Beyond Barriers

beyond barriers
A heartwarming story of a compassion child in India,

who moved from abuse to abundance, from fear to faith
REVISED VERSION
BY GEORGE EBENEZER
All income from the sales of this book will be given to the vision of
Emotional Trauma Care
FIRST BOOK IN THE BEYOND BARRIERS SERIES
George writes Today, teens are looking for adults who would live
authentic lives and challenge them for the cause of the gospel. George
is an authentic person who lives out His beliefs in a very tough world.
The story is, as he says, His Story. The story of the rescue of one young
man to make his life a message of hope to others. It reveals God's
superabundant power toward those who believe and reveals how God
can cause the ambush of the devil to fail and turn a horrific story into an
extraordinary blessing
Zac Abraham. United Kingdom.
Beyond Barriers is the amazing true life story of how God rescued a
young south Indian boy, George Ebenezer, from a life of bondage and
despair and raised him up to be a powerful witness to today's generation
of confused and hurting young people. Having experienced horrible
abuse as a boy at the hands of a violent alcoholic father George has
an understanding of abused and traumatised children and teens that
very few people ever will. Having spoken to hundreds of thousands of
young people in 27 countries over the last 21 years, George is a special
tool in the hands of God to bring hope and healing to young people going
through similar experiences. This book will challenge all readers to ask
what they can do to bring hope and encouragement to the young people
in their own lives. A wonderfully inspiring book.
Terrell Presley, A Friend, Business Partner OnceMoreCrossFit (India)
I have been so thankful that the Lord allowed George's path to cross
mine over 25 years ago when my children prayed, wrote letters, and
supported George through their school- Mingo Valley Christian School
and also Compassion International. George's life is nothing short of
miraculous. Because of the pain and difficult life that he experienced as
a boy, he has a genuine deep care, understanding, and love for others who
are hurting. Most importantly, he has experienced the overwhelming
love God gives us as we trust Him. George has a burden to point each
person to the same Jesus that loved and redeemed him and now uses
him to reach others. I am excited that the world can now read of this
amazing story.
Libby Jeffers, Teacher at Mingo Valley Christian School, Tulsa
Take the journey as George Ebenezer tells the heart wrenching, deeply
personal, unbelievably transparent story of how God has and is using
one man to impact the lives of so many children around the globe!
Dr. David Geisler, President of Norm Geisler International Ministries
It's a joy to write an introduction to this book by George. Meeting him

first as a student, and then in him becoming a member of our family, I
have seen him at close quarters. As a result I have seen his heart for the
Lord Jesus and his passion for the ones He has put in his heart.
Having being delivered from the difficult childhood and background
that he lived through, God Almighty has used these very experiences to
mould a servant who can effectively minister to those who like him are
going through the same life experiences. (2 Cor 1: 3-4). It is my prayer
that God would use George's experiences to lead many to His presence.
Jacob K Mathai. , The Disciples Fellowship Church, Kollam.
Phew! What a life ! What a God of mercy and redeeming grace . In

Beyond Barriers George tells his compelling story with a direct simplicity
and disarming transparency that made the book unputdowanable for
me. A story of a broken boy, birthed in a broken family , living in broken
uncertainty , yet made miraculously whole again by the power of God.
David Fernandes (bond servant of Jesus Christ, sinner saved by grace)
Sr Pastor Living Word Church
Core Team Member of Mumbai Transformation Network.
We know that the Lord is an amazing potter, but who would have
thought that the particular lump of clay that was George Ebenezer
could ever be shaped, despite the endless trauma, pain and suffering
of his abused childhood, into the inspirational speaker, leader and
rescuer of young people and those in despair that he is today. His vision
for Emotional Trauma Care Centres in major cities all across India is
a unique and important one. I believe through the power of the Lord
within George that it will happen.
Lyn Wendon, Author and originator of the Letterland
System for teaching literacy
With Chris, the puppet
contents
Foreword
Acknowledgments
11
A Personal Letter
13
My Life Passage
20
Chapter 1
23
Death At The Start
Chapter 2
31
Life Giving Me A Start
Chapter 3
44
Confused At Heart
Chapter 4
56
The Tumultuous Teens
Chapter 5
78
Love Broken Apart
Chapter 6
93
My Times of Ministry
Last Chapter
My Marriage and other stories from my ministry
115
Some of my ministry photographs
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foreword
When Moses defined for himself what is most important

in his relationship with God (and in his mission for God)
he expressed it all in one request: Lord, show me your
glory! (Exodus 33:18)
What a bold, audacious request!
Moses was asking to catch a glimpse of the spectacular
splendor of God Almighty. I can only venture an educated
guess why Moses made that request.
Two things.
One, he was emboldened by the fact that God, in His
grace, has already acceded to His previous request; i.e.
that God would reveal His ways (v.13) and that God would
continue His presence in their midst (v.15-16).
Second, it might well be that Moses wanted to know
Foreword - 9
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God more intimately. Bear in mind that Moses already

had a first-hand, personal glimpse of Gods glory from
the burning bush to the awesome signs and wonders in
Egypt! So what is he thinking when he made that request?
That there MUST be something more!
Everything so far was but scratching the surface. He
wanted more of God! Amazingly, God told Moses that his
request would be granted!
Wow!
Then immediately, the Lord declared something quite
revealing in verses 19-20:
I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I
will proclaim my name, the LORD, in your presence. I will
have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have
compassion on whom I will have compassion. But you
cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live
Compassion is deeply rooted in the essential nature of
God. It is rooted in unwavering kindness and undiluted
mercy. Unfailing compassion is a powerful expression of
Gods love and a profound attribute of the Almighty.
Across the dark canvas of human pain and suffering, the
redemptive glory of Gods compassion shines through.
This was my theological reflection upon reading Beyond
Barriers. I read it in one sitting.
Beyond Barriers is an inspiring narrative. An honest,
10 - Foreword
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powerful testimony of Gods redemptive grace. I was

carried along in the gutter of George Ebenezers traumatic
and tragic childhood in India. As a boy, he was no stranger
to deep hurts and unimaginable pains.
But today, in spite of it all, he has been touched and
redeemed by Gods compassion and love. His book tells
the amazing story.
Raised as a Compassion Child in India, George now
travels to many cities declaring the redemptive love of
God for young lives. As a father to 10 kids in India (9 of
whom are adopted!) he continues to minister to teens
driven to suicide and young girls sold into prostitution. He
compassionately offers hope in Christ.
As truth is best communicated in the conduit of relationship,
discipleship is best communicated through the lens of
ones pilgrimage. This is precisely what George Ebenezer
has done. Instead of telling us about compassionate
ministries, he has chosen to communicate it vividly though
his personal life and testimony.
As a result, his book is a compelling read. And indeed, an
instructive one. For through its brief pages, I see the glory
of a compassionate God who faithfully reaches out to
us, beyond all barriers!
Edmund Chan
Leadership Mentor, Covenant EFC
Founder,
Global Alliance of Intentional Disciplemaking Churches
Foreword - 11
My step-mom and mother in law along with Manju
Early years of ministry after marriage
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I dedicate this book to three lovely women

in my life.
My birth-mother, Epsi. She was 24 years old when she
died and was willing to forgive my father on her death
bed.
My step-mother, Gnanajothi, now 70 years old and living
with me, who held on even in the midst of abuse and
violence, lending new meaning to my life.
My dear wife, Manju, who through her life, has showed me
that real, unconditional love and serving, brings healing.
Acknowledgements - 13
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Thank you note

I would like to especially thank Mr. Thyagarajan Marcus,
who spent several hours teaching and counseling me,
Pastor Jacob Mathai, who has stood like a father to me,
Terry, my brother in Christ and business partner, the
Nimicks, one great source of encouragement, Libby
Jeffers, another lady who pours unconditional love and
my precious co-laborers and coworkers for the constant
encouragement and help.
I want to thank Pastor Edmund Chan, a mentor and guide,
who encouraged me to write this book. I want to specially
thank my editors, Mrs. Thanuja George and Mrs. Lauree
Arms for working on editing and comments within such a
difficult and small time line.
I was 14 when I heard the first message of Dr Ravi
Zacharias. I had to listen to that message for about 10 times
to understand it. But I have been persistent listening to him
all these 25 years. In many ways his sermons has discipled
me in an unique way. I want to specially thank him.
I want to thank Mrs. Gifty Isaac, who designed the layout
of this book.
I also want to thank those thousands of children and
teenagers who have showered their love upon me.
Connecting with them and taking my journey alongside
their lives, has brought healing into my own life.
Lastly but not the least, I want to thank my own children
for their understanding and for affording me the time and
space to work on this book.
14 - Acknowledgements
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A PERSONAL LETTER
Wait! Before you start you need to know that this is not just
another story. This is HIS Story written through my life.
My mother was burned alive by my father when I was
16 months old (this was conveyed to me by my moms
family). I grew up in an alcoholic home. I was constantly
abused physically, verbally and emotionally. Seeing blood
was an ordinary sight. My search for love took me into
wrong, abusive, homosexual relationships with boys and
men. Cheating others, stealing from shops, or watching
pornography slowly became my lifestyle. On several
occasions, though not regularly, picking up leftover food
from the garbage, which had been thrown out of food
shacks, was the means to eat a meal.
Through all of this did I know what my future held? No! I
had no idea. I had no clue. I lived on without any meaning
or purpose.
During one of my travels to a remote village in India, a
man weaving baskets caught my eye. I was fascinated and
A Personal Letter - 15
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intrigued. The basket was made of bamboo strips. They

would start by working on each strip, lay them crisscross
and then begin to weave. Only the weaver knew in his
mind how the basket would look in the end. Only he knew
what its purpose was to be.
Will it be a broad basket to
hold fruits and vegetables,
or would it be slim, narrow
and tall to hold newly
harvested rice? Or would it
be used in paddy fields to
scoop water out of wells,
or would it be wide and
strong, used by fishermen
as basket boats on small rivers and lakes? The weaver
alone knew.
Yes! The Lord God Almighty alone knew what kind of a life
basket He was weaving me to be, but I had no idea.
So come along as I share, evaluate, reason and recollect
my past life experiences. This is going to be candid,
transparent and real sharing. I intend to be vulnerable
and exposed, and I hope you are okay with that because
were living in an, I am okay, you are okay world. Would
you agree that today we need real people living lives of
transparency and authenticity?
Once I saw a Facebook post which read, May your
life someday be as awesome as you pretend it is on
Facebook. How true! We pretend and pose, and our
children grow up seeing confused images about real life.
It hurts me when I see lives hurt. It pains me when I see
16 - A Personal Letter
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lives experience pain. I know how it feels. I have been

there. Peoples experiences can be different, but the pain
remains the same.
Would you agree that the biggest need today is that we
walk hand in hand in a Godly discipleship journey? We
should take chances to be vulnerable. Yes, I hear you, and
yes, we need to be wise, but if we are to truly love our
fellow brothers and sisters, we must open our lives.
C. S. Lewis wrote:
To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your
heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to
make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one,
not even an animal. Wrap it carefully around with hobbies
and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up
safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that
casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will
not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable,
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irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.

- C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves
Two years ago, in the city of Delhi, I was at a restaurant
talking to a young girl who was sold into prostitution.
She was 23 years old. A friend had connected me to her
so I could counsel her. The pimp was waiting outside
watching us with his eagle eyes. The girl was hurting. She
was running a high fever on that day but had to return
to work that night. The pimp had lined up three to four
customers. She told me that she had cried so much in the
beginning that now tears did not come so easily. So why
does she do it? Well, most importantly, she was earning
enough money to send some back home.
As I spoke about the young girl to my wife, I was crying
deep inside. Would this girl find someone who would
walk beside her, relate to her and show her love? The
question was not whether she could cry, but who would
reach out to her as friend to lean on, be there with her, talk
and walk with her, and truly love her.
Could she find someone? Would anyone relate to her?
Would our people accept her? Would anyone love her
unconditionally?
As we talk of love, I might gently remind you that this love
has to come from the Lord Almighty as we bow ourselves,
and acknowledge, and accept Him as our Savior. It is only
after we have been redeemed that the Lord Almighty can
use us to redeem others. Whatever our story may be, we
are instruments in the hands of the redeemer so that he
can use us to redeem others.
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Its ironic that although technology

keeps us all well connected, we
are still so lonely. The so called
Touch generation in fact needs
real touch. You and I are called
to love; to love those who are
hurting, lost and in pain. We are
called to stand alongside these
people. However, you and I can effectively share love and
help only if we deal with our own pains, disappointments,
hurts and discouragements.
As you read this book, I pray that you might be able to
open up your life and deal with some of those hurts,
pains, disappointments and discouragements, looking at
them from the perspective of the GRAND WEAVER, the
Lord God Almighty.
I pray that at the end of this book you will not say because
of what happens, but you would see that in the midst of
what happens the Lord Almighty is in total control. Rick
Warren, pastor of Saddleback Church, says it this way:
Other people are
going to find healing
in your wounds. Your
greatest life message
and your most effective
ministry will come out
of your deepest hurts.
- Rick Warren
For me, I was never
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ever away from His grip. I did not see it at that time, but
today I look back and say, yes, He was always in control.
He was weaving me, and lovingly correcting and teaching
me with patience, into a basket that would hold life.
Today my lifes calling is to walk alongside children and
teenagers while partnering with the Lord Almighty to help
weave these young lives. Today, I have travelled to 27
countries and 152 cities across the globe, spoken to over
600,000 kids and teenagers in the last 21 years, given
leadership to ministries that reach and rescue children in
crisis and need, and I am blessed to be a father to 10 kids
(we have one biological son and we raise 9 children from
difficult places, in our family.) I will boldly say, He goes
beyond any barriers that life can pose or impose. He is
always in control, weaving something special.
Thank you for getting
this book, and I pray that
this would influence you
in some little way so that
you would walk alongside
someone to love and live
real life. I know you are real
and your life is real.
Always In His Grip and
Under His care,
George Ebenezer
All our kids
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my life passage
Isaiah 43 : 1-7
Israel Redeemed (Amplified Version)
1
But now, this is what the Lord, your Creator says, O Jacob,
And He who formed you, O Israel,
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you [from captivity];
I have called you by name; you are Mine!
2
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
And through the rivers, they will not overwhelm you.
When you walk through fire, you will not be scorched,
Nor will the flame burn you.
3
For I am the Lord your God,
22 - My Life Passage
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The Holy One of Israel, your Savior;

