“God says to love one another. As much as you love yourself.”
I’d heard it countless times before, but as we climbed the rocky hill to our awaiting transportation, it struck a new chord. He seriously meant it; he spoke it and lived it and meant it.
It was a Sunday. Just another day in the week. But a taxi strike added to once effortless plans, and the lack of public transport left Danica and me stuck at our host’s home for a little bit longer than expected.
We sat on pink floral cushions on the floor and talked about ministry and how expensive school is for his sons. A taxi was chased down and well on its way to our house, but was found out by some government official and instructed to go home. We remained stranded, and talked to his oldest son about snacks and bubblegum, and his proud father shared of the selfless heart already growing within the little five year old body.
At first, I was polite. I avoided checking my watch and asked questions. I really did care, but the distraction of being off course from our original plan took up more room in my thoughts than the scene playing out before me.
The young man who had flagged down the first taxi came back and told us the news. We talked about our next options: could we help pay for petrol and ride on the back of their motorbike? Danica and I looked at each other, then to our thirty plus pound bags, then back to each other. “Where would we put the bags?” I asked. “Like this,” he answered and, using his hands, demonstrated carrying them duffel style on our shoulders.
We chose the second option. It was more expensive and had us sitting on the floor a little longer, but it meant riding in a van rather than dodging mad traffic while juggling luggage.
And I’m so glad we chose the second option. Because the conversation will be remembered for more than just hospitality and general kindness.
He was so open about his life, his struggles. “Sometimes I go before The Lord and just cry, because he has given me responsibility to provide for my family and I don’t have enough.” Being a full-time missionary doesn’t exactly pay well.
He expressed his intense belief in the power of prayer, and how we all need each other to carry on. “There is an African quotation, ‘if you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.'” I nodded and tears pushed on the backs of my eyes as my heart beat passionately.
This man wasn’t even trying. He wasn’t making a speech to get me to give him money. He wasn’t simply playing nice or bragging or making himself look good. He was human, every bit beautifully human and every bit exploding with the love of God.
So naturally, I went on a rant. Not a bad one, but a conglomeration of words that burst out of me because I wanted him to know that I’m every bit human too. And I’m struggling with similar things and he’s not alone.
I sat in the kingdom of God for that hour and a half. I felt the presence of The Lord. I saw Christ in the man I intently listened to, a brother I am so thankful to have met.
Danica said it, but I’m stealing it: there was a taxi strike for a reason on that no more special Sunday than the last. It meant sitting in full peace and being socked in the heart to get it beating for the right reasons again.
God bless Nepal, and God bless that blasted taxi strike.
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