That’s really something that God has been telling me since we arrived in Nepal.
“Dearest daughter, don’t put a shade on your light.”
I remember landing in Nepal, and as we started to walk, a sense of culture shock came over me. Not because of the poverty that we were immediately hit with even in the airport, because we weren’t, not like with other countries, but from the amount of foreigners that were around us. I remember as a little girl, my mom took my older brother Ruben and I to Mexico to Guadalajara to visit her family. I remember as we landed back at LAX, even after a short two weeks, the same sense of culture shock came over me as I realized I could read the sign that pointed us to the luggage claim (turn right, in case you were wondering). The sight of not being the only foreigner took me back.
As we drove through Thamel, the backpacking district, the shock of it all grew as we saw waves of people window shopping, bartering with street vendors, and bypassing the homeless. I’ve never been to New York, but I have seen the neon lights of Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood (So-Cal girl), and much like how a moth is drawn to the light, I was drawn to the stores that consumed the streets of Thamel. That first night, the streets held a certain beauty; the lights, the four story buildings, each floor housing a different business, the coffee shops that lined the streets, the wide selection of souvenirs options, and again the lights. But the day light brings a sense of clarity to that which the night lights entice us with. In the day, we were approached not because we the first Americans they had ever seen or at least seen in a while, but rather to purchase their merchandise. Some were really friendly and after telling them no thank you, they would engage into conversations about why we were there, others not as much. Up until this month I never felt like a tourist because we weren’t necessarily in “touristy places”.
As we left debrief and drove out and away from Thamel, I still had the feeling that I was a tourist. One day for ministry we went to The Great Bodha Stupa; you have probably seen pictures of it since the earth quake. It is the largest Buddhist temple in Nepal and a good part of it was destroyed in the quake. We were told that we were going to go to the temple to simply walk around and pray over the people that flocked there, both locals and westerners. I found it’s location intersting because the temple was encased by a colosseum of stores, street vendors, and cafes. As I was walking around, I saw there was a smaller but still extravagantly ornate Buddhist temple and monks were walking in. I couldn’t actually get in, not because I was a westerner, but because a wall of others who came to see the temple blocked me from getting in. So I walked around the courtyard for a bit, looking at the prayer wheels and the rooms filled with burning oils. As I was walking out, a street vendor stopped me and asked me to look at his handmade trinkets. He told me that Buddha is always watching me, and I told him that I follow Jesus. He was polite and let me talk to him about Jesus, but he wouldn’t answer any questions about his faith or religion. He let me pray for both him and his family before I left, as I said goodbye, he asked one last time if I would buy his merchandise.
It’s so easy to get lost here in Nepal. Yes, it is actually beyond easy to get lost here, but it’s really easy to get distracted here. This country is so beautiful and colorful, but it’s also easy to be thought of as a tourist, someone who flew in either to gaze at or climb Everest, or to offer relief from the earth quake back in February. You drive in and walk out with your miniature mountain of belongings on your back and people don’t look twice at you only because that is normal here in Nepal. And in this, it is very easy to forget why we are here and to shade our lights unintentionally.
This month, I’ve had clarity on what it really means to not be of this world, and that my citizenship isn’t based on what the cover of my passport says, but rather knowing that my citizenship is held securely elsewhere.
Again, no, I am not a tourist.