I have given Egypt [to the Babylonians] as your ransom,
Cush (ancient Ethiopia) and Seba [its province] in
exchange for you.
4
Because you are precious in My sight,
You are honored and I love you,
I will give other men in return for you and other peoples
in exchange for your life.
5
Do not fear, for I am with you;
I will bring your offspring from the east [where they are
scattered],
And gather you from the west.
6
I will say to the north, Give them up!
And to the south, Do not hold them back.
Bring My sons from far way
And My daughters from the ends of the earth,
7
Everyone who is called by My Name,
Whom I have created for My glory,
Whom I have formed,
even whom I have made.
My Life Passage - 23
I just love being with kids
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chapter 1
Death at the Start
My Parents
On December 3, 1971, Pakistan launched pre-emptive air
strikes on 11 Indian airbases, leading to Indias entry into
the war of independence in East Pakistan on the side of
Bangladeshi nationalist forces, and the commencement
of hostilities with West Pakistan. Lasting just 13 days, it
is considered to be one of the shortest wars in history.
My father was part of this war. He was a soldier in the
Indian Army. His father too was an army man as was his
Death At The Start - 25
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grandfather. I have heard stories of how my grandfather

would get drunk and beat up his wife, so my dad was
raised in an abusive home. He failed high school, quit
studying, and was jobless when his elder brother helped
him to get enrolled in the Indian Army.
I have heard my father share stories from his past when
he was drunk (that is when all prideful and hurtful stories
get poured out) about his struggle to survive the army
routine. It was tough. My father was quite talented. He
could easily play four to five musical instruments and many
sports including boxing. He was a born leader. He was in
the EME [Electrical and Mechanical Engineering] unit and
took pride that he was part of the 1971 India-Pakistan war.
Well, I should tell you, he was not just a part of the war,
but also received medals of honor and service from the
Prime Minister of India. Wow! Isnt that great? How many
people receive medals of honor from the Prime Minister
of the country? But the story took a sad route, and he
did not finish well. One day my dad got into a brawl and
ended up assaulting his Captain in the army. He was put in
army jail and was later Court Martialed with an undesirable
discharge and sent away from the army.
He returned to Bengaluru, one of the prominent South
Indian towns, and started working as a truck driver in an
Indian company. About this time his family arranged a
bride for him to marry, a beautiful twenty-two-year-old
raised in a Christian family. She was a vibrant young girl,
deeply in love with the Lord and involved in most activities
at her church. The joy in the marriage was short lived.
My dad soon made a habit of drinking and beating up
26 - Death At The Start
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my mother. She endured silently for a long while, and

when it became unbearable, she openly began to share
it with her pastors and their neighbors hoping one of
them would help. She requested that they counsel my
father, and a few offered help. But as a few came forth to
counsel, it only infuriated my father more. He would beat
up my mom asking her to stop talking about it, but she
wouldnt stop.
Death of my mom
My birth-mother died when I was 16 months old. Since I
was too small to have known anything, all I know is what
I have been told. I have been told two versions of what
happened. So, I would like to be sensitive and share it as
I heard it, although I do have my own convictions about
what could have happened.
Version one : My dads relatives say that my mom was in
the habit of threatening my dad that she would commit
suicide. Why? My dad would beat her up so badly she
had run out of options. So, she would often pretend as
though she were about to set herself ablaze, and during
one such instance, she accidentally got burned. She
sustained third degree burns, and on her death bed she
confessed as much to the police. In spite of this, my dad
had absconded and was in hiding through it all.
Version Two : My moms sisters have always maintained
that since she couldnt take it any longer, she had begun
talking to others about the abuse and asking for help, and
this infuriated my dad enough to actually plan and execute
her murder. He was so enraged that one day he emptied
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the overhead water tank, ensured that I was put in another

room, poured kerosene on her and set her ablaze. As my
mother screamed in agony, and the neighbors began
noticing, he fled. My aunts had prepared the complaint
but had been stopped by my moms insistence that her
son should not be branded as the son of a murderer.
She preferred to release her husband in forgiveness and
made up the story that she had set herself ablaze.
An excerpt of the email sent by my moms elder sister

My younger sister was married to a man who pretended
to be God-fearing and sincere. The very first night of their
marriage he tested her by locking her out of the house
until next morning. This went on for several days. The wife
is expected to welcome her husband looking pleasing
and well dressed, her head adorned with flowers and a
smiling face when he returns from work. So, he would get
her fresh flowers for her hair and take her out for a walk
or shopping. While on return he would flip over and start
by asking her who she had dressed up for, accusing and
torturing her mentally and then beating her up.
Even while she was pregnant, she was beaten up all
through the last 5 months of her pregnancy. He would
push her down, ask her to remove his shoes and kick her.
She would fall on her stomach. All through the pregnancy
he threatened that if this was to be a girl he would discard
her. God was merciful and blessed her with a son. If the
child cried both the baby and the mother would be
beaten up. If the child were to crawl to his father he would
be kicked off like a soccer ball. The child was a little over
a year when he finally burnt his wife alive.
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My mother
Me crying
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My mom described to her sisters all that had actually

happened. She was upset and furious they had brought
a complaint for her to sign so that my father could be
arrested and put away. Amazingly, she had chosen to
forgive the man who had done this to her. She did not
want him in prison because she did not want her son to
be branded the son of a murderer. She would rather
forgive her husband and let him go so that the favor of
God would come upon her child.
My mother was coherent and clear and refused to
budge in spite of numerous attempts to convince her
otherwise. She was dying. The doctors had given up
hope. Nearing the end, she requested that I be brought
to her. I was taken to my mother. She held me close and
began wailing and praying loudly. She prayed for three
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things: first, that her son would choose to do ministry over

all else, serving only God. Second, that God would send
him a mother, someone who would love and care for
him, and lastly, that God would send him a wife, one that
would please God, chosen by God.
My mom was twenty-four years old when she died. I carry
a picture of my young and beautiful mother.
My step brother Berakah who died
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chapter 2
Life Giving Me a Start
With my Grandparents
Jeremiah 1:5 is the verse that has kept me steady and on
course throughout my lifetime and vocation. The Lord
truly knew me even before I was formed in my mothers
womb. While in kindergarten I would return home
with my grandmother. On one such day, I was terrified
when a huge cow began chasing me. Just in time, my
grandmother showed up and shooed the cow away.
Although details evade me, I remember feeling secure
Life Giving Me A Start - 33
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and protected. Another

memory I have is of a
spanking session at the
hands of my grandfather.
While the elders took
a nap on a Sunday
afternoon, I was wide
awake and playful. I had
stumbled upon a tube of
toothpaste and put it to
good use. The main wall of the living room was plastered
with toothpaste, and the others woke up sniffing a weird
smell. Then, of course, came the good spanking session.
It seems I would cry often and was called the crying baby.
When my father remarried

My father had remarried to a missionary lady who hailed
from a family in a rural, remote Indian village and was
strongly rooted in Christian faith. She was raised by a godly
and strict mother, who was very particular about discipline
and godliness. Because of this, the young girl grew up
with a vision to serve the Lord by becoming a missionary.
She joined a missionary organization in India and was one
of the first women missionaries to be sent for missions to
North India.
My father, who had been absconding for a while, had
seemingly joined this organization where he met this
young lady. He was interested in marrying her, and I
have heard that he persuaded her by saying that he was
marrying only for the sake of his son and his upbringing.
Although it still beats me how this young lady was
34 - Life Giving Me A Start
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convinced, they eventually did get married. During the

first year of their marriage, I was sent to a hostel at the Amy
Carmichael Campus down south, which also had a school
for missionary children. These were kids whose parents
were missionaries in various parts in India.
My life as a 6-year-old in the missionary school hostel

The Amy Carmichael Campus (Santhosa Vidhyalaya School)
had a residential school meant for kids of missionary
parents who were unable to keep their children with them
in their mission fields and tend to their educational needs.
There were a number of children from around the country,
and it was a large campus. In spite of the huge number of
kids, I distinctly remember feeling lonely. On the second
Saturday of the month, parents or relatives would usually
come to visit, but I hardly ever had any visitors.
The very rare occasions that I had visitors were when
an uncle or cousin (my step-moms brother or my stepmoms sisters son) would visit. They would bring snacks.
I must say, those were very rare occasions and I would
be delighted. On most second Saturdays, I would walk
around among visiting families and my exuberant hostel
mates lonely and lost. I cannot explain the loneliness that
grips a six-year-old in such times. I have heard that I was
very sensitive at the time and cried a lot.
On the other hand, since I had not lived with a father and
mother as most children do at the age of six, I didnt really
know what it felt like, and didnt really miss it much. I might
even say that living in the hostel was okay with me. We
were a bunch of small children, who mostly liked each
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others company and enjoyed it. Everything was done

together, and we were always playful and merry, just
having fun in whatever we did. There were a few ladies
who would take care of us and tend to us.
Mornings were busy. Water was scarce, and it had to be
pumped up from deep bore wells using hand pumps.
So instead of sophisticated showers or shower rooms, we
had baths out in the open. The ladies (aunties as we fondly
called them) would stand by the hand pumps pumping
up water. We would run up to them half naked, pour
some water over ourselves, and run off.
One memory from that time that distinctly stands out is
a night when a thief tried to break into the dormitory. I
awoke hearing screams from the other children. More
than fear it was curiosity and thrill that I felt.
I was often sick. There was a sick room meant for kids who
were not well. I had no idea why I was unwell so frequently,
and neither did anyone else. I suspect they assumed that
it was because I had been through a lot at such a tender
age. Falling sick had a few other interesting perks. The
campus had a hospital that I liked visiting. It was at some
distance and took some walking across the campus. I liked
the solitary walk, talking to myself, and passing the familiar
banyan tree on the way. A six-year-old with ample time,
freedom, and space would find numerous ways of being
occupied. So being unwell, or pretending to be, gave me
two benefits. I could skip classes, and I could venture into
the hospital by myself to look around. Of course I had to
meet the doctor, if only to get a pat on the back with the
comment, Oh! Its nothing! Dont worry about it! I would
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also be given a chocolate with some jelly inside, which I

remember to this day. So after the doctors visit and a long
detour within the hospital, just long enough to get past
most of the days classes, I would be back in school.
Evenings were fun. We had sand to play with until it was
time for snacks. I loved the snacks we were given. On
some days it would be lentils. I am very fond of green
gram, so my favorite snack was the one they made using
green gram, coconut and sugar. This is probably the only
other distinct memory from my time at that school. Then,
for some reason that I dont know, I was taken out of the
school.
Today I go back to the Amy Carmichael Missionary School
campus at least once a year. I minister to over 750 attendees
on the campus. Interestingly, the principal who headed
the school while I was a student there continues to be the
principal even now, and he and his wife are very good
friends of mine. In a recent conversation, the principals
wife recollected how I came to be taken out of the school.
She described that although the school management
didnt want to let me go, my father was quite insistent
and obstinate about taking me with him. Thus, as soon
as I finished my first grade, I was taken out of the Amy
Carmichael Missionary School.
My first remembrance of my step mother

So where was I taken off to? I remember only bits and
pieces of that time. I distinctly remember the first time I saw
my step-mother. I didnt recognize her. I was sure I didnt
know her, yet I was not scared or anxious. I remember
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being happy that there was somebody other than my

father in the family now. As much as I can recollect from
those days, I know that my parents were missionaries with
a Christian organization which had sent them to mission
fields in North India.
I must say that unlike the usual accounts you may have
heard about step-mothers, mine was very loving, and we
had a very warm and loving relationship. In fact, at about 7
years of age, I would snuggle next to her at night, and she
would put me to sleep. I was happy to have someone with
me. My step-mother taught me small choruses, books of
the Bible and Bible verses. I remember staying in different
parts of North India along with other missionaries. I would
cling on to her all the time. One of my fond memories is
how my step-mother once took me outside our house (we
were in the state of Rajasthan) and showed me a caterpillar
becoming a pupa. I still remember being excited about
this and waiting for it to become a butterfly. This is fresh in
my mind. I heard my step-mother share many stories. One
such favorite was the story of Joseph. She would share
part by part and took many days to share the whole story.
I also heard stories of the great deserts in Rajasthan and
how people and camels died because the temperature
rose to 123 degrees Fahrenheit and how people would
throw onions in the desert to check sand pits. All these
stories made me excited.
Little boys life in the North Indian mission field

Life was generally fun during these days. I had a few friends
to play with, all of them children of missionary parents like
me. Several people would come home for cottage prayer
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A picture from my childhood
Me standing on the terrace in

one of the mission fields
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meetings. I remember staying once with a few missionary

bachelors involved in ministry.
Even at my young age I knew that my father was an
alcoholic. He would go out every day to distribute gospel
tracts and return home with alcohol. He would be angry
and shouting. A few times I happened upon him drinking
from bottles. I had seen similar behavior before, when
one of my uncles would drink out of a bottle and become
extremely upset and
abusive. I was quick to
relate the two, but the
revelation came as a
rude shock to my stepmother. She was raised
in a village and was
unaware of the ways
of the world. She was
naive about alcohol
and alcoholics. Hence,
discovering that her missionary husband was in fact a
chronic alcoholic was a violent jolt for her. In fact, even at
seven years of age I seemed to know more about it than
her, although she was in her thirties. So I described it all to
her, as much as I knew, and was keen to reassure her too.
Life moved on. By now my father had become extremely
violent and intolerant. He had to have his way in everything
or else he would simply beat up whoever was disagreeing.
I remember an old cycle rickshaw puller who got to bear
the brunt of my fathers beatings. A cycle rickshaw is a
three-wheeled cycle for public hire, with a covered seat
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for passengers behind the driver who pedals the cycle.

