So I was on this journey up the mountain, doing what I could to successfully reach the next destination I believed God had for me. My Race team, squad mates, and a collection of excellent Nepali pastors and guides were to trek the Himalayan foothills, sharing meals, lives, testimonies, and prayers with the newer believers in the villages as we went.
We lugged our baggage (otherwise known as our backpacks) stuffed with material items in an attempt to prepare for whatever conditions may come our way. That is unless/until the gracious Nepali we were with insisted on carrying the loads for us as necessary.
Some sections of the path were fairly easy and required no concentration at all. Conversation came lighthearted and easily escaped out of lungs filled with fresh air- a nice contrast to the smog we had gotten used to inhaling from the heavily populated city of Kathmandu. We could admire the gorgeous views of the mountains (or foothills as the fit Nepali insisted they were called. “If there is no snow, it is a foothill.”) We could play in the river on our breaks and relax and take the closest thing we would get that week to a shower in the river or under the waterfalls.
Other sections were a bit more treacherous to our unsteady feet and weak muscles. There were steep inclines in which one wrong step would have led to a significant tumble down the foothill. There were narrow paths which were enclosed on one side with needle-contained plants, and a dropoff on the other. There was exceptionally muddy paths in a downpour of rain, fairly strong river currents to cross, sharp rocks and large boulders.
It was fascinating to see how the different challenges of the journey affected each person. For some, the incline was the most difficult, requiring a particular kind of strength they seemed unconvinced they had in them. For others, it appeared to be the strong opposition faced by the river current, or the climbing of the boulders. For myself, it was the maneuvering the slope of the muddy paths with a sharp decline on one side, being unsure of my own footing and having confidence in the next step that I took, or ultimately that God would prevent me from falling.
As each of us faced our own demons on that trek, there was a moment when I managed to pry my eyes off of my own journey and determining my next step, carefully calculating where I could place my bare feet so at to best prevent injury and pain. Looking up ahead, the pastor’s wife and daughter were gracefully walking ahead of me. This precious five year old girl was so confidently traveling along in a way that can only be described at prancing. Every step she took appeared to be so confident and carefree, so sure that no harm or pain would come her way. The stark contrast between this little girl’s approach to life, and the adults around her was so apparent.
As we heaved our baggage on our backs in a vain attempt to prepare for the potential problems ahead, she glided along with nothing weighing her down. We would pause to brace ourselves each time there was another boulder or ledge to climb up-she lifted her arms to be picked up carefully and placed on solid ground by her loving parent. We so cautiously evaluated every step, the uncertainty and hesitancy probably causing more danger than taking steps in confidence- she continued without fear of the pain crippling her from moving forward.
I don’t feel the need to elaborate the spiritual symbolism behind what I had the chance to observe. I will leave that for you all to decipher yourselves. Just felt the need to share.
Love to you all, Kelsie.
