
On November 6, 1972, we reached our first mission station after resigning from my job. That winter we experienced poverty and severe winter cold without adequate clothing. We experienced rejection, threats, persecution, hatred, and isolation from the local people. Still, we were happy, knowing well that God was with us.
No mission was sending us money. I never expected anything from the local church where I worshipped, as the pastor himself was living in need and want. Even so, he gave us Rs 100 a month for 10 months.
Lilly and I lived an impoverished life for four years. During that time a second child was born. Someone back home had told my father that he had met me and had seen that I had lost weight and was in poor health. I was unshaven, my clothes were discolored and tattered, and my shoes had patches on them. He further added, "Your son probably doesn't even have enough money to buy a razor blade."
My father was a kind, devout, and God-fearing gentleman. Hearing this ma
de him sad. So when Lilly went to her family home for confinement for our third child, my parents decided to visit me and see everything for themselves.
But I was dumbfounded how I was supposed to feed them. Daddy was diabetic and needed his food at regular times. Yet we were just renting one room of a house and our pantry was bare.
Putting God on schedule
So when Momma and Daddy arrived, I said, "Let us pray." I prayed in a loud voice and with very specific instructions: "God, You must give me the means to feed my parents on time every day. We need 8 a.m. breakfast, 1 p.m. lunch, and 8 p.m. dinner. My father is a chronic diabetic patient, and he must have food on time. You know it, Lord."
My father was astonished. He had never heard such a prayer asking God for food every day on a timetable.
Then I rushed out behind the house to the bush. That is where the neighbors and we went to ease ourselves, since none of us in that area had a toilet. I knelt there in the bush and prayed, "God, I prayed like a hero. But I'm scared. You must prove to my parents that You are a prayer-answering God."
Later that day the postman brought me a money order for 15 rupees (about $2 in those days). As I was signing it, my father looked at the money order form very closely, but I paid no attention to that. The paltry amount was enough for a day's food.
Every day or two I was getting money orders for Rs 10 to Rs 25. I had never received money orders like that before, but suddenly I was getting them nearly every day for 14 days.
On the 15th day the postman came, but there was no money order. Daddy said he would give me Rs. 50 so
we could buy the groceries.
I bragged, "Don't worry Papa, I prayed to my God and He will supply the food or the money. You will have lunch at 1 p.m."
He laughed in surprise and unbelief.
I quickly ran to the bush, knelt down and prayed, "God, You must help me. If you want me to go hungry, it must happen only after my parents leave."
Lunch at the door
When I returned, I saw a 14-year-old girl standing with a bundle on her head. She said she had brought some rice as a token of her thankfulness for Lilly teaching her to read and write.
I told my mother, "This is my God. He will give either the money or the groceries. You cook this rice, Mom."
She said, "But we have no vegetables. I will give you Rs. 25 to buy groceries. I know that you were boasting when you told Papa that God would supply. Just take this money, and I won't tell Papa."
I laughed and told her "My God who gave us rice also knows that we need vegetables, too. We will have vegetables for lunch." Then, I ran back to the bush and pleaded with God some more.
When I came back to my room, someone at the front door was asking in loud voice, "Padre, are you there? Would you like to have some vegetables?"
I opened the door and I could not believe my eyes. My landlord was standing there with a large brown bag with vegetables. Why, he had never given us anything in the three years we had rented from him. In fact, he was unhappy with us because he was a Hindu priest and we were converting his people into Christianity, and my challenges to him made him angry.
Challenging the priest
I used to ask him questions like, "You have 3.3 million gods. Which god
can forgive your sins?" "Since your gods of revenge shed blood, how can they save you when you do
something wrong?" Or, "If your god went through nine reincarnations before he could save the righteous and punish the sinners, how can a sinner can expect to get any help from your god?"
Then I would tell him, "Jesus came to seek and save the sinners That proves that Jesus is the only one who can save. You consider the monkey as a god. Why, then, does he come and attack you, and steal your food?"
So now I asked him, "Why are you bringing me vegetables today?"
He said, "Well, every day I come home from my morning worship at the temple, I stop and buy vegetables for the day. However, today I was late, so my wife went and bought okra, eggplant and tomatoes. Then, ten minutes later my mother arrived to see the grandchildren, which she does every month. Normally, she brings some kind of Indian sweet for the children, but today she found the vegetables being sold very cheap, so she also bought some vegetables. And then I arrived home with the vegetables. So now, within a half-hour's time, we have three times the vegetables we need. So here, you please take some."
None of us had a refrigerator, and there was no way to keep the vegetables fresh. So I accepted them with a chuckle in my heart.