We had been on an outing and were returning home. It
was about to rain, so we were in a hurry. A cycle rickshaw
would get us home in time. My father called out to this
rickshaw puller who was waiting by the wayside; however,
the man was not interested and he refused to give us a
ride. Without further talking, my father began beating up
this poor fellow with the umbrella in his hand, right there,
in the middle of the road. Finally, the rickshaw puller,
fearing for his life, agreed to take us. The incident is still
fresh in my memory.
I am still unable to figure out how these ways of my father
went unnoticed amongst his coworkers and missionary
friends. It was either unnoticed, they purposely turned a
blind eye to it, or further still, chose not to interfere. I knew
my dad and step-mother were missionaries, although
I did not understand anything about it. I did not attend
regular school because we were in a remote mission field.
I loved travelling, living in different houses and visiting
new places. I enjoyed travelling in crowded trains and
buses. Once at a railway station I tripped and fell while
climbing down the stairs and came down rolling over 50
to 70 steps. My step-mother recalls the incident. She was
shocked and was expecting me to bleed badly. I rolled
down, reached the last few steps, got up and called back
to her to say nothing had happened. The Lord Almighty
was in total control. He had his hand over me.
I find it strange that we moved so often since it would
have hardly given us time to do anything worthwhile at
any mission station.
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Whatever the reason, the constant moving made me

insecure because each new place would take some time to
get used to. Climate would differ, people would change,
culture was different and food was different. North India
can be a very difficult place, especially for children, as
the climates are mostly extreme. In summer it can get
extremely hot, while in winter it would be freezing cold. I
also remember losing an entire school year on account of
the frequent moving.
Now settling down in South India

My next memories are of living in South India. By that
time, my parents were no longer working as missionaries.
Although I dont know the exact reason, I suspect the
organization eventually discovered that my father was an
alcoholic and that he was only faking his ministry and work
in the mission fields.
An early memory of living in South India is of a small one
room house with clay tile roofing and barely furnished. We
hardly had any furniture. The kitchen was tiny with space
just enough for one person. The house had no bathroom.
It was almost like a row
of rooms with no baths
attached. In order to use
the bathroom, one had
to go to the common
toilet that was used
by all the residents in
that compound. The
bathroom had no water
pipes, so water had to be
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drawn from a well. One could either draw the water out
with a bucket or pump it out using a hand pump. For an
8-year-old, I was quite adept at drawing water from the
well.
Early witness of violence

I have vivid memories of being beaten up often even at
that age. It was either me, my step-mother, or the two of
us who would take the beating. Fear, dread, swollen faces,
screaming, abuse and blood became a ritual at home.
The landlady, who was a well built and loud woman, would
occasionally come up and bang on the door to confront
my father. I remember her asking my father, Arent you
ashamed to beat up this woman like you would beat a
buffalo? What kind of a man are you? My father would
shout right back, This is my family issue. Nobody need
meddle in it. This is quite commonplace in India, especially
in the not-so-privileged circles. Its a mans family, and
he can do whatever he wants. Its not a public affair, its
entirely private, so my father just carried on uninterrupted.
He would habitually borrow money, even small amounts,
buy liquor and conveniently forget to or decide not to
return. The people who lent the money would be seen
in front of our house abusing my father and asking for
their money. My step-mother would beg and plead with
them to stop, assuring that she would return their money.
Because she was a teacher in a nearby school, people
quietly left without making a big scene.
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Ministering in school hostels as a teenager
Teaching a children choir as a teen
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chapter 3
Confused at Heart
Dad faking his ministry

As I grew up, I would see my dad go out daily, preach the
gospel and return home with whiskey. Many times I saw
him carry both the Bible and brandy together in his bag.
I have seen him bless and pray for others while with the
same mouth, curse and abuse me and my step-mother.
I was furious with God. I hated seeing my dad preach. I
knew he had only three sermons. He would play around
the three with some illustrations and stories. I prayed often
46 - Confused At Heart
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that lightning might strike while my dad preached. It never

happened.
When I saw people accept Jesus as their Savior, even as
dad preached, I was baffled. I could not believe my eyes.
Later I understood that God saves because of His plan
and love for His children. One day in my confusion, the
Lord led me one day to this passage in Matthew 7: 2122. When I read this passage, things became clear. The
new testament writer says, Not everyone who says to me,
Lord, Lord, will enter the kingdom of heaven. Many will
say to me on that day, Lord, Lord did we not prophesy
in your name and in your name drive out demons and in
your name perform many miracles? Then I will tell them
plainly, I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!
I did not want to come into ministry. Why? I did not want
to hear people say, Like father, like son. If I was going
to be a missionary at all, I wanted only to be a part time
one. I dreamt of being a cricketer. By then I was playing
for different companies and state level leagues. There was
a time when I pleaded with the Lord, Please let me be
Confused At Heart - 47
Beyond Barriers
like C.T. Studd, the cricketer who turned into a missionary.

But the Lord Almighty had a very special call for me into
missions. I rebelled and resisted because of what I saw in
my dad.
During the daytime my father would pretend to be a
minister/missionary and request donations and offerings
for ministry, even issuing receipts in the name of a fake
missionary organization he had set up for this purpose. He
would collect money, buy liquor and return home for his
one-man booze party. I just could not accept this. Many
days even as a child I vowed to myself that I would never
in my life be careless with Gods money.
Fights at Home
I hated home and always loved school, but not because I
enjoyed studies, or was motivated to learn or determined
to come up in life. No. I wanted to stay out of our house
because life inside those four walls was sickening. Yes,
literally stinking. After drinking my father would vomit all
over. He drank local liquor, and the liquor itself had a
stench. It was like living with someone who should have
been in a psychiatric asylum. Inevitably he would pick
fights that would end in physical abuse. The houses we
lived in often had only two small rooms (the whole house
about 250 to 400 Square feet). I would be sitting in a
corner. Every time my father raised his voice and shouted
fear would grip my heart. Believe me when I say that many
a day seemed to be my last. I was expecting my father to
kill either my step-mother or me.
Objects would fly or break, feet would stamp you on the
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Me with the foreign Team
Me singing in the choir
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stomach, hands would thunder on your cheek...oh, fear

gripped me tightly. I always slept on the cold floor with
a thin bed sheet over my face. I purposely covered my
face because my father sometimes kicked me on the face
which was very scary. I had nightmares of my father hurting
me. The fights often went on till early morning.
Survival seemed difficult. I wasnt sure I would live to the
next month. Something bad was sure to happen. We
always lived in rented houses that were changed several
times in the year. My father always borrowed money from
those around to drink, and the fights at home were no
secret, everyone knew our inside story. We would be
ashamed to continue living there anymore and move
to another house. Our neighbors, however, always kept
quiet because they respected my step-mother.
My Struggles
My next phase of memories is from the fifth grade,
between 9 and 14 years of age. The shifting of houses was
a routine by then, and we were now living quite closer to
my school. School was a respite from the beatings, abuses
and fear at home. So this is where I would let go of all
restraint and have fun, a time for games and play. Come
evening I would dread returning home. Thoughts of my
fathers loud angry voice made me shudder. I was afraid.
I was lonely. I was hungry. I was insecure. I felt rejected.
It must have been the emptiness in my soul, but I was
always hungry. I was longing for food. Very soon I slipped
into the habit of stealing, not money or gold, but food and
snacks, enticing, delectable snacks that I could not buy. I
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also had a liking for raw eggs. I would drink about 2 or 3

raw eggs each day but had no money to buy them. I was
told by a friend that drinking raw eggs would make me
grow strong and tall. I was very thin and petite at the time,
and I fantasized about having bulky muscles and growing
tall. So I started stealing eggs. I would wear a t-shirt or shirt
and tuck it into my waist. Then, the eggs were dropped
inside so no one would see them. I had to be extremely
careful not to run, hurry or hit anything, lest they break. On
one such day, I was carefully navigating my way through
a busy street when a friend came running toward me
and hugged me. The eggs broke, and the thick mixture
of yolk and egg started dripping all over. My friend was
stunned. He was drenched in it. Well what can one say, it
was an ingenious method I had devised to carry my loot.
I returned home, removed the green checkered shirt
dripping with egg and buried it behind the house.
Was I feeling guilty? Yes. Yes. I would repent, but then
again I would go back to steal. Why? I was hungry. My
coping mechanism to the whole situation was self-pity.
If there were any teams who would come for ministry, I
clung on to them. I was a small boy, but I loved attention.
I still remember some foreigner coming on missions and I
would spend time talking with them. I would be taking the
conversation in the direction of my own struggles. Then
what? I would ask for something to eat. Once a foreign
team had given me something strange to eat. I had never
tasted that kind of snack before. What was that? Today I
know what that was. It was meat jerky. I enjoyed it though.
I loved speaking to people and narrating my story,
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even exaggerating a bit. I would colorfully describe

being beaten up the night before, and my step-mother
suffering at the hands of a monstrous husband. It thrilled
me inside to see the listeners look at me sympathetically,
their helplessness reflecting on their faces. Almost any
time when I spoke to my neighbors, they would ask me
if I was hungry or if I wanted anything to eat. I would be
waiting for that question and pounce upon the chance
saying, Yes aunty, please. They gave me whatever was
at hand, be it bread, chapatti, cooked rice or anything
else. But sadly this did not work with everyone, especially
my friends. My friends were not too thrilled to have me
around because eventually I was just someone entangled
in a sob story. I was no fun to hang around with. I was not
interested in fun, laughter or play. I would much rather
have someone taking pity on me.
As a teenager, I had oversized teeth. Although I did not
bother about it initially, when I laughed or smiled, my
father would tease me for laughing like a girl and tell me
to close my mouth. My fathers favorite reason for chiding
me was that I had a girly manner or would do things like a
girl. The truth is, the rough and tough ways of men were
not appealing. I found girls more tender hearted, caring,
friendly and likeable. I made friends with girls easily and
had quite a few of them.
I might say that I was quite good at learning. I could not
concentrate or focus on my studies and would often just flip
through the portions on the eve of exams, yet I managed
to score 90 to 95% almost always. Although testing came
easily, scoring low marks was a sure reason for being hit.
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No matter what I did, violent beatings and abuse were a

part of life. I could never rise up to my dads expectations.
I was not too fond of studying because there were fights
most days. Studying while sitting right in the middle of an
argument is no fun at all. During exams though, I did get
up early in the mornings to study. I had a peculiar gift. As I
mentioned earlier, in just about
an hour of study, I could grasp
quite a lot, so much so that it was
enough for me to receive 80
to 90% marks. Perhaps if I had
studied better, I would have
done a lot better for myself. But
then again, there is no better
plan than Gods.
Early mornings
Waking up early in the morning was very difficult for me,
but the thought of getting out of the house made me
happy. I would wake up and be out of the house to brush
my teeth. We used charcoal powder or local tooth powder.
I would spend hours brushing lost in a fantasy world. The
houses we lived in never had exclusive bathrooms, so we
would use the common toilet nearby. Each one would fill
his bucket and line up to wait for his turn. Many mornings
I sat inside the Indian toilet (it is just a hole on the ground)
and slept until someone knocked on the door.
My step-mother would be tense in the mornings, getting
things done fast so we could get out of the house before
the previous nights left over fight kicked in. My father
would be sleeping when we slipped out of the house,
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but some mornings he would wake up and then the fight

was on. I felt pity for my step-mother. She would scream,
begging him not to beat her on the face. When one is
beaten on the face, it swells up fast, and as a teacher, it
was embarrassing to stand before the primary kids with a
swollen face.
Breakfast time was always a gulp something kind of time.
My step-mother would soak old rotis in milk or water and
roll them into balls. I needed to gulp in at least five balls
of old roti. Was that enough? Not at all. Did I like it? Until a
certain point in life I never bothered with taste.
We always walked to school. No school bus or school
van. No money for that. Walking with all those books on
the back was hard, but anything and anyplace was better
than home. As time passed, we kept shifting houses. Many
times we lived far away from school even though both
my step-mother and I had to get to school early in the
mornings. So, we would walk to and fro. One time it took
us 40 minutes and another time 20 minutes by foot.
My step-mother would
do something interesting
during those long walks.
She would pray half the
way and then ask me
to pray the remaining
distance. I hated it. She
would nudge me on the
head with her knuckle
to concentrate and pray.
One day I accidentally
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stepped in cow dung and splashed it onto her saree. She

was mad at me which was understandable, but I never
liked praying. My step-mother would beat me and correct
me so I would not get beaten up by my father. It was her
way of protecting me from a bigger, harder beating.
Her motive was justified, but for me it was just another
round of beatings and scolding. The logic was beyond my
understanding. Beatings from my father were harder, but
the knuckle nudges on my head were painful too. No big
difference to me. Today I understand that her intentions
were good.
Lying for Money

My step-mothers salary from teaching was the main
income in our home. Sometimes my dad worked parttime in schools training students to march and conducting
different events for sports day. He was very good at
that. Later, as his addiction grew worse, he stopped part
time jobs. Where did he find the money to drink? Good
question. He made me stay back at home. For what? So
that I could go around , tell lies and borrow money for his
alcohol. Why did I do that? Because I wanted the side dish
he bought for his drinking. It could be fried fish or fried
chicken or a simple snack.
Since I wanted to eat these, he would send me to different
houses to lie and get money from people. I would put
saliva on my eyes and pretend to cry as I lied about my
mother breaking her leg or my grandfather having an
accident and so on. I was easily enticed by the promise of
good food although most of the promises were not kept.
Each time I promised myself that I would never lie again
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for money, but I simply could not resist food. My stepmother would be very upset that I was missing school, but
she dared not confront my father about it.
Ps. Jacob
The man who stood like a father to me
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chapter 4
The Tumultuous Teens
I was lonely and longing for love

The teenage years came, and I was a bundle of bitterness,
anger and frustration. At first light I would leave home,
simply loafer around, spend time alone, sit by a lake or
play cricket with the kids in the neighborhood. The idea
was to stay out of home for as long as possible. With age
my bitterness worsened and grew into rage. I still stayed
out all of the time and would return home very, very late
58 - The Tumultuous Teens
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hoping no one would be awake. While returning home

every night, I would be prepared for something to have
gone wrong, prepared for the worst. Dinner would often
be two or three chapattis that I would swallow quickly and
gulp down with some water. My father would invariably
pick at me saying I was gluttonous. As a child, I used to be
very hungry and would eat a lot. In fact, I appreciate good
food even to this day. Being a Compassion child while
in school, I would be given free lunch, but by evening
I would be famished again. I would then steal money
from my fathers pocket and buy myself something to eat.
Sometimes I would be so hungry that I would search for
celebrations or functions where food was served. In India
marriages and celebrations are extravagant with hundreds
of guests invited and lots of food lavishly served. I would
often slip into such functions to eat to my hearts content,
and then slip out without being noticed.
My insecurities were further fuelled by raging teenage
hormones. I had been through so much rejection and
pain that I was searching desperately for some affection
and appreciation. It was not long before that I was into
relationships, and yes, I did use the plural tense. I would
find one girlfriend after another and had almost three
of them in a span of four years. In India, at least in those
days, teenage romance had very little to do with physical
affection, so teenage boys and girls in love would hardly
get physical. My relationships were only a search for
emotional fulfillment. I only needed a friend, a companion,
and someone to share my worries and joy with. I would
soak in all the attention I got from these girls. That was all I
The Tumultuous Teens- 59
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needed--just their time, their listening ear and their loving

glances.
One girl that stands out in my memory was our landlords
daughter. In the mornings I would walk to school with my
step-mother, but on my way back I would walk back with
this bunch of girls. I loved talking, and it was mostly just
I who talked while the girls listened. Most of them lived
along the way, so one by one they would leave. In the
end there would be just the landlords daughter left to
walk with me home, and it was her that I had fallen for. I
had a crush on her. I was infatuated.
What did I talk so much about? Well, mostly about
myself, but also my terrible family, my violent father, and
my helpless step-mother. They wanted to know it all,
and I could not stop talking about it. I eventually began
exaggerating by adding a story here and a detail there.
Most of it was true, but sometimes it was a little hyped.
Even at 13 or 14 years of age I often returned home very
late hoping that my father had been through his second
bottle of liquor that night. This meant he was totally drunk,
but it did not happen as often as I would have liked. I
remember clearly one of the houses we lived in at the
time. It had a room (approximately 10 ft x 11 ft), then
another room (approximately 9 ft x 10 ft) and then a kitchen
(approximately 4 ft x 5 ft). I would sleep in between the hall
and the room because this was the only room that had a
fan, and without it the heat was unbearable. There was no
cot or mattress, just a bed sheet and a handmade pillow.
This place was not too safe. My father used to walk from
room to room in a drunken stupor and kick me, often in
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my face, but I would pretend like nothing had happened.

