August 7th 2005

It is dark here, so dark and yet the rain makes for a calming night lullaby. The whole land smells of incense and rain, especially now, at night, when the sounds are stilled and the minds can think about such things as smells and sounds. This land is hot and humid and has an unquenchable thirst unsatisfied by the monsoon waters which fall off the gutters. I lick my lips and taste curry and sweet banana.

A full twenty four hours has past since stepping off the plane and, literally, into the rice paddies. Already have hear the melancholy call of a Tibetan flute calling someone back to the Lord, conversed over Mirinda in a fourteen year old Woman-Child's hovel, worshipped in an authentic Nepali service, and taught the blanket game to abandoned orphans. We have tasted Nepali food, played cricket, baseball, and uno with the locals. We are their "first Americans." For others we are a taste of home.

An offering was taken by the church to bless us today. It totaled about 75 rupis: one dollar. The envelope was given humbly by the church treasurer to the leader of our group. His hands were raised in the familiar "praying hands" greeting and traditional Christian Nepali greeting, Jai Ma-see accompanied the gift.

I'm here on a whim and a prayer and the grace of a sovereign God, but I'm here for so much more. Fear buckled in my stomach last night as I partook of my first Nepali food, and I thought of the last time I ate foreign cuisine. I thought of the last time my feet stood on foreign soil; I was waving goodbye to a land and a culture I had wanted desperately to embrace as my own. I thought of the last time I served the Lord through missions, when I was really serving myself. Here is a gift to the Lord, yes, but here is a gift to me.

In twenty-four hours I have come to love a people in a way I have never let myself love another people. A lesson in humility this trip is wont to be, but a lesson in the never failing goodness and grace of our God is what He's bestowed upon me. I collected all that I had and its total was no more than 75 rupis, but what He has up his sleeve in return is a chance to try again. An opportunity to take baby steps back into the joy of serving.

August 9th 2005

I'm sitting here in a seven dollar a night hotel room. I just took my first shower in a week -- mere body washings have had to suffice. I feel clean; hot, but clean. The sun, whose effects make these people hot and weathered, has dipped behind a "hill" the size of a familiar Adirondack high peak. These mountains are unbelievable, rising up on all sides at all times. It seems that no matter how high we climb, there are still regions taunting us from their lofty heights. I am small. We are all small.

From my balcony I can see a grass hut on the hill across from me. Its silhouette against the greying sky a reminder of the poverty in this country. Someone is swimming in the lake in front of me. This view is less of the city behind me and more of the culture in front of me. I love this place. My love for it is fragile, new and yet untried. It has weathered nothing harder than infrequent sponge baths and a daily upset stomach, but my love for it has been kindling for the past four years.

I first caught a glimpse of Jade Snow Dragon in western China -- my first look at the Himalayan mountain range and it was branded permanently upon my heart. I didn't know then that my next view of that mountain range would be from a different direction, from a different country, this time in Nepal. I did know then that a desire to minister to the Tibetan people kindled as a mere flame which needed care and a bit more refining before it could be more fully realized. This time the doubt is gone and the certainty is there.

This will not be my last visit to this part of the world. The inhabitant of that grass hut knows no other God than Budda and I know no other way than to be willing to go myself.