After I closed the door, I told my mother, "This is my God. He knows my need and answers my prayer. I am His child."
Momma said, "But we don't have any cooking oil to make curry, and there is no salt."
Outwardly I bragged, "Don't worry, Mom, the same God who gave rice in a wonderful way and the vegetable in a strange way, will give us oil and salt, too."
God of the details
Inwardly I had my doubts. I wondered if anyone would give cooking oil and salt. Who gives such things? But I wanted God to prove to my parents that my faith was not a mere form of religion. So one more time I ran to the bush and prayed for a miracle.
When I came back, the girl who brought the rice was again standing there and this time she had a small medicine bottle in her hand. She gave it to me and said, "My mother asked me to take a little cooking oil and salt for you. She heard you teaching about tithing, and this is the tithe of the oil and salt she bought today for our home."
I was so happy I was surprised that my heart didn't burst. My mother's eyes grew to the size of saucers. She was shaking and I was walking on clouds.
That night, it snowed on the nearby mountain and we had a heavy rain. The night was very cold. After family prayer we all went to sleep. My parents slept on Lilly's and my bed, and my assistant pastor and I slept on the concrete floor. We spread newspapers on the floor and covered ourselves with whatever clothes we could find, which wasn't much. We slept with all our clothes and two pair of socks on, with one-and-a-half pullovers--which was all we had. Then we thre
w some gunny sacks over us to ward off the freezing cold. There was no stove, and it was freezing both inside and out.
But we couldn't sleep. We two got up and sat on the floor worshipping. I was so happy. I was crying and laughing. My father woke up and sat on the bed staring at me. He could not understand why I was so happy.
There was no reason for me to be happy. I was raised in a rich man's home with servants. Now I was living in utter poverty:
No bed, only rags.
No toilet, just using the bush.
No bathroom, but taking a bucket shower in the kitchen, and letting the water flow into the front yard.
No plates, but eating from the frying pan.
No glasses, but using tin cups.
No pillows, but sleeping on our arms.
Faded clothes, shoes with patches.
No newspaper, and we did not have a radio.
No good food. I had to either sell Bibles and New Testaments to the pilgrims to buy groceries (if it was not raining), or we had to wait for the postman to come with a money order. It was a life of uncertainty.
Back home we were highly respected. My father was called "Sir," like a title, by all. And most of the people called me "Little Sir." But, here we were hated and despised.
In the eyes of my father we were living beneath the standard of our servants back at home. But still I was very happy. I always sang and praised God. Even in the family prayer there was no crying or pleading for food or anything, but simply asking like a child to his father.
Daddy's change of heart
My Daddy got up off the bed, came over and knelt by my side. He tapped me on my left thigh with his right hand and said, "Son, four years ago when you left home with a broad smile, I thought you are foregoing whatever wealth I could offer because some white man had offered you a larger tea estate, or land and a bigger house. But now I see you living a poor man's life, and yet you are very happy. I see how your God is supplying your daily needs, though it is very little. Yet you are content and happy.
"I saw the converts you have won to the Lord, which are over 100 people. I don't think my church, the Orthodox Church, will have baptized 100 Hindus in my lifetime. I looked at the money order forms to see whether an American or Englishman was sending you money. They all came from Indians. After watching you for 15 days, I realized that you did not follow a white man, but the God of Abraham.
"So from today onwards your God is my God. I accept Jesus Christ as my Savior. He has been standing at my door and knocking for many years, but I did not open my heart to Him. Today I open my heart and accept Him as my Savior. Will you
baptize me?" 
Then my mother came and said, "I, also, am accepting Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. I saw how God supplied the rice, the vegetables, the cooking oil, and even the salt. I know your God is a living God. Your God is my God too. Will you baptize me also?"
Momentous day
The next day I had the privilege of baptizing both my parents with the help of an aged evangelist of my church in the swimming pool of the Police Inspector General, who had a summer bungalow near my house. Several Hindu priests with their families came to watch the baptism service, which they had never seen before. It was like heaven for me. On that night we had Holy Communion in my one-room house. After that I knelt before them and asked them to bless me, as I remembered them cursing me as I walked out with a smile from their house four years earlier. They blessed me.
I subsequently had the privilege of baptizing most of my brothers, sisters, their spouses, their children, and my mother-in-law and brother-in-law. They all traveled three days by train so that I could baptize them, even though they had many Pentecostal, Baptist, and evangelical pastors in their home towns. Allowing me to baptize them was like a "silver gift on a golden plate" from God.
I did not follow God for honor or fame. I did it and still do it because I love Him and have a passion for souls. But God gave me much more than what I could ask of Him. Be steadfast, and you will eventually see the fruit of your faith.