I would frequently be seen around wearing torn trousers
or shorts. My step-mother would go to great lengths to
stitch and patch up my clothes and even beat me saying,
Take care of your dress. This is the only one you have. It
hardly mattered to me, especially while I played.
After many years I remember having a small portable TV
that didnt work very well. So if I wanted to watch TV, I had
to sit on my neighbors porch and watch theirs.
I distinctly remember a day when I was told to come back
home early. I had stopped on the way to play badminton
and got back late. My father was tutoring a few kids in
Hindi since he knew the language, having picked it up
during his army days. Finding that I was late, he took out
his army belt and started beating me with it right in front
of those children. I was screaming in pain begging him
to stop, but he just kept on going. Some of the children
were so terrified that they did not return for lessons. Over
time I got used to the whole whacking business, grew
numb to the pain, and refused to cry. My heart had turned
completely bitter against life and my parents. I knew in my
heart that my step-mother was trying to make the best of
what we had. She was trying to raise me right, but I have
never agreed with her parenting method. I was angry
enough to even plot to murder my parents. Although I
never acted upon the urge to kill, I noticed that my stepmother would keep sharp objects out of reach.
The Brighter Side

I loved sports, mainly cricket, but a few others too. I liked
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playing with marbles, and I had a good collection of them

that I was really proud of. I generally played outside with
kids who lived on the streets. We would find and collect
little things like cigarette packets or soda bottle caps and
then find ingenious ways of playing with them. Another
favorite outdoor game was kabaddi, which has now
become glamorous and popular. There were no toys, no
video games, and no computers. In fact, the first time I
ever saw a video game was when I was 22 or 23 years old.
I loved reading, and a favorite book at the time was
Shadow of the Almighty by Elisabeth Elliot. All my life I had
heard about Jesus, and I knew quite a lot about Him, yet I
did not know Him.
During my teenage
years, I was sent to
Christian
camps
every year, and
I loved going to
these. They would
give us good
food, make us
play games, and
make sure we had
a great time. There
would be puppet shows, a good amount of freedom, and
most importantly I was away from home. During the camp
days I would jump over the wall and roam around without
attending the sessions. I simply was not interested. It is in
one such camp that I first heard of Hudson Taylor and his
ministry. But nothing and no one impacted me as much
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as David Livingstone. The account of his passion, ministry

and life just gripped my heart. I could not believe how he
could venture into the darkest continent in the world and
just stand for God. On that day, when one of the ministers
at the camp had finished talking of David Livingstone and
his life, he gave a call for full time ministry. I stood up. I
was moved and changed forever. My friend also stood up
although he did not quite understand why I was standing
up.
That evening did not just end with me standing up. There
were about 25 teenagers that stood up, and they took us
backstage to explain what it actually meant. He explained
that a commitment to full time ministry was very serious
business, and first and foremost one must accept Jesus
as his personal savior. He explained that Jesus was the
only God, and I must accept him as my personal savior.
He also explained that I was a sinner, and Jesus had died
on the cross for my sins and had risen again on the third
day and was alive. If only I would accept Him as my savior
and give Him a place in my heart, I could become a
missionary. I was quite fine with the deal. I must admit I
did not really understand the whole of it, but if it meant
that I could become a missionary like David Livingstone,
I was fine with it. I did not really know if I needed Jesus,
but I genuinely wanted to be a missionary, so I accepted
Jesus as my personal savior. God does have a funny way
of doing things.
Well that was that, and life went on. During 8th grade, I
had a friend I was quite close to, and I spent a lot of time
talking to him. I had a number of friends both boys and
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girls. There were even a few teachers I was friendly with

and visited at times, but by evening I would have to return
home.
My father often took me with him for movies, but its not
what you would expect. I hated these times. He would
be drunk and would doze off at the theatre leaving me
surrounded by other drunkards just like him. It was a local
theatre and not really popular.
Double Promotion
It was around this time that the principal at my school
mentioned to my mother that he was considering
granting me a double promotion from the 8th grade to
the 10th grade. He thought it would do me good, and
my age was already appropriate to finish the 10th grade.
So, I was given a double promotion. It made me lose a
few friends, some whom I had to leave behind and some
who did not like that I was given a double promotion, as
well as the goodwill of some teachers who also did not
appreciate it. Honestly I did not bother much about it.
After all, it was a double promotion. During this time my
father came to my school one day drunk and beat up one
of the teachers. The teachers reacted by going on strike
the next day and demanding that I be removed from
school. I was suspended and was not allowed to write
the Model Examination in school prior to the Final Board
Examination. But the favor of the Lord comes in mysterious
ways. A Methodist Pastor, who happened to get a copy of
the question paper for the Model examination, gave me a
mock attempt. He sat me in the church with the stopwatch
and got my answer sheet evaluated. It was not bad at all. I
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had done well.

Then it was time for the final examination. I was particularly
weak in and apprehensive about Mathematics, but
surprisingly I was not worried about the exam at all and
did not feel any pressure. I was permitted to appear for
the Board Examination, and I wrote as well as I could. My
step-mother seemed more anxious than me, and I assured
her that I had written well although I had no clue how I
had written. I was expecting to fail miserably.
On the day the results were to be published, I went to
school to check on my result. I remember walking into
the principals room, and he was standing. Seeing me he
teared up though I did not understand why. I knew I had
failed him, and he was disappointed in me. He called me
closer, hugged me and told me that I had not failed but
instead had passed with flying colors. In fact, I ranked 2nd
in the whole school, just 7 marks below the student who
stood 1st.
As I recollect this miracle that unfolded in my seemingly
unfortunate existence, I am also reminded of a couple
of curious incidents that had occurred just 2 to 3 weeks
before.
Wanting to Die
I had walked onto our terrace and swallowed 35 Paracetamol
pain tablets, washing them down with some water. I had
hit rock bottom and was determined to end the misery.
I was disgusted with life. I challenged God saying, You
cant save my life, wherever you may be. You just seem
to be watching everything thats happening to me. The
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next morning, I woke up as usual. I was very discouraged.

I began to question. Why was He not allowing me to die?
What is this game that He was playing? I did not even have
an upset tummy after gulping 35 parecetamol tablets. I
was discouraged to the core.
Another astonishing incident was when I tried to end
my life once again. My father was going around telling
my friends that I had raped and molested girls. All my
friends began avoiding me. I was devastated. My world
consisted of my friends, and I was losing them too. I
had had enough. We used to live close to the National
Highway, and huge trucks carrying heavy loads would
pass through frequently. Around 9 p.m. one night, I was
standing beside the highway planning to make my jump.
This had to be carefully planned because I had to make
sure that I would be run over enough to be dead. I did not
want to be hurt badly or maimed for life and left to live as
an invalid. Finally, I was prepared mentally and physically.
As I saw a truck approaching, I poised myself and at the
opportune moment, flung myself onto the road. But
instead of lunging forward onto the truck, I sensed a huge
hand on my chest forcefully pushing me backward. I fell
backward into a puddle behind me. I quickly got up to
realize the truck had passed. There was no one on that
road at time of the night. Again I asked the same question.
Why was He not allowing me to die? It was as if I was trying
to fight against God. I felt weak and tired. With drooped
shoulders, I went back home.
So it was after these incident, that I stood 2nd in my
school, and my principal was not disappointed in me
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but proud of me. I began to see things in a new light.

Returning home through my usual route (the graveyard)
I paused, knelt down and acknowledged that God was
doing something special in my life, and I was not a lost
cause. My life had a purpose, and God had a plan. At 15
years old, I realized I had to let
go and let God. CS Lewis said,
I acknowledged and gave in
that He is God. I wept much
that night and cried bitterly. I cry
very easily and often. I believe
that was the day I walked into
the assurance of salvation. Although I had accepted Jesus
as my savior almost a year back, it was not until that day
that I actually walked in assurance of my salvation.
Life at School
During school I was a go get involved kind of a boy. I
would get involved in anything and everything. I loved
running around during recess breaks, playing, and even
fighting with other kids. I was always self-conscious that
my step-mother would come to know and that I would
receive a good anointing of beatings on the way home.
For this reason, I held myself back many times. I would
get dirty like a pig. It would drive my step-mother nuts
because she had to wash all our clothes on a piece of
granite rock by hand. It was difficult for her, especially with
the white uniforms. I understand it now, but at that point,
I enjoyed my freedom. I loved day dreaming. I know all
kids day dream, but I think my case was extensive.
The one thing that really mattered to me was the free food
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at school Wow! I knew the weekly menu by heart, and

I loved it. I would pile up my plate and eat everything.
You see, the situation at home was unpredictable, so I
would just eat to the brim when I could. When the school
bell rang, my heart sank. The thought of returning home
was unbearable. On many evenings my step-mother was
required to stay back late for teachers meetings and other
school related work, and I would play around climbing
trees and jumping on sand. The walk back home was long.
My shoes would get dirty. There was no shoe polish so I
would cut onions and use them to polish my black shoes.
It smells, but it gives a good shine. Try it. For white shoes,
my step mom would bring home broken white chalks. I
would soak these in water and make a paste of chalk lime
to apply on the shoes. It worked perfectly.
My shorts and shirts were old and torn most of the time.
My step-mother would use patches to stitch up new
styles. Today I see jeans with patches and tears that sell
for a fortune, and I think hey, I wore that fashion way
back in life. I never had denim pants as a kid. My first pair
of denims was bought at 23 years. At first I found them
uncomfortable, but today I love their comfort.
Competitions
Every year during the Annual Prize Day distribution, I
would receive about 15 or 20 prizes. I participated in
everything for two reasons; one, my step-mother pushed
me, and two, I needed to find my identity. Whether it
was elocution, essay writing, reciting poems, acting or
singing, I was there in all of it. I was pretty good at acting
and singing. Bible verse competitions were very special
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Me getting a prize
Me receiving a gift as a compassion child
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for me. I always won first prize. My step-mother would

make me memorize Bible verses every Sunday. She was
strict about it. I hated those times, but because of her, I
had memorized over 300 Bible verses by the time I was 11
and 12 years old.
I used Bible verses in two places. When I walked across
scary grave yards in the night, I would recite the Bible
verses. At that point in life, Bible verses seemed magical
to me, but I did not understand them to be the miracle
working, living word of truth and life. The other place the
verses came in handy was in competitions. Like I said, I
always won first place. Sports were my heart beat. I always
won prizes in sports. Triple jump, long jump, high jump,
shot put, 100 meters, 200 meters, kho kho, volley ball,
throw ball, kabaddi, the 4x100 meters relay, I loved all of
them. The sports facilities in my school were very poor.
For 200 meters, we would run and touch the wall and run
back. We did high jumps on sand, and my back would
hurt very badly. This was still nothing compared to the
hurts from home.
I took sports seriously, and I practiced. I jumped over
open drainages and sewage gutters, over barbed fences
(I got my skin torn on my thigh once) and threw huge rocks
and cement blocks to practice shot put throws. I would
imagine people chasing me and run while also pretending
to be my own commentator. I would run on deserted
roads as though my life depended on it to practice my
speed. Today when I look back, I see I was foolish, taking
dangerous risks. Anything could have happened, but the
Lord Almighty was in control.
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Although there was much adulation and cheering in

school, there was hardly any appreciation at home.
No one knew and no one cared. My step-mother was
particular that the prizes and trophies be kept safe, but
it was not long before my father sold them all for money
to buy liquor. I was infuriated that all the books I had won
as prizes were also sold off. I could do nothing. I just kept
quiet and cried.
Special Nights
On nights his stash ran out, my dad would send me to a
local place (an illegal place because the local liquor sold
was against the law and would always be raided) to get
liquor. I would take two old bottles, put them in a green
basket, put an old cloth over it (hoping no one would
detect the bottles) and walk to this place. The place was
disgusting. An old lady would be sitting with a big black
can of liquor. She would fill the bottles using a funnel and
I would pay her 14 Indian rupees (24 pennies) and return
home.
I hated this errand because the liquor had a filthy smell
and so did the place where it was sold. Moreover, my
father would not just drink the liquor, but he would also
vomit right inside the house. Remember, we were always
living in houses with only one or two rooms. So if my father
vomited inside the house, my mother would clean it, of
course, but the stench was repulsive.
There was another reason I hated this trip to fetch liquor.
The old woman who was selling the liquor was always
drunk. Since the selling and buying was always done in
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hiding, there would be no one else around. On one such

day, the woman told me that if I did not do as she said
she would not give me any liquor. She asked me to touch
her in the wrong places and threatened me with dire
consequences if I didnt. As a young boy who was afraid
and did not understand much of what was happening, I
put my hand out to touch her. She made me touch her
private parts and do all else she said. I was confused,
terrified and weeping. I started crying and asked her
to let me leave. She was enraged, told me to leave and
shouted out that I was a coward. I ran out of there, but
her accusation never left my mind. I had been branded a
coward and kept repeating it to myself.
The walk back during these nights were scary too, since I
had to go past a burial ground, and it would be late in the
night. The Hindus generally burn corpses, so as I crossed
I would see dead bodies being burnt. Sometimes a hand
or a leg would lift up from the pyre (later I understood
that because of the traction of nerves on fire this would
happen), and I would run terrified. I had no clue as to
what was happening. On a few such evenings, I made
some foolish decisions. On my way to the liquor shop, I
would see some boys playing and join them. I would lose
track of time and later be beaten up, but I didnt mind it
much because I enjoyed playing. I was usually very good
at all games. The joy of victory surpassed all pain from
the beatings and scolding. My parents never understood
this. My father compared me to water buffaloes (that lack
sensitivity) (hit them with sticks, hands or stones, they dont
show any sign of being affected). I learned to survive
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every situation.
Did I know or understand the awesome redemptive
purpose of God over my life? Not at the time. I was dry,
broken, lacked self-control, had no direction and just
drifted along in the ocean of life. I was surviving.
Feeling Insecure
My insecurities grew even as I discovered new means of
venting the desperation and frustration that was growing
inside me. I was very fearful and anxious all the time since
I was stealing more often, getting into brawls with friends
in the neighborhood and much more. I had become a
laughing stock. I would be teased and bullied often. I
became quite withdrawn, sad, and lonely, often crying
my heart out whenever I was by myself. The graveyard I
mentioned earlier became my place of choice to spend
long hours. This was in fact a burial/cremation ground. I
would walk through the burial ground by myself, often
late at night, and amazingly I did not feel any fear. None
of this terrified me as much as the thought of returning
home. The thoughts of pain and terror that I would face at
the hands of my father would often eclipse any small fear
I felt of the dead. I would do anything to keep away from
my home.
There were so many of my friends who rushed out at the
ring of the bell just to dash back home. They were so
happy and exhilarated to go back home where they were
free to play, free to enjoy and most of all free from fear of
pain. But there I was, the one who dragged his feet back
home. At the sound of the evening bell, my heart would
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sink. I was a lot happier when my step-mother had to stay

