Trekking in Nepal

October 2, 2009

We are back from our stroll in the Himalaya’s. :) We had a wonderful, if not strenuous time. We began early and didn’t get into our “tea-house” accommodations until a couple of hours after dark each of the past two days. In Nepal you do not move horizontal. You are either moving up or down. We flew up from Kathmandu to Pokhara a few days ago and that same day traveled further up two hours by van to a trail head and then trekked further up about 6 hours to our first stop. It was a good thing we brought rain gear. The rain organized a greeting party and came down in sheets to welcome us. Too bad we didn’t bring flashlights because when darkness fell down we were still moving up.

By the first night, when we reached our destination we were all exhausted. Our very polite Nepali guides kept saying, we’re just a couple of hours more till we arrive… After awhile this encouragement ceased to be uplifting or even amusing. I think most of us had used up our constitutions and burned through our by-laws. It was, however, a good opportunity for us to put our faith into high gear and trust we would arrive at our dark destination. Throughout it all we remained cheerful in a flagging sort of way with one another, and with God, thanking Him for strength as we moved up into the night through puddles of moonlight. We trusted Him quite literally to be a Guide our feet and a light to our path. We carried one another across rain-swollen rivers, and finally into a little pool of light where our inn popped out of the dark. I thought about this little poem as we trekked upwards:

the heights by great men reached and kept

were not attained by suddle flight

but they while their companions slept

were striving upwards in the night

--Longfellow

The next morning we got up and out of camp by 8 am on a 21 km trek through the foothills. We splashed through creeks, rivers, waterfalls; climbed up one mountain side and down another along rocky paths and sloping meadows. We hoofed it up endless slate steps that had been placed with untold woman and man-hours. We passed porters lugging packs bigger than they were, straining and sweat-staining against the bands around their foreheads. Passers-by up and down trafficked along the foot- path highway as each rose or fell to the occasional hill.

Never has it been clearer that life itself is a journey one must make on his or her own two feet. It’s about endurance, a marathon indeed rather than a sprint. It’s about going together, not alone. It’s about holding each other’s hand so the night doesn’t claim you. It’s about singing faith into your own heart, and the heart of your companions, so doubt doesn’t dampen your spirit, so the pernicious voice doesn’t impugn with whisperings, “this journey is for another; you’re not made of the stuff that will survive this trek.” It’s about praying for each other, arranging a pony to be shared among three of the party who came up lame, tired, or nauseated. It wasn’t a journey to be taken alone. And, in the end, we arrived at our destination--together, smiling, sore, satisfied. Five of the seven of us checked into the Landmark Hotel and then we all ate lunch together at a lakeside restaurant. I stared my whole fish in the eye and asked if he had any idea who or what was eating him :)

The rest of the group stayed in Pokhara for the night while Bethyl and I hailed a cab to the airport. Sabash and the two of us flew the half-hour back to Kathmandu in a little prop jet run by Agri Air. Once in our room we crashed for the night and didn’t emerge again, batteries drained down to the red-line.

"From what we get we can make a living; what we give, however, makes a life."

--and yes, that is a cow wandering in traffic :).

On a more personal note to Bethyl and myself we were reading from John Henry Jowett’s Daily Meditation yesterday as we traveled. One cogent thought from him impressed me. Jesus is the Bread of Life. We are to eat Him. We are also to drink his blood, according to his teaching. We call this communion. I kinda get that since we Christians celebrate it so often, but it seems seriously cannibalistic if you want to know the truth. Anyway, the corollary thought that goes with this is that we are to become little jesuses. As such we are to be bread and drink to others. We are to allow, even encourage, others to eat and drink us. And the miracle of the loaves and fishes, or the Shunnamite widow, is that we are replenished daily by the Spirit as we obey and allow others to munch away on us. We go to sleep half a loaf and wake up having been made whole. I wonder why we read this on the way to meet with JJ?

