I’ve waited 6 months to be in Nepal. Actually, I’ve waited my whole life. Everest? Climbing the Himalayas? Neverending adventures, and being on top of the world. Literally. Nepal was a dream.
Bar ministry, the slums, and a refugee camp. Pokhara. Where the heck is that? I heard it’s the most touristy, beautiful place in Nepal. Sweet.
The other three teams are actually trekking the endless heights of Nepal, though. Why don’t I care to be one of them?
We arrive in Pokhara and, really, the descriptions disappoint. Nothing is comparable to the colors, textures, and genuinity. Trekkers, flyers, gliders, and sailors galore. Why don’t I care to be them anymore?
Mornings with the Lord in a hammock on the lake, across from the greenest of green giants. Days ministering to the team, and pursuing local friends. Praying for the lost girls in bars, the shackled refugees, and the wounded poor.
I look at the mountains. I don’t desire to climb there. My mind wanders with paragliders. My heart doesn’t need to fly. My feet don’t move, and my soul is okay here.
My spirit doesn’t desire just another rushing experience to cover up my real emotions of life. I don’t need to be on the mountains, in the ocean, or above the clouds because I can finally rest in the Creator who made them.
My spirit needs something more than a temporary feeling; it longs for an eternal satisfaction. What a place to be free right where you are.