back at school. I would play with others and get dirty. I
liked it.
So with fear, insecurity, and loneliness filling most of my
childhood, I grew up into a
bundle of issues. I had no
friends, and those that I had
were often just pretending
to be friendly while laughing
at me behind my back. The
most dominant memory
from those days would have
to be the loneliness. Afraid
of the violence at home, I
sometimes slept in unfinished houses until my father had
gone to sleep. A few dogs on our street became very
friendly, and I named some of them. After my friends
returned home, I would still wander with these dogs and
even fall asleep amongst them. I would even cuddle a
friendly dog getting quite comfortable in sleep.
On the days that I did not go to school I often had to
go without food, because being a Compassion child,
I would certainly be fed at school. On the other days, I
would wait behind small wayside eateries. These were
not proper restaurants but small shacks that served meals.
There were no plates, and food was served to customers
on plantain (or banana) leaves. Leftover food wrapped in
leaves would be thrown out behind the shack. Most of
these would contain a decent quantity of food. I even had
the math done. If I collected about 11 plantain leaves with
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leftover chicken and rice or chapatti, I would have enough

for one meal. Although this was not a daily affair, it was a
frequent one. One had to be very careful too, because
there was stiff competition from street dogs. You see,
these dogs had marked their territories and they would
often be in groups. Fifteen to twenty starving street dogs
were ferocious enough to make you run for your life. Two
or three can be handled by either pelting stones at them
or scaring them away.
Did I feel sad or afraid that I had to do this? Truthfully, no.
The food was great, and I had even convinced myself that
if I were to go to these shacks and order food like a proper
customer, I might only order one item, but when I collect
food from these leaves, I had a variety of food to eat.
There were days when I would pray that the customers
would not eat too well. Interestingly, I began to sense that
my faith was growing. But please bear in mind, I did not
believe in God at the time. I was only praying to whatever
higher force there might be that I would get a decent
meal. This was just a God I could use to get a meal out
of. I prayed for big pieces of chicken, and lo and behold,
a leaf would fly out with a chunky leg piece. That would
boost my faith and spirit for a while.
Depending on the money he had in hand, my father
would send me to fetch either cheap local liquor, branded
wine, whiskey or brandy. To buy the expensive drinks, I
would have to travel by bus for about 15 20 minutes
which would cost about 2 rupees. So being the smart lad
that I was, I would often try to hitch a bike ride and save
the money to buy something to eat instead. Sometimes
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buying liquor was frustrating. When my father would send

me out around 3:30 or 3:45 PM, all my friends and teachers
returning home from school would be waiting at the bus
stop. The liquor shop was just beside the bus stop, and to
be seen in that shop, especially when I had skipped school
that day, was very embarrassing. So I would pretend I was
an agent of some sort, maybe CID (it is similar to the FBI in
the US). I would hide behind posts, hoardings or anything
else around get to the shop and then creep in very
discreetly. I made sure that my face was covered. Since I
could not carry a bag, the bottles would be stuffed into
the waistline of my shorts. Although in writing it all comes
across as a story, I did not like these happenings one bit. I
inevitably became the butt of my friends jokes. The only
reason I did these errands was with hopes that if I were at
my fathers beck and call, he would somehow take a liking
to me and start treating me like a son. This was never to be.
Each evening my home was a fighting ring, and my father
either fought with my mother, relative or anyone about.
Fights, abuse, pain and fear became a way of life for me.
As a boy, I hated going to church. My parents were regular
church goers, although for my father, it was part of the act.
Many times I lied to them and said I was going to a different
church while I played cricket with my friends instead.
Cricket was a saving grace in my childhood. I was good at
it and very soon was a popular cricket player among my
friends. They liked me, appreciated me, applauded me,
and it was this that made the game so appealing. There
were times I felt guilty for skipping church, and yet it was
the healing joy and feeling of being loved that I needed
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from the church that I was getting from my cricket pals.

I felt accepted for who I was and what I could do, and it
boosted my self esteem. I used to play so well that even
older players would invite me to play with them.
Amidst all of things I described above, my studies suffered.
I started failing in tests, and my report card became a
flurry or red markings. I remember the one time I forged
my fathers signature and kept it hidden. In a few days it
was discovered, and I was beaten black and blue for it.
I was afraid and hurt, and I was becoming very naughty
and rebellious.
I had found ways to cope.
There were days my father would lock me up at home and
leave for long hours.
That did not bother
me much because I
had found ways to
keep myself engaged.
I would crush paper
and insert it into small
cylindrical pieces of
cycle tubes to seem
like a ball. Then I would
use an exam board as a
bat and start playing cricket against the wall. I was quite
imaginative and creative. I could spend hours in thought
and fantasy and could keep myself entertained. I would
pretend to be a superhero on an important mission.
I largely preferred living in my imagination because
reality was very painful! The bottom line is, my childhood
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was spent longing for love, affection, understanding,

appreciation and peace.
The graveyard and the lake where I

spent a lot of time alone
The Headmaster who loved me very much
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chapter 5
Love Broken Apart
Dark Relationships
As a pre-teen, I had crushes on many girls in my school.
I never had a completely physical relationship, but had
almost gone all the way. Even as young as a thirteen year
old, I would long for a kiss or a hug. I was a touch person.
Even today, my love language is touch. But during those
days, I did not have anyone to give me hugs. So I longed
hugs from my girl friends. Though, they, being totally
Indian culture girls, never gave me a hug or a kiss. Just a
80 - Love Broken Apart
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touch of the hand or even a hand shake was just enough

for me. Then what? I longed for the girls to listen to my
hurting story. I was trapped in self-pity. I liked when they
felt pity for me.
Now I want you to understand that I was not looking for
sexual pleasure. I was looking for love, and I believed this
was the way to get closer and connect deeply with a girl or
show true love. Still, these experiences left me unfulfilled.
I tried my best to connect, but I failed terribly again and
again. It was very frustrating. So I indulged more and
more into porn. There came a point that I was so obsessed
with it I got deeply trapped in dirty self gratifying acts
(masturbation). This habit ravaged my pre-teen years.
The extensive exposure to pornography and sex brought
me to an extremely humiliating point in my life. I was
roaming on the street when a very old, poor lady carrying
a pile of firewood on her head wanted me to help her pick
up a couple of sticks that had fallen off the stack. But you
know what I did? I touched her breast. She immediately
put the firewood down and pelted stones at me. I felt
so terrible that night. So terrible! What was happening to
me? Was God really alive? Why was I becoming so dirty?
Could anyone save me? Will anything good ever come
out of my life?
I was first introduced to porn at 11 years of age. To begin
with, it puzzled me. I became curious and began to indulge
and go deeper. I cannot even bring myself to remember
my struggle with porn. I was great on the outside, but
deep down, I was just a sewage gutter filled with muck.
My porn addiction became very, very strong by the time I
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reached 17 years old. I can confidently say that at this point

I was on my way out of homosexual relationships, but I
went deep into pornography.
Older guys near my home would bring books and show
me those pictures. I would go to internet cafes (those days
there were no smart phones or broadband), pay half a
dollar and sit and watch things on the internet. I bought
tickets and jumped over the walls of blue rated theatres
to watch porn clips shown in between Adult movies.
The theatre would be filled with drunkards, beggars
and a whole lot of people off the street. I have had to sit
right in the front on the floor. This place was dirty. It was
disgusting. Did I really understand what I saw? Not fully. I
tried to replicate what I saw with my girl friends; I was so
naive. But I never succeeded. I did not know where to
start. I did not know even how to approach them. So I only
fantasized.
Where is Gods Love?

When the fighting and screaming increased at home, I
would sneak out of the house and run to a lake nearby.
I would sit there weeping my heart out. This kind of
lamenting and wailing really soothed me. I was loud, very
loud, almost shouting as I cried. I would look up, shout,
and scream, God, are you watching this? Do you know
what is happening? Why is this situation in my life? All my
friends are doing ok, why not me? I never had an answer.
There was no supernatural intervention. I wished God
would thunder down with a booming voice and say, I AM
HERE or with a lightning write across the sky, I LOVE YOU.
But nothing happened. Every time I went to this lake, it
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was the same story. I would cry aloud until I was drained
out, and my spirit would then calm down.
I wanted to believe the fact that Jesus was alive, but I could
not relate to that truth in any tangible way. Though it did
not make sense, I just held on believing God would help
someday. Someday, He would show up.
I did not have good friends, and no one really wanted to
be friends with me. I was alone. My friends knew about my
father, and I was embarrassed and ashamed all the time.
My Pets
When I was 10 and 11 years old, I had two cats for pets.
These were street cats and had been abandoned on the
road. I rescued and raised them. Since my father actually
loved animals, he allowed me to keep these cats. One I
named Dusty and the other one Blacky. In my loneliness
and struggle, they were very dear to me, and I loved
them with all my heart. They loved me too. These two
male cats were very close to each other too. After a year
or two, I cannot quite recollect, Blacky was poisoned and
killed by a neighbor. He might have wandered into their
house drinking milk and stealing food, and they thought
of getting rid of him. Dusty, the other cat, kept searching
for his friend, his brother. After a few days, something
happened, and it shocked me. Dusty was acting crazy
and frothing at the mouth. He was now dangerous, so I
was told to take him away and leave him somewhere to
die. I could not believe it. How can cats love one another
so much that one actually became mad when he lost a
brother? I could not really understand love in this context.
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I was shaken and it impacted me very much. Finally, I took

the long walk to leave Dusty somewhere far away. I loved
this cat very much, and I cried along the way. It was hard
for me to leave him alone, but I did. I remember being
disturbed for a few days after this incident.
My struggle with abuse, homosexuality and porn

I was sexually abused when I was three, again used when
I was five, and at age seven another man abused me.
When I was 13 and 14, several men began to abuse me.
It was when I was 14 I began to practice homosexuality. I
had seven partners among my own friend group. Several
days I would slip and practice some interesting behavior
with my friends but I would come back home and feel
un-loved. Yes, there was a very small place of discomfort
but not guilt. In fact I began to long for situations and
circumstances that would give me these opportunities. I
believe my parents had no clue about what was happening
to me. It was interesting that I felt unnaturally attracted to
similar men and boys.
Somehow it was as if there was a unspoken chemistry or
bond between us. It was fulfilling my need for love for
that moment, but was left and felt empty when I was
alone. I would get into the act on the terrace of a friends
house, or in the rest room after the school hours, or
behind my house with an older man, or near a lake during
the afternoons when no one was around. I did things that
were really pathetic, really sick. Sometimes, even during
these actions, I felt strongly that the older man or my
friend made me do things for them, that deep inside I
did not want to do, because I was more submissive. On
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many occasions, even in the series of actions, I would be

wanting the same act to be done by my friend or these
older men, but they would tactfully refuse and walk away.
I felt hurt. Not just once but many, many, many times.
I longed that I would get that satisfaction at another time,
but it did not come through. I began to believe I was
born that way and that I couldnt be normal. Now, please
understand this. Though I was battling the belief that I was
born to be a gay, I still had very strong attractions to the
opposite sex as well. This is where I questioned, WAS I
BORN THIS WAY?
So how did I get out of this mindset? I was smart enough
to realize that those relationships were not fulfilling my
need for love. Though I thought they were, they were
not. I continued to lose my confidence and self esteem.
Today there are people who say that if I had grown up in
a community where there was freedom for me to practice
and act the way I wanted, while also having acceptance
from the society, I would have gotten the fulfilment. I
really doubt that. Why? As I said before, I never felt overtly
guilty about this. And in my situation, I had many hidden
places and situations where I could act on these practices.
I still remember this man telling me, we are all born this
way, so dont worry about it.
How did I make my way out

When I was 18, I had to make the turn. Why? Books,
images and the places where I played, could not satisfy
me anymore. I wanted more. All of a sudden I began to
realize that I was on a highway driving at 100 miles an hour
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deep into a pit. I had to put my breaks on. I needed to

make a U turn.
I sought help and began to open up and share. I needed
a change in perspective and attitude, and I needed
to appreciate life. Gradually, I began to see my life as
precious. I began to honor God and understand His love
for me. I began to invest in and receive love from true
relationships. Did this all happen immediately? No, no! It
took almost 2 years for a full recovery to happen.
Today, as you read this, maybe you are asking this question.
Do you have those temptations now? Okay, let me open
up and share. With regard to homosexuality, I am 39 years
old now, and from the age of 20, I began to see and sense
(the chemistry of my body) there was no such pull or drive
inside of me. I was amazed. Please understand that though
I am not taking a lot of my time in sharing my journey with
the Lord during these years, at every junction, I had given
myself to the Lord, and God was giving me renewal and
recapturing my heart consistently throughout my life. Yes,
until the age of 25, I slipped on a few occasions back
into pornography but never into homosexuality. I now
spend several hours counseling boys, and there are many
who come and sit with me and share about their issue
with homosexuality. Sometimes I am in tears and deeply
grateful to the Lord that I no longer have that impulse
inside of me. I believe that this is the power and reality of
redemption and of the cross. Many times we are unable
to explain this reality in a way that people would or want
to understand, but this is the truth.
How and when did I move out of pornography? I believe
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when I got in touch with some amazing families who

loved me unconditionally, I began the healing. In my case,
it was not a one time, one touch change. It was a process.
I could sense the healing coming deep into my life when
I saw my life changed and renewed by grace and mercy
and the cross.
I look back, and I am only in tears. Nothing else, just tears.
My daddy in heaven, who always watches over me, is real
and He loves me too much, and I love Him.
What Love Meant for Me

Today love is the most used and abused word.
What is real love? I did not know what it meant when I
was growing up. If I had been asked to define love, I
would have given the most confusing definitions youve
ever heard. The way I understood love, it was conditional,
authoritative, merciless, moody, manipulative, arrogant,
proud, unwilling to relent or understand, unreachable, not
patient enough to sit or walk alongside, selfish, addicted
and never able to overcome. Oh I could have kept
adding to this list. How did
this confused perception of
love affect me in life? Very
badly.
What helped me overcome
my clumsiness, awkwardness
and timidity in my spirit? The
answer is real love.
REAL LOVE?
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It is the unconditional, unending, unique love that flows

from the Lord Almighty. When I began to soak myself more
and more in the unconditional love of Jesus, I began to
see Him more as my Father, and things began to change.
One thing my faith in the love of God did was help me
bounce back every time I fell. That was one of the keys to
my growth in Him. I began to understand and believe that
He would never give up on me. The change first started
in my heart, and my life followed. This is when I began to
have true moments of fun, joy and laughter.
Slowly but steadily the Lord began to teach and release
me. I was 23 years old when the breakthrough slowly
occurred. It was not instant or magical. It happened over a
period of time as I spent time with the Lord Almighty alone
and in His Word. I began to read the Bible like a lunatic.
I would highlight many verses and eagerly digested any
sermon.
God began taking me to new levels of maturity. As I grew
stronger in the love the Lord had for me, the Lord Almighty
began to bring in mentors and spiritual fathers who loved
me unconditionally. But I was not quite ready for it. I was
afraid to open myself up and receive love. Maybe you
have heard this quote; Love needs to be given; but it also
needs to be received.
When I began healing, I started moving away from selfpity and toward the love of Jesus, soaking in all that He
had said in His Word by faith. I changed enough that I
was able to start giving love, but it was still very difficult to
receive love. I was afraid. I was afraid people would let me
down. I was afraid of being rejected. I was afraid of being
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Mr . Thyagarajan Marcus and his wife who stood with me
They cared for me during my

turbulent teen years
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controlled or manipulated. I was afraid people would find

faults in me. Do you see where all these fears came from?
Yes, from my home and upbringing. This was something I
had to deal with.
I had to allow individuals to come into my life. I was willing to
share about my struggles and experiences with my father,
but I was never willing to share my weaknesses. Later on
I had to allow the love of Jesus to flow into my life again,
this time through people who knew and experienced His
love in their lives. I now understand that receiving love is
a great ingredient in situations like mine, just to let down
my guard and receive love. Yes, you need to be wise, but
as the Lord leads, we need to give in. Give love so as to
receive love. Love alone, love that flows from His cross,
love that flows from His Father heart, can heal.
All my experiences with people until then had been bad.
Now the Lord Almighty was bringing different kind of
people into my life. These people loved me with true love.
I connected to this love. This was an important process in
my healing. These people loved and accepted me, and I
connected with them. I love food. Some of these people
cooked and served me great food, and I loved it. Because
I loved food and these people noticed and cooked for
me, I interpreted that as them showing love for me.
Men Whose Love I Connected With