Also as we were in transit to this place we read this piece from Eldridge in his book, Desire; later in the evening I read this to JJ as we were unsuccessfully trying to get the internet back up following a lightning storm--by the way, monsoon season begins here very soon, perhaps next week; we’re getting a preview tonight. Here’s the piece:

“Be kind, for everyone you know is facing a great battle. A true community is something you will have to fight for. You’ll have to fight to get one, and you’ll have to fight to keep it afloat. But you fight for it like you bail out a life raft during a storm at sea. You want this thing to work. You need this thing to work. You can’t ditch it and jump back on the cruise ship. (It sank.) This is the church; this is all you have. Without it, you’ll go down. …

Suddenly all those “one another’s” in Scripture make sense. Love one another. Bear one another’s burdens. Forgive one another. Acts of kindness become deeply meaningful because we know we are at war. Knowing full well that we are all facing battles of our own, we give one another the benefit of the doubt. For example, “Leigh isn’t intentionally being distant from me – she’s probably under an assault.” That’s why you must know each other’s stories; know how to “read” one another. A word of encouragement can heal a wound; a choice to forgive can destroy a stronghold. You never knew your simple acts were so weighty. It’s what we’ve come to call “lifestyle warfare.”

We check in regularly with one another, not out of paranoia (“Do you still like me?”), but in order to watch over each other’s hearts. “How are you doing?” But be careful about what you are looking for from community. For if you bring your every need to it, it will collapse. Community is no substitute for God... community cannot live without solitude also. “

We know that Jesus had his rhythm of time with the Father and then time with people. We too need to find ours. As I write this, it’s about 4:30 in the morning India time; 4 pm the prior day California time. “Jesus, today I need you like a man in a sinking raft needs a bailing bucket. Please give me mindful courage to feed on You and be fed upon by others. Through that Power that is at work within me. Amen.”

September 23 2009

"The soul is not where it lives, but where it loves."

We arrived here in the south of India yesterday after flying a couple of hours from Pune to Chennai; we were met at the airport by a driver who then took us 2.5 hours to Vellore. Finally the car turned off the main drag onto a side street and we passed a sign that said, “Missionary Rest House.” We’d arrived. Once inside the front entry to this 16 bedroom hostel we met with a dozen or so staff led by one J.J. Ratnakumar, the founder and director of Missionary Upholders Trust (http://www.mut.org/), a saint of a man. Age 60, handsome, full head of silver hair, vibrant and alive smile, loquacious, articulate, energetic. He welcomed us and seemed alert to our needs.
As we listened to him it became clear he was a high voltage transceiver of God’s healing energy for missionaries. He seems capable of taking in 220 volts of Holy Spirit energy and passing it out in 12 volt bites to one person at a time. MUT’s ministry is to missionaries who are emotionally injured, medically recuperating from various illnesses, or spiritually going upside down. A large Christian hospital is nearby and missionaries come from all over India to get treatment here, discharge, and recuperate at the Rest House. Retired missionaries from various walks of life compose much of the staff.
MUT works with over 100 different mission agencies, many indigenous to India, others from the West. Missionaries qualify for very low cost care here. If your support level is $300/month or less, as is very common among indigenous missions, then your nightly cost to stay at the rest house is about 25 cents, US; if above $300, it’ll cost you a buck. While we talked for a number of hours together people passed by and he would comment in a kindly way about their situations. He seemed to know very many people by first names and had a great smile and kind word for each of them.
As we listened to JJ it became clear that he was quite savvy to the lifestyle warfare one experiences here day to day with Satan’s spiritual strongholds of animism, Hinduism, and Islam all around--somehow I had forgotten that India, after Indonesia, is the second most populous Muslim nation in the world. Anyway, he spoke of the struggles of his own life, how he came to leave a successful job as director of HR for a large corporation 16 years ago, and the ups and downs of this ministry since that time. Currently his vision is for a larger 6.5 acre campus in the town of ODC, where he personally resides, about 10 hours south of here by train. Phase one of three is complete. Check out the master plan on the website. He has desires for provision of psychological services there on that campus to missionaries, but no one trained to provide them as of yet.

What Holy Looks Like

Sanjay Gaikwad is a holy man. We’ve been privileged to walk in his presence for the last couple of days. He has welcomed us to his home twice. He has fueled us with Spirit food and a little, well-prepared body food. His wife, Surekha, and his 18 year old daughter, Anugra, as well as his 87 year old father, David, made us feel useful, needed, and on target as we ministered to Christians and Hindus alike. It’s just like the Spirit to select the humble few, the demonstrably poor, to encourage and give to we, as strangers in the land, generously.