It was Mr. Thyagarajan Marcus, the founder of a school
called Ebenezer Marcus Matriculation Higher Secondary
School, that I first got connected to. He began teaching
and mentoring me. At this point I left home and began
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to stay at the school and work as an assistant warden and

chaplain. Around 9:30 PM Mr. Marcus was in the habit
of taking a walk, and he would send word through the
security for me to join him. He would then share with me
about his walk and journey with Jesus. He would ask me
about my day, and I would share while he listened. He
would keep asking appropriate questions but allow me
to talk. This was heaven. I had never found such a good
listener who was so patient and keen. He would then
share the bigger vision of the school and about different
men of God.
Oh, I grew exponentially in confidence and greatly
enjoyed it! Everyone in the school (about 1500 students)
knew that this man loved me deeply. I was allowed to walk
into his office any time. From time to time he would invite
me to his house for a meal--again the food connection. I
began to work very, very hard. I picked up the discipline
of reading the Word and prayer. I had to speak and
counsel the hostel kids every day for three years. The Lord
trained me to communicate, sing and play music. I began
learning guitar and keyboard and led youth meetings
every Sunday evening. I began to grow and heal in love.
Another man who came into my life when I was 23 years
old, was Jacob Mathai. He was a professor who taught
in my Masters in Divinity program. He came to me one
morning and said, I would love to connect with you.
Thats all! Again, I was very cautious about people and
always took things with a grain of salt. This man lived
about an hour and 15 minutes away. He invited me to
visit him at home, and I started going to his house several
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times for two reasons. One was to wash clothes. I did

not like washing clothes by hand, and he had a washing
machine at home. The second reason was that his wife
cooked great food. He would just spend time listening
to me, and I enjoyed the warmth and love. It took time
for both us and his family, but slowly I understood that
this relationship was for a lifetime. He would not give me
three tips of advice or a two-point warning. He would
give his ears to listen wholeheartedly and gently teach me
through stories he shared about his life and experiences.
This was meaningful, deep discipleship for me. This was
Christs love being shown, and I connected to it earnestly.
This was the first time in my life that I began to understand
how a husband and wife related. I saw how a father raised
his son. It was meaningful. He and his wife were founders
of a school, and I spent time at the school helping them
with little errands and during functions. I felt important
and valued. I was not only part of his family, but also his
vision and work. I got introduced to many people in his
church where he was also pastoring at the time.
There were more people who I connected with through
this man, people who became close to my heart and life.
His mother-in-law, Mrs. Theresa GeeVarghese, was an
amazing lady. She was a lady who radiated love. I initially
thought that she might be faking it since I could not
understand how people could have such love for others.
Later I understood it was Christs love flowing through a
human. She went to be with the Lord a few weeks ago,
and I cried bitterly the morning I heard the news. This
was a lady who simply just loved me. There were times
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she prepared meals just because I was visiting her sonin-law. With time I also got connected with Mr. Jacobs
wife and son. Today I call him Jeffy sir. I learned calmness
from Jeffys wife. I had the privilege of discipling his son
and connecting with him. Today I have this awesome
relationship that has moved to another level. Jeffy is one
of my Board members, and I was invited by him to be on
the Board of his Cambridge Syllabus School (The Kings
School). What a wonderful turn over. What a soothing
relationship.
VBS programs
Speaking to American teens
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chapter 6
My Times of Ministry
This is about the burden I have received, the vision that

Ive gotten and how I got into ministry. As Im sitting here
on the beach taking time out with my family, my son is
with me, and we are taking a break, taking some time just
to relax. And as Im lying down in this hammock under this
tree looking into the sea, it brings back memories of what
happened when I was 20 or 21 years old. It was a very
special time. I was working in a school hostel doing prayer
My Times of Ministry - 95
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times, and there was a famous preacher who had come to

preach at a convention that was happening. He stayed in
the school where I was working.
My Early Days in Ministry

I still remember the founder of the school calling me one
day and saying, This man is still alive, he is very well known
he is one of the top evangelist preachers in South India.
George I want you to be in charge of giving this man
whatever he needs, maybe coffee, milk, energy drinks.
Whenever and whatever he asks you need to take of it.
So I was ready. I had to go to him a few times during the day
and ask him what he needed. He would say, I need this,
I need that, and I would go and get whatever it was and
take it to him. Every evening he would be on a beach and
thousands and thousands of people would gather. After
he preached, he would start praying for these people.
There would be so many people waiting in line for prayer,
for healing from sicknesses and diseases, asking him to
pray for their problems. On one of the nights, I distinctly
remember that the stage he was preaching on was facing
the beach with the sea behind the stage. I usually stood
behind the stage just waiting so that when I was asked
to give something to him I could. Most of the time I did
nothing because there were several other people who
were also there to give him what he need, so I was just
standing there. He began to pray, and many times prayed
until almost 11 or 12 oclock at night. So as I was standing
there behind the stage, I just took a walk to the sea, which
was only about 15 yards away.
I remember that I began to cry as I stood there alone. I
96 - My Times of Ministry
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knelt down and just cried, Lord, take me across the seas.
I was just 19 or 20 years old. The burden for the Lost came
over me very strongly at that time. I just began to weep.
I did not understand what was happening to me or why
I was crying, but I yielded. I just knelt down, and I was
praying for Africa.
Now I want to make a connection here. The reason I was
praying for Africa was because I was so fascinated with the
life story of David Livingstone. I wanted to be just like David
Livingstone. I had read so many different snippets about
David Livingstone, about how H.M Stanley came looking
for David Livingstone and how he bowed his knee on
the African soil and gave his life to Christ. H.M Stanley was
an atheist. I was a 19 or 20-year-old working in a school
hostel teaching the students about Christ, taking care of
the childrens choir, teaching songs, telling Bible stories,
and doing Bible expositions. But I had a burden for the
lost. I wanted God to take me across the seas and deep
down in my heart, I wanted to be like David Livingstone.
I think there were three things I wanted to do. First, was to
go for an adventure. I felt like the adventurous life David
Livingstone had was just amazing. In a previous chapter,
I wrote about how I gave my life to the Lord because of
the life of David Livingstone. The second thing I wanted
was to be away from home in a very remote place where
people would accept me. Thirdly, I wanted to give my all
to Jesus. So I was broken, I was crying, and I wept for a
good 40 to 50 minutes. This is what I kept repeating in my
prayer: take me across the seas, take me across the seas,
take me across the seas. When I came back that evening,
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I didnt talk about what had happened to many people.

I was still working in the school hostel, and as I shared in
the previous chapter, there were situations that arose that
discouraged me. It was a very discouraging situation, and I
decided to leave my home, but didnt want to tell anyone.
Wanting to be David Livingstone

Now, just remember, Im thinking of being a David
Livingstone. I decided to leave the home, and Im trying
to do research, but those days there was not much access
to Google. I did have different mission notebooks with
several mission organizations and addresses. I started
looking into different profiles of missions organizations.
This book had hundreds and hundreds of mission
organizations working in India.
I was looking at portfolios of profiles that were working
with the tribal people, and I decided I would go to
Northeast India. There is a particular state there called
Nagaland, a Christian state, but they were tribal people.
So I decided I wanted to live among this tribal people,
especially some of the tribes that were head hunters.
When I thought of tribal people, I thought of half-naked
people with bows and arrows. I prepared my heart and
was ready to face whatever it might be. David Livingstone
faced a lion; John Patton faced bow and arrow, Hudson
Taylor faced drunkard men, and Mary Slessor faced the
fearsome tribal warriors. So I just said, Im ready.
I didnt tell anyone. I knew if I told my stepmom and
dad they would not allow me, so I planned it and told
everyone I was going for a college tour. My stepmom
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gave me money for the college tour, and I booked my

tickets. I still remember I had to go to the wedding of a
particular relative in my family. I was at the wedding, and
I was going to take my train from there and move out. I
told two of my cousins and strongly asked them not to tell
anyone. I told them I had planned it very well, there were
people that I knew, and I was making my step. I also told
them I was totally discouraged with life here, I didnt want
to be anywhere with civilized people, but wanted to be
with tribal people.
Now at this point, I was in the school hostel working as
the school warden and caretaker. There were some boys I
was very, very close to in that group, and I had shared with
them that I was going out. We would sit for hours together
and share about David Livingstone. As you may know, the
best way to internalize something and allow it to impact
you is to share it to somebody else. The more you share
the more you internalize. I would spend hours and hours
sharing with these teenagers about David Livingstone,
John Patton, Hudson Taylor, Mary Slessor and other
different missionaries. So I told these boys I was leaving.
That night I came from another city on the train. While I
was on the train, they told me it would take about 2 to
3 days to reach the part of India I wanted to go to. Thats a
long journey, and I had never been on a journey like that.
It was my first time and I only had a bag, some clothes and
a guitar, nothing else.
I started my journey, and I still remember standing in the
railway station. Some of the hostel boys I was very close
with came to see me off since it was the weekend. One boy
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brought a knife. He said, you might be meeting savages,

so you need a strong knife. One brought a torch. Others
brought different things, but I have forgotten some of
them. I almost felt that I was on an adventure.
I was just excited. Not even once did I have fear in my
heart, fear of the unknown, or fear of where I was going.
I was going into a particular state called Nagaland. I got
on the train, and it was interesting. Trains in India have
different coaches. Each coach holds about 70-72 seats or
sleeping berths. I realized the particular coach I was in
was full of young people from the state of Nagaland. I was
probably the only guy there who was not from Nagaland.
I saw that the Nagas loved singing, and I love it too, so
when they started singing while we were sitting I began
making friends and singing with them. They had a guitar,
so I started playing guitar with them. They just loved some
of my songs, so we became very close friends.
Two and a half to three days went by, and the question
came, Where are you going? I told them I was going to
Nagaland. Why? I explained I was going as a missionary.
They asked where I was going, and I told them I had
written to an American lady who was married to an Indian
in Nagaland. I hadnt received a reply from her yet, but I
had written to her saying I was coming, and so I was. They
told me something very interesting on the train. Because
the train we were on just went to one particular part in
Northeast, in order to go to Nagaland, you needed to
get a bus or train and take another 10 12 hour journey.
Then they started sharing stories of how the underground
terrorists group are very very active in this part and how
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shootings are happening, and I need to be careful. But

in my 21-year-old mind, nothing affected me, nothing
brought fear. Maybe it was because I was so happy I was
going away from home.
The time came when we reached the end of our ride, and
they asked me how are I was going to continue going. I
told them I may need to see if some bus was there. One
of the leaders came and said the government of India had
organized a bus for them because they were a group who
was representing the national athletic championship in
Bangalore. Because they had come as a team representing
the government, the Nagaland government had arranged
a bus for them to travel. He told me I could come with
them but there would be no seat for me, and I would sit
right next to the driver. I thanked him and was so excited.
The ride was free of cost; they didnt take any money. I got
into the bus and sat next to the driver. I was fascinated as
we rode through those bends and narrow roads.
I was awake the whole night, which was very good for the
driver, who was also happy that I was awake. As I was
talking with him, he put the brakes on. There was a wild
rabbit stuck in the headlight of the bus. I went outside,
got the rabbit, and I put it on my lap in the bus. I just
held that rabbit the whole night. It was just beautiful. The
next morning the bus reached Nagaland, a place called
Dimapur. Then they asked me where I needed to go, and
I told them about the woman I was looking for. She was
a foreigner from America who had married a Naga man.
They said they knew exactly who she was, and immediately
took me in a local transport. When they dropped me at the
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gate, they told me to be careful because of the shootings

going on in the place.
My early influence of a family

At 21 years old, I landed at her house. She looked to me and
said, Hey! Wow! Nice to see you. I told her I had written a
letter and she explained that they werent receiving letters
because of the tense situations. I explained to her about the
Lord calling me to be a missionary, and they interviewed
me to see if I could work in their organization. The auntys
husband interviewed me, and after I talked with him, he
felt that without any support or church backing me up and
without any financial basis, it would be difficult for me to
survive. Working with their organization was a no. He then
told me I could stay with his family for sometime and then
see what I wanted to do.
At the time I was living with the American missionary and
her husband, and I was fascinated with their family. This
was my first time going away from home, and a family
example like this stunned me but in a good way. They
influenced me in a good sense!
They had a little girl who would have been about 8 or
9. She was misbehaving and acting up one day. I still
remember this aunty, the American missionary, took her
daughter inside, but I dont know what she did. She came
back to the dining table, said something, and then she hit
the spoon and fork on the plate. Immediately her mom
took her out. The girl came back with tears and said, Im
so sorry Uncle George for the way I behaved! For me this
was just fascinating! Why? The missionary didnt correct
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her child in front of everyone. My norm was always being

corrected in front of all. I also didnt hear screaming. I
didnt hear the lady thrashing her daughter or beating her
up with the stick, and yet this girl came out crying and
apologizing.
A lot of different things during that time opened my eyes
to what a family is. I didnt know what a family was. This
lady also had a lot of books, and I began to read the ones
on missions; books by A. W. Tozer, E. M. Bounds, and
Leonard Ravenhill. I was reading, and I was waiting for
my job. Maybe a couple of months passed, and another
incident really puzzled and shocked me. The missionary
had a lovely guitar, and after I played it one day, I just left
it on the bed. She strongly told me she didnt mind me
using the guitar as long as I put it back in the box when I
was done. This made me feel insecure and inferior. I was
afraid. I had just left home, and I wanted to please people.
When she said it very strongly, I was broken that night.
I literally cried, Aunty, Im so sorry and Ill never again
do that. I never touched the guitar again. Today I know
discipline, and I tell my kids.
I was determined to work at any cost

The couple received news that they were going to
be transferred to another state. Again, they told me if I
wanted to come with them I could, and if I wanted to stay
back I could. I was there, and I was determined for one
thing! I was so determined I believed I could even cook
in a restaurant and still be a missionary. So I went around
applying for different jobs as a cook. I loved cooking.
There were some places that wanted to see me cook first
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and then make a decision. One day I was walking around

trying to find different opportunities, and I went into
a small Bible College. When I walked in, some students
saw me, so I told them I was looking for a job and asked
to meet the principal. They said he is not here. He wasnt
there, but they asked what I could do. I told them I could
clean and cook and found out they were in need of cook.
They told me that I could apply for the position, so I took a
piece of paper, wrote a letter to the principal and shared
a little bit about my experience working with children and
about my studies.
I finished the letter and walked away. The students told
me to come the following day at about 10 AM to meet the
principal. When I went back to the college, the principal
was there and he said, Your English is good. Why do you
want to apply for a cook job? I told him it was because that
was the only job vacancy. He asked if I could teach at the
Bible college, and I said yes, because I had been teaching
kids and teens. He then asked what subject I could teach,
and I said the only subject I could teach was Christian
Education. He immediately gave me a few weeks time
to put together a syllabus on Christian Education. I began
reading many books on Christian education and started
putting the syllabus together to teach Christian Education.
I was given a small room right next to the Bible College.
There were lovely students whom I started connecting
with. There were also some lovely professors there, and
I started spending time with them too. In the evening, I
began to walk around the college to different houses,
and people would welcome me because they had all
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received news that a new South Indian was there to teach

at the Bible College. I still remember walking into the
houses. One meat commonly eaten was dog. Dog meat! I
remember eating the dog meat. It had a very strong odor
and I didnt like the smell.
I started making friends with different people. There was
a South Indian man staying close by who was working in a
school. I started going to the school to do some sessions
with students and teenagers on the weekend. Now my
goal had not diminished. What was my goal? I wanted to
be with half naked, tribal people! However, even though
I was in a tribal place, all I saw were people wearing Calvin
Klein and Levi jeans. It wasnt as tribal a place as I thought.
I started getting different offers. I was good at working
with children. Three years working in the school was a
great training ground. I started spending a lot of time with
my professor playing badminton. He was very good, and
it was a great challenge to play. The food was not so great
at the Bible College. It was a poor school with not much
funding. Everyday we had two meals, and it was always
rice, lentils and potatoes. Sometimes in the evening, we
would wait for the bats to come and sit on the tree. We
would use the catapults to kill them so we could cook and
eat them.
Once a week on Sunday, if they had money, they would
get meat. Otherwise it was potatoes! I was okay with the
food--different oil and different rice. I used to go to shops
and buy boiled eggs and onions. I love onions. Give me
any meal with onions and I would eat.
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Life was going on very

interestingly. I started going
around in the evening to
a particular place called
commercial
center
of
Nagaland. Dimapur has
hundreds of hostels. People
from the tribal villages
would send people to stay
in Dimapur and learn. I
started going to each hostel in the evening. A man I knew
had a bicycle, so I would borrow it and go to the hostels
during prayer time. I enjoyed doing this, and I still love
going to hostels today. Although Im closer to 40, I still
love working with teenagers. Its the same passion I had
when I was 21. May be more today. I just love speaking to
teenagers and spending time connecting with them.
I became very popular in the little city and several people
knew me. When I went around, no one paid me for
anything, and none of my sessions were paid for. I would
go and do free sessions because I just wanted to connect
with teenagers. Then a time came when I began doing
research and asking people about tribal places. There
was a college break for summer. One student said he was
going to his tribal place, his village. He said he was from
the Lotha tribe, so I told him I would love to come. He said
it was very difficult, and we would need to walk because
there wasnt any transportation. I said that was fine.
We took a particular bus for a few hours and then got into
an old car for another two hours. After that there were no
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roads, so we started walking. We walked for about a day to

one of the nearest villages, and the student dropped me
there. He said he was going to his village, and someone
would tell me how to reach the place. So I stayed in the
little village looking for half naked people. From there,
I started going again in a few days. Taking my guitar, I
walked several days to several places.
I had tribal boys helping me. There were times I had to
cross a gorge on a broken bridge. It was a new adventure,
and as I walking I was just drained. Up the mountain, down
the mountain. There were days we crossed about 5 or 6
mountains, and remember, I was only 21 years old.
I learned a lot of techniques going up the mountains, and
the local tribal boys taught me to survive with some of the
things they do. Those forests did not have bears, tigers
or lions. The only thing slightly dangerous were bats, and
the natives called them flying foxes. Other than the bats,
there was nothing big. Eventually I started walking to the
village where the boy I first started the journey with was.
WOW! It was just amazing--very cold, very beautiful. I
walked into the house and was fascinated. Again, no half
naked people even though they were tribal. The food was
interesting. I had carried my own butter with me to cook
wherever I wanted for my taste.
All the houses were made of wood. I still remember
going to my room where the boys sister was staying. She
would have conversations with me in English. I loved to
learn and speak English, and she was so fascinated with
me speaking English even though it was terrible at that
time. Every village had a church, and some had 2 or 3. All
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the pastor needed to do was ring the bell 3 times one

evening. Everybody would know there was a special
meeting or some special guest had come. The pastor said
I had to speak, so whatever I had learned from A. W. Tozer,
E. M. Bounds, or Parker I spoke about and taught. I was
more of an encourager giving exhortation. People would
take me to their homes and give me food. Several times I
ate dog meat which was difficult.
After a month or so, the time came for me to go back
to college, and leaving the village was a beautiful trip. I
remember as I walked I got lost, so I slept under a huge
tree that night. I was all alone, and I wish I had had a camera
for pictures or a video. That night I was singing a song in
my own language. The song says, Jesus please teach me
how to walk, send me your angels and guard me, teach
me how to walk. I was tired of walking, and I was singing
loud in the middle of the jungle.
I learned certain survival tips from the local boys, so I found
a tree and slept right under it. I was so tired and went to
sleep in a second. The sun rises very early in this part of
India, between 4 and 4:30 AM. I woke up and pulled out
my bag and my guitar.
As I pulled my guitar and bag, I saw a huge snake coiled
underneath the bag. I was careful not to disturb it much.
I just thanked the Lord for how
amazing He was to protect me
from the snake. The snake could
have crawled all over me, or
slept under me, or kissed my
head. I have no idea. But how
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Working with village kids
Teaching tribal believers about

children ministry
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Walking through North East

Mountains
Walking through the forest
Life as a residential hostel chaplain
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gracious the Lord was. That night I was reminded of the

verse which says, He who watches me neither sleeps nor
slumbers. When I finally got back to the city of Dimapur, I
was again doing the same things as before my trip to the
village; going to schools and different hostels.
The Bible College principal began to get upset with me.
He said he had heard so many things about me going
around and speaking. He then told me I was his and
couldnt leave the school! So I looked at him and said,
Im not your servant, and I belong to the Lord. He then
threatened me saying if I ever left the college, he would
make sure I didnt live in that place and would send people
to take my life.
I knew I was there because the Lord had brought me, not
the principal, so I told him I was leaving. He was very upset
with me! As a young man coming into missions, I had seen
many things. People would raise funds and as soon as the
money came, they would buy a refrigerator and couches
instead of helping students, or use the money to raise
their families instead for missions. I saw several incidents of
this! I couldnt understand how those people did not fear
God, but I knew I didnt have to give in like them. So I was
strong in my decision with the principal. I walked away
and began working in another place. Then I got an offer
to work in another hostel. The majority of the tenants in
this hostel were girls. I was only 22 or 23 years old handling
some of the teenage girls. It was tough! They would be
cranky, and emotional, and I had no idea what to do.
So I would sit and ferociously read books. From Dobson
to Josh McDowell to Gary Chapman to a host of other
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books, I began to read about parenting and how to

handle teenagers. One thing I learned during this
time was to be gracious. It was difficult for me to show
mercy and grace, and it was in this phase that I began to
understand the mercy and grace of God. Only someone
who understands the mercy of God can show mercy, and
only someone who can understand the grace of God can
be gracious! I understood this principle very young. Why
was I not able to show grace and mercy? I was strong with
kids, a perfectionist. I was pointing out mistakes. Why?
Then my transition happened. I worked in this hostel for
several months and finally decided to say no to working
there. I told myself that I wanted to become like David
Livingstone.
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So I found another place in Nagaland, on the border of

Myanmar, for my next trip, and I went there. I took the
bus to reach the city and then another local bus. The bus
serviced once in two days. The driver drove so fast through
the mountains on a road made for cars. Many times I would
see rocks rolling down the valley. Sometimes the buses
would have pigs and goats, and once I ended carrying a
pig on my lap.
There was another time when I was sitting right in the front,
and someone started singing. I joined in, and the whole
bus started singing a 4-part harmony. I took my guitar out
and began playing.
When I finally arrived in the particular village I had set out
for, for the first time I saw some half naked people! I was
fascinated and thought to myself, this is it! I walked into a
tribal house, which was made like an airplane houses with
hammocks and cots off the side. Right in the fire place
there was dry meat hanging. I was so fascinated! If you
opened the window, the clouds came in. One evening
I took a stroll, and I saw the underground terrorists
communicating with their walkie talkies, and there was a
group of people with guns. I asked my local guy if they
suspect me. He said they had already inquired about me
and knew I was a missionary, but didnt see any harm. I
spoke in different churches and stayed there for a month.
But somehow, even though I was in the place I had longed
to be, I still wasnt satisfied.
Am I missing something?
There was something deep inside of me telling me
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there was something more. I ended up working with

children and then left because I was not satisfied. I took
my transport pack to come back to the commercial city,
and I wept when I got to my room. I just wanted to be
like David Livingstone. I wanted to work with half naked
people, but I wasnt satisfied. All through this, there were
no sponsors, no one backing me up, and no church
praying for me. I was alone under God himself. Looking
back, Im sure my stepmom was praying, and two of my
cousins were praying! That night I wept over my dream
to become like David Livingstone, and it was in an almost
audible voice that I
heard the voice of
the Lord speaking
and telling me, I
have already had
David Livingstone,
I need George
Ebenezer. It struck
me! I looked around
thinking, Who, me?
No, I want to be
David Livingstone.
Again I heard the same clear voice saying He already had
David Livingstone and needed George Ebenezer.
I decided I wanted to do some theological studies and
make my foundations stronger. I made my journey to a
theological college and thats where I did my Master
of Arts in Divinity. I got my basics right and got my
foundations, clearing up my confusions. This two-and-half
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to three years in India on missions and all alone was God

ordained, God directed time! I learned so much during
that precious time.
OnceMoreCrossFit Gym
Beyond Barriers
last chapter
My Marriage and other stories from my ministry
How did I find my girl?

Nobody was willing to marry me. It was a difficult journey.
I liked a few girls, but they did not like me. I felt strange. I
made a decision to keep my self holy when I was 18 years
old, but the problem was doubt was creeping in. I could
not find anyone. I have heard this before from one of
the speakers in youth camp; the decision to marry is the
My Marriage and other stories from my ministry - 117
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second biggest decision in life next to salvation. How true

it is. There were many who rejected me because I did not
have a passport or a bank account. They said because I
was raised in an abusive home, I would not know how to
be a husband. I was dejected and felt rejected.
Several nights I cried. There were people who began to
counsel me saying that maybe the Lord was calling me
to be like Paul and not get married. Some said I was too
picky and I needed to be easy on my selection. Others
said I was very proud and headstrong. I even heard some
say I was too talented and would never be able to find
anyone in India. I was frustrated with all these talks and
counsels, very frustrated. One night I even cried, Lord, if
my talents are the ones which are hindering me, then I will
try anything. I will not get involved in just anything. I will
just keep quiet. Do you understand the heart beat here? I
was longing for a family.
This was the first time in my entire life that I would be
having a family and would be eating, walking and living
in my own personal space. From the time I was 18 years
old, I had lived with other people. I had never had a place
of my own. I was always at other peoples mercy. I was
longing deep inside to have my own home where I didnt
have to pretend or act or be afraid of what the host would
say or the employer would say. It would be just my space.
One evening I got on my two wheeler and went on a long
drive. I was crying, and tears rolled down my face as the
wind was also bruising it. I went to a deserted place. I sat
there and I wept bitterly. Was I not worthy to have a family?
Was I not worthy to have a wife? Was I not supposed to
118 - My Marriage and other stories from my ministry
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enjoy a peaceful, joyful home? I asked the Lord why this

was happening.
The very next week, one of my leaders wife suggested
that I notice a girl who was in her final year at Bible College.
Remember, at this point I stayed on this Bible College
Campus but worked with the mission organization as a
leader. I had seen this girl several times but never noticed
her. My leaders wife told me to notice and then pray
about this. I started to notice more than praying for her.
Believe me, I was so serious about this decision I started
evaluating this girl whenever I saw her. She happened to be
on a childrens ministry team, and at every team meeting,
though I didnt let her know, I noticed and evaluated her
very carefully. At first I was not very convinced.
Then I realized she was already on a team that the college
had put together to accompany me on a youth camp that
was happening. This was a special camp. So now, through
all the practice sessions, I was noticing her. On campus
there were very strong rules that we could not date or
even talk with people of the opposite sex. I could only
talk on a team level. Again let me state this, I never gave
her a clue that I was noticing her. Why? I did not want to
cause a problem, and I did not want to create any kind of
chemistry. What if she was not the one? So I kept myself
aloof so that I could easily bail out.
How did things pan out?

We went on the trip and travelled in a train together.
Again, I just noticed. After the program and several days
together working as a team, I got the courage to tell her
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I was noticing her. We had been on the train and when it

stopped at one of the stations, I got out, stood near the
window she was sitting by, and told her. I explained that a
particular leader and his wife had shared about her to me,
and I was praying about it (though I did pray as much as I
spent time noticing). Ah, the churning and the feeling that
upset my stomach when I did that was alien to my system.
It was one of the most difficult things I have ever done.
She told me to let the leaders talk, and then she would l
make the decision. I did not know whether she was going
to say yes or no. We were going as small group to Nepal
to do another youth camp. At this point, I began to pray a
lot. I wanted His confirmation. I began to receive His word
of confirmation not just once, but time after time.
I hope you understand this. Once you like someone,
almost every Bible verse is a confirmation from God. Do
you get this? I was totally in this place. I shared this with
a few of my mentors. They all said one thing in different
languages. May the dear Lord lead you. We will stand with
you. After receiving a strong confirmation from the Lord, I
told her I would like to marry her. She then said something
that shocked me; my dad does not want to marry anyone
from India (she is from the Kingdom of Nepal). So I will
share with him, and if he says yes, then this marriage can
happen.
Though initially I was shocked, I later agreed to this
plan. If this was Gods will, her father would say yes. If
it was not Gods will, he would say no and I would take
that as a confirmation. Though I did not grow up with a
proper father or mother, I believed that parents should
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be respected and nothing should be done without their

whole hearted consent. I believe this strongly even to this
day. Parents need to be Honored.
While we were ministering in the youth camp, I saw her
father come to visit her. Please understand this. Until now,
this girl had not showed any emotions. No handshake or
hug or even a pleasant smile. I was wondering if this girl
was capable of any emotions. That evening there was a
knock on my room (we were staying in the same hotel
as a team but in different rooms). This girl was standing
there with a broad smile. I asked her what happened, and
she told me her dad wanted to meet me. When I asked
her why, she said because I could marry her. She said
it seemed the leaders of the organization had already
spoken to her father and he had already said yes to them.
Whoooooooo hoooooooo! For the first time, I gave her a
side hug. I saw life coming back. I saw hope. The love of
God was very real at this point.
What happened further?