We’ve presented four times to varying size groups in the past two days. We’ve labored with power point and flowed with Power. Both Bethyl and I have felt like we were with our friend Meg in her polished wooden log, with glowing interior corridors and shiny handrails, as we were guided down the river of life by a powerful but unseen Current. We grieve for Meg’s physical absence with us as we journey; we celebrate Meg’s visceral presence with her Saviour face to face. Her honest, in the moment, in your face, presence informs and weaves itself through our walking and talking. Thank you Spirit of God for her influence in our ministry here, now, India.

September 19th 2009

““We are not human beings on a spiritual journey; we are spiritual beings on a human journey.” Steven Covey

Union Biblical Seminary feels like an oasis in the middle of a madhouse. The campus is quiet, cheerful, and clean. The city of Pune, about 4 million in size, is a riot of noise, zooming motorcycles and rickshaws, firecrackers, and thronging street mobs who are celebrating the Hindu gods of Ganesh and Shiva, last week and this week. We’ve been warmly received here by faculty and students. We are building a relationship for the future. We preach tomorrow at Christ Church in the city.” If you'd like a copy of our sermon on what a happy family looks like, put that in a comment and we'll gladly email it to you. meanwhile, thanks for reading.

Tigers and Snakes

September 16 2009

The other night, before we left on our current journey to Pune, India, I encountered a snow white tiger . I know it was a dream, but it felt more real than not. In this dream but I had to go over snowy boulders in an ATV with Bethyl. We were on the way to a church.

At one point the road was so obstructed by frozen boulders that I got out of the car to check the path. As I climbed over a big boulder I met this tiger several times my size, low to the ground, stalking towards me. I was not afraid of him, even though he was long, powerful, and sleek. I brushed past him and he gave a little roar of distress. I looked closer. There was a little black poisonous snake burrowed into his back right above his tail. I knew he needed help. He was sensitive there, pained, but not able to get to it by himself. I wasn’t sure what to do. I’m not a vet. But for such a time as this?.....

As I think about this dream it seems to me now that the tiger is a symbol of the church to which we are being sent to minister: powerful, white as snow--and infected with sin. It also could be me that is the tiger, or the little band of friends pictured here, Bethyl and I, Wayne and Meg. However it may be, together the body of Christ is needed to care for and root out evil within one another-- wherever it burrows in and can’t be reached. I can’t let this just slip by without my attention, care, and help.

Departure Moves

9/15/09
Our Singapore Air 747 lifted off at LAX this afternoon at 3:06, about the same time that our friend, Meg, lifted off for eternity. Wayne called us from the ER where he was holding his unconscious wife’s head as she bled to death internally in her own decent way, with dignity in her death. She really showed us how to finish well, and for that, as well as showing us how to live well before the finish, we love you, Meg, and hold you close in our hearts.

Meg was happy even into this morning when she left a message for Bethyl—And, there was just an edge of terror in her voice as she cliff-walked along the high bridge of her dreams three days earlier. She realized in this dream that it was Jesus himself over which she was passing, or that it was Him holding her as she crossed over. Looking down all she could see was mist, but she sensed it was very deep. Another dream from a few days ago had her inside a polished log being guided down a river by unseen Hands. The railings inside this log were secure and Jesus also was with her as she made her way long the protective interior of the log, knowing she was in transit on a journey of a most important sort.

God bless her. She knew at some level her crossing was close. Yet when her daughter gave her permission to let go when she needed, just a day or so ago, she was surprised—thinking that this was entirely too precipitous and her time was not yet close. Knowing Tara had initiated this with her Mom, as she and I spent our final 90” together, I also shared the preciousness of being her friend, saying I felt I must say this now lest I not have the opportunity later. We shared tears… appreciation for how our paths had intersected and woven themselves into a sturdy friendship.

Meg is on her way. We are on ours. Both journeys of moment. But hers is inestimably joyous, and ours a blend of joy and responsible vision-casting as we search for our next chapter. Both of us are crossing spans. Both are contained within the grip of the Almighty. Thank you our dear Father for your carefulness with each of us as the future has come to greet us. For Meg, in the eternal now; for us, at the rate of 60 seconds in each minute we breathe our way along the path God has set for us.