We began our trip back after the camp. On our way, I
began to share my life very openly and she shared her life
very openly. Then she said something that puzzled me.
She said from the time she was 14 years old she had been
sexually abused and she was afraid of men,especially a
physical relationship inside marriage. I did not know what
to say. Yes, I was 28 years now and she was 29. Yes, we
were mature enough to handle this, but I didnt have
words to share. I went back to the Lord and asked Him
why He was giving me a girl like this? If she is afraid of
a physical relationship, then how in the world were we
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going to have children? That morning, the Lord spoke

very clearly to me from His word in Isaiah 43, but also in
a very strong still voice. I have these encounters often--a
very clear voice speaking to me. The Lord said,she is too
precious. Why dont you give your life to show her my
redemption? I started to break down in tears. I said yes,
Lord I will. I will. The next day, I went back to her and told
her I loved her deeply and I was willing to accept her just
as she was.
Now, in this Bible College, she was in her final months
before graduation. The leadership told both of us that
we couldnt meet and talk, but could speak on the phone
or through emails once a week. Oh,I waited for those
Saturdays. She would go out of the campus and call me
on my mobile phone. She did not have a mobile phone
but would use a pay phone. We talked for long hours. The
Lord really knit our hearts together.
The actual marriage ceremony

Fast forward to her graduating. That year, she won several
awards at the graduation ceremony. Now the news leaked
out, and many of my co-workers knew what was going
to happen. Everyone congratulated me. On the day
of graduation, I was allowed to speak to her in front of
everyone. At this point, I did not have any money, so a
group of leaders from this organization told me they would
arrange my wedding and take care of the finances. On
graduation day something happened. One of the leaders
daughter (who was also a leader of a certain department)
came to Manju, my fianc, and shared her plans for making
Manju work in her department. Now I was clear at this
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point that I wanted Manju to work alongside me with my

children and teens ministry. I wanted my wife to be with
me when I counseled girls and so forth, but the leaders
daughter did not like it. She came to me and said Manju
working with me could not happen and I could not have
her on my team. I was strong in my tone and my stance
(today, I think I could have been more gentle with both
of these) . I said I couldnt allow that to happen, and she
told me if the leadership makes a decision and you are to
obey them. I replied that I wasnt obligated to be under
anyone and I was even ready to quit if I needed to. At this
point, I was working as a key leader giving leadership to
children and teens ministry work across several states in
India and also some South-Asian countries.
The graduation was over, and as planned by the leadership,
the engagement date was fixed, and I was on a train to
New Delhi (that is where the engagement was fixed). My
step mom was due to arrive there with another friend later.
Manjus parents were travelling and coming from Nepal to
Delhi. While I was on the train (it is a 2 days journey from
South India to North India) one of the leaders called me
and said that they were pulling out and I needed to take
care of my own engagement and marriage. I was shocked.
I did not know what to do. I could not even go to Delhi. I
got half way there to one of my aunts house and began to
call my close leaders. No one could do anything. This was
the decision made by the top brass of people.
How did God redeem us in this situation?

Then one of my mentors, a father like figure, called one
of his friends in Delhi and asked him if the engagement
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could happen in his church at the same date and time

that had already been appointed. Only the venue would
be changed. I conveyed this to Manju and I ended up in
this pastors house. The engagement day came. I had no
money. I had no idea how things were going to work out.
That morning, we got good news. One of the couples
we had known heard from the Lord that they needed
to sponsor the whole engagement, so they took care of
every expense. Wow! Wow!
Then came the test. Exactly one month after the
engagement we fixed the wedding, so Manju went to
Nepal to give marriage invitations to her relatives. Then
began the uprising against the king in Nepal. This uprising
was brewing and there were only five days to go until
the wedding. The borders were closed and Manju was
stuck inside Nepal. Now, everyone in this organization
was looking at what was happening. Some of them were
saying that I had taken Manju in an ungodly way, and
others said that I had disobeyed leadership and had not
submitted. I could not answer anyone. I wanted the Lord
to answer. Again, five days to go until the wedding. On
a Sunday I was sitting in the church in the last row. I did
something interesting. I took ALL the money I had in my
purse (maybe around 150 US dollars) and put it into the
offering bag. I wasnt trying to twist Gods hand or beg
for His favour. But with faith as an offering of thanksgiving
I said, I dont know how you are going to do this, but this
offering is to thank you in advance for what you are going
to do.
On the other side, Manju called me from the village telling
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stories of how the police were beating up people and

how there were riots on the roads. The next day she called
me from another town. I was puzzled . I asked her how she
reached this town. There were no vehicles running and
there was a curfew. She told me she walked. Yes, walked.
Walked for 8 hours crossing mountains. I could not believe
it. Now I knew what Nepalis could do. I knew they were
great climbers and hikers but Manju? I could not believe
it. After a few hours she called me and said that she was
outside of the Kathmandu airport. Again I was puzzled.
How in the world had she reached there? She explained
that when one man was shot, she got into the ambulance
along with him. What?? What kind of girl was this? Was she
that bold? Or was the love she had for me making her do
this? That afternoon someone encouraged me to call the
Nepal airlines agency and talk with the top CEO. I found
the number. Now know that this day was a Sunday and
top CEOs do not pick up calls on Sunday. To my surprise, I
heard the phone being answered. I explained my situation
and told this man that my fiance was standing outside
the airport and our marriage was fixed in Delhi. He was
the director and said he would call me back in 15 minutes.
I could not believe it. Many of these directors say they will
call back, but they never do.
But he did call me back. You know what he did? No. No.
No. I want to change my language. You know what God
did through this man? This man called the Kathmandu
International airport through an emergency line and asked
the inside security and airline staff to take Manju inside the
airport, punch the ticket and put her on a plane to New
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Delhi. Yes. That is what happened. Manju tells me that

while she was standing outside, they called for her name,
took her name and punched the ticket and put her on
the plane. That evening I was in tears with a rose bouquet
receiving Manju.
We got married on the date that had been fixed. The Lord
was in that marriage ceremony. Several friends of mine
came in to help with the wedding. It was an awesome
evening. Every bit of the marriage expense was covered
by different people, and I did not pay one penny for
anything. Amazing. Amazing. How we then went forward
is another book itself, and I will share about it then.
Gods delays are not denials. Gods ways are not our
ways. Gods thoughts are not our thoughts. His is much
higher and greater. He always takes works with a higher
purpose in His mind. Today one of my biggest healing
has been because of Manju. Yes, we waited for one year
to get our first child, but He healed her and helped me.
How our baby was born is content for another book as
well. But this was my learning--you can definitely trust
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Him. He will never leave you nor forsake you. Even if we

dont see anything. Even if things dont work out the way
we expected. Just trusting Him is the key. In our present
scenario, can we trust the Lord and let Him have His way
even though the route that He is taking us is puzzling and
alarming? Can we totally trust Him? He is worthy of all our
trust.
Strength of my heart, I need not fail,
Not mind to fear but to obey, With such a Leader, who
could quail?
Thou art as Thou wert yesterday. Strength of my heart, I
rest in Thee,
Fulfill Thy purposes through me.
- Amy Carmichael
Present Ministry
Today I work with children and teenagers across the
globe. What touches my heart today is children and teens
receiving the Lord and being discipled in His ways.
Several incidents over a period of time have led me to a
point where the Lord has very specifically burdened my
heart for the kids and teens. There are times people tell me
that I need to become a pastor or missions organization
leader working with proper missions and not childrens
work. But I believe that the Lord has wired me differently.
My hearts connection is to see the lost kids and teens
receive the Savior.
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Once in a camp, I heard a testimony of a 9 year old girl. She

was weeping and telling me that the Lord had convicted
her strongly of talking back to her mother and she had
asked the Lord for forgiveness would never do that again.
I was so moved to see this 9 year old share this testimony.
I shared with her about respecting parents or not talking
back to parents. The Lord was at work. He used my words
to minister to this girl.
I was working in a hostel. I was 19 years old. One night I

was awakened by the Lord very distinctly to pray. Today
this happens to me on several occasions but at that time, it
was a new experience. The Lord was burdening my heart
to pray for a girl in that hostel. The girls dormitory was next
door. I began to pray, and to my surprise, the words for
prayer just flowed. I prayed for about an hour and then
went off to sleep. I had no idea what was happening to
this girl. The next morning I saw her eyes all puffed up
and I asked her what happened. She broke down and
told me that she was trying to commit suicide that night
and something was stopping her. Whoa! I was the one
praying. The Lord made me stand in the gap.
At another teens camp, I was sitting and counseling a

boy. I even forgot what the issue was. The elder sister of
this boy was sitting with him. As I bowed down to pray, I
heard the Lord say that this girl was in a serious mess. I had
no idea how to react to this. This does not happen to me
often. In fact this incident was one of the first times. It was
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VBS
Youth group
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With Cambodian children
Speaking at a secular school
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a strong thought in my mind and prompting in my heart

that this girl was in a deeper mess. I paused and carefully
looked at the girl and asked if there was an issue in her
life. I told her I was sensing it, but it was up to her to share
it. She immediately broke down. This 17 year old was in
a relationship with a married man. That evening was an
evening of restoration and forgiveness.
Once a girl had jumped out of the residential facility where

I was in charge. That night, along with my servant lady, I
went around that town looking for her. She was a 14 year
old girl. We found her on the road totally drunk along with
two other drunk boys. We pulled her out and brought her
home. The girls dormitory was on the top, and along with
the help of this servant lady, I had to literally carry this girl
to her room. When I was about to place her on the bed,
she vomited all over me. I just could not get angry. I cried
instead. The servant lady was very upset and wanted to
beat up this girl, but I said no. Remember I was just 22
years old at that time. The next day, the servant lady came
to me and said that this girl had gotten up very very early in
the morning and was sitting and crying on her bed. I told
her to let the girl be left alone. She did not go to school.
In the evening this 14 year old came to me weeping. Do
you now what she said? She said, I was waiting for you to
call me and scold me and punish me. But you did not do
it. Why? Why do you love me so much? I was in tears. I
hugged her and told her that it is ok to make mistakes and
the Lord still loves her. Her life changed in a significant
way in the next few months.
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On another campus, I sat with a 16 year old boy who was

debating with me about God and His existence. Our
conversation went until midnight. Finally he revealed
something interesting. He said he was involved in
homosexuality and he wanted to come out of it. I shared
about my own story and told him that only if he believes
and asks the Lord to come into his life can he find that
freedom. He then said, ok I believe, go ahead and lead
me to Christ. I asked him again if he really believed that
Christ was the only way the truth and life. He hesitated and
said he didnt believe it but it was ok, and to go ahead
and lead him to the salvation prayer. I told him I couldnt
do that. I said, I leave early morning at 5 AM tomorrow.
So think about i,t and come to me before I leave with
conviction and belief. Then I will lead you. Guess what
happened? He was at my door knocking at 4 AM. I sat
under a neem tree and led him to the Lord.
In 2015, I was at a secular school when I saw this 17 year

old coming to me crying. When teens cry, I usually wait
for them and let them cry. She said she had 7 lesions in her
brain (MS) and she took one steroid injection everyday.
My wife Manju was sitting on the other side of the room
and I signaled her to come join me. She was counseling
anther boy there. Then we saw the this horrible scar. The
girl was abused as a young child. She had been carrying
this for many years. Added to this, the pink and blue marks
from her steroid injections left her at a place where she
wanted to die. I could boldly share with her about my 25
lesions and how the Lord was helping me. Just me sharing
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my story gave her so much hope that she asked us to pray

for her.
I can keep sharing hundreds of stories of lives being

touched, restored and redeemed. What is one of the
biggest needs today? People who can love, reach out,
and disciple these kids and teens, and demonstrate the
love of Christ. That is the need. That is what I believe I have
been called to. To reach out and be a friend or a father
to the hurting, abused and neglected. The broken ones
needs the Lord more than anyone else.
Continue to pray for us as we keep moving forward
reaching, rescuing and restoring many more lives. Our
kids and teens are hurting. My heart is breaking. Every
time I pray for the lost kids and teens, I cannot help but
weep. This has not happened just because of ministry.
This is happening because of how He has wired me and
fabricated my life for a very specific purpose.
Can you allow your heart to be broken with the things that
break His heart?
George Ebenezer
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Addressing Singaporean teens
Story time
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Elmo entertaining kids
Games for teens in Kerala

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Games for teens
Kids enjoying the session
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Kids listen to a story
Light moment with tribal kids in Bihar
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Morning devotion for teens
Puppet rules
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Teens dance
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Commitment time
Investing in young lives
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In a remote village in Nepal
Mime
Speaking to missionary kids
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Rwandan kids
Speaking to Ethiopian kids

Beyond Barriers - Story of George Ebenezer

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Beyond Barriers - Story of George Ebenezer

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A heartwarming story of a compassion child in India,

FIRST BOOK IN THE BEYOND BARRIERS SERIES

It's a joy to write an introduction to this book by George. Meeting him

Phew! What a life ! What a God of mercy and redeeming grace . In

With Chris, the puppet

Death At The Start

Life Giving Me A Start

The Tumultuous Teens

Love Broken Apart

Some of my ministry photographs

When Moses defined for himself what is most important

God more intimately. Bear in mind that Moses already

powerful testimony of Gods redemptive grace. I was

My step-mom and mother in law along with Manju

Early years of ministry after marriage

I dedicate this book to three lovely women

Thank you note

intrigued. The basket was made of bamboo strips. They

lives experience pain. I know how it feels. I have been

irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.

Its ironic that although technology

All our kids

The Holy One of Israel, your Savior;

I just love being with kids

grandfather. I have heard stories of how my grandfather

my mother. She endured silently for a long while, and

the overhead water tank, ensured that I was put in another

An excerpt of the email sent by my moms elder sister

Death At The Start - 29

My mom described to her sisters all that had actually

30 - Death At The Start

things: first, that her son would choose to do ministry over

Death At The Start - 31

My step brother Berakah who died

and protected. Another

When my father remarried

convinced, they eventually did get married. During the

My life as a 6-year-old in the missionary school hostel

others company and enjoyed it. Everything was done

also be given a chocolate with some jelly inside, which I

My first remembrance of my step mother

being happy that there was somebody other than my

Little boys life in the North Indian mission field

A picture from my childhood

Me standing on the terrace in

Life Giving Me A Start - 39

meetings. I remember staying once with a few missionary

for passengers behind the driver who pedals the cycle.

Whatever the reason, the constant moving made me

Now settling down in South India

Early witness of violence

44 - Life Giving Me A Start

Ministering in school hostels as a teenager

Teaching a children choir as a teen

Dad faking his ministry

that lightning might strike while my dad preached. It never

like C.T. Studd, the cricketer who turned into a missionary.

Me with the foreign Team

Me singing in the choir

stomach, hands would thunder on your cheek...oh, fear

also had a liking for raw eggs. I would drink about 2 or 3

even exaggerating a bit. I would colorfully describe