“I hope the days come easy, and the moments pass slow, and each road leads you where you want to go. And if you’re faced with a choice and you have to choose, I hope you choose the one that means the most to you and if another door opens to another door closed I hope you keep on walking ‘til you find the window. If it’s cold outside show the world the warmth of your smile, but more than anything, more than anything. . .
My wish for you is that this life becomes all that you want it to. Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small, and you never need to carry more than you can hold. And while you are out there getting where you’re getting to you - I hope you know that somebody loves you and wants the same things too. Yeah, this is my wish . . .
I hope you never look back, but you never forget all the ones who love you and the place you left. I hope you always forgive and you never regret and you help somebody every chance you get. Oh, you find God’s grace in every mistake and you always give more than you take. But more than anything. . . yeah, more than anything . . .” –Rascal Flatts, My Wish
The cold in my chest was getting worse from the previous days’ exertions, but my curiosity to hear a service in the native tongue of this village won over my desire to rest. We rose early and headed to breakfast to meet Urkin.
“Service is already starting.” he told us anxiously.
My gaze drifted from Justin’s surprised, hungry expression, to the distant church building, and then down at my attire. We had only packed the very basics with us – having learned the hard way from our last excursion, and left the rest of our clothes and unnecessary items back at the hotel in Kathmandu. Our ‘church-wear’ was less than impressive consisting of bulky, bright yellow ice boots, black fleece pants that were rounded and saggy at the top as though we were sporting a full diaper and then most fashionably tapered down to our ankles, and to top off our dark overlord attire was an oversized black rain-jacket complete with hood. Perhaps we were more suited for a funeral in the arctic than a church service in a serene mountain village, but it is all we had.
Stomachs growling we stumbled along the path up toward the church. The path was deeply rutted from overuse, and the night’s rain had filled it causing it to become more of a stream than a trail. On one hand I was grateful for dry socks, on the other the clumsy boots made for a difficult jaunt up the sloping hill. Urkin seemed to float above the trail with very little difficulty; I envied his flip-flops and stumbled on.
“Service is already starting.” he told us anxiously.
My gaze drifted from Justin’s surprised, hungry expression, to the distant church building, and then down at my attire. We had only packed the very basics with us – having learned the hard way from our last excursion, and left the rest of our clothes and unnecessary items back at the hotel in Kathmandu. Our ‘church-wear’ was less than impressive consisting of bulky, bright yellow ice boots, black fleece pants that were rounded and saggy at the top as though we were sporting a full diaper and then most fashionably tapered down to our ankles, and to top off our dark overlord attire was an oversized black rain-jacket complete with hood. Perhaps we were more suited for a funeral in the arctic than a church service in a serene mountain village, but it is all we had.
Stomachs growling we stumbled along the path up toward the church. The path was deeply rutted from overuse, and the night’s rain had filled it causing it to become more of a stream than a trail. On one hand I was grateful for dry socks, on the other the clumsy boots made for a difficult jaunt up the sloping hill. Urkin seemed to float above the trail with very little difficulty; I envied his flip-flops and stumbled on.
Our breath hung in the air above the empty trail as the whitewashed building closed in. Urkin pulled back a small, metal gate and used two hands to place a sizeable rock at the corner to hold it in place. We squeezed through and approached the double doors of the church. Boots lined the front stairs, and I looked up at the clouds threatening rain while I removed my boots as well. A loud voice thundered from inside the church. Timidly we approached the door and stood motionless viewing the single room with colorful woven rugs lining the floor. The voice stopped, every head turned and all eyes were on us. Looking at us from their eyes, I am sure that we looked quite peculiar in our strange black costume. We quickly sat down on the floor directly in front of the door to get the attention off of us, but to our chagrin it only brought more attention.
Voices began pouring in advice from all sides, and Urkin translated, “Girls on one side, boys on the other.”
Embarrassed that I didn’t notice this upon entering, I quickly scuttled to the other side of the building, plopped down directly in front of the group of woman with my back up against the wall, and sat Indian style upon the artificial grass rugs and gazed about the room.
Voices began pouring in advice from all sides, and Urkin translated, “Girls on one side, boys on the other.”
Embarrassed that I didn’t notice this upon entering, I quickly scuttled to the other side of the building, plopped down directly in front of the group of woman with my back up against the wall, and sat Indian style upon the artificial grass rugs and gazed about the room.
The entire building consisted of one room with whitewashed plaster covering the smooth grey stones that peaked out occasionally through cracks in the wall, and large wooden beams held up the v’d roof. A single podium stood in front of the room with a wood cross fixed upon it, and faux flowers sat in front arranged in a vase. A man whom I assumed to be the pastor was preaching at the front, there wasn’t a single word uttered that I understood.
Suddenly the congregation stood, I followed their example, and the pastor began to sing. Not one instrument adorned the room, and none were lifted in aide of the pastor’s voice. Suddenly a sound began to rise low and steady throughout the room reverberating off the walls, louder and louder, until the entire assembly was singing. Gradually the atmosphere began to transform, it was becoming thick with the voice of worship. Chills ran up my arms causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end, I snuck a glance behind me at all engaged in this phenomenon and was amazed to see every woman, man, and child eyes closed, hands slightly raised, palms facing up bobbing or swaying to the beat of the music, and mouths wide-open singing with all their might. I too closed my eyes and hummed along.
Suddenly the congregation stood, I followed their example, and the pastor began to sing. Not one instrument adorned the room, and none were lifted in aide of the pastor’s voice. Suddenly a sound began to rise low and steady throughout the room reverberating off the walls, louder and louder, until the entire assembly was singing. Gradually the atmosphere began to transform, it was becoming thick with the voice of worship. Chills ran up my arms causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end, I snuck a glance behind me at all engaged in this phenomenon and was amazed to see every woman, man, and child eyes closed, hands slightly raised, palms facing up bobbing or swaying to the beat of the music, and mouths wide-open singing with all their might. I too closed my eyes and hummed along.
A few songs later and we all sat again to listen to another man speak. He wore the traditional Tibetan clothing that we had seen on the man in the small hut on the neighboring ridge. I continually had to redirect my thoughts toward what was being said as I found it difficult to stay focused since I couldn’t understand anything, but from the animated reaction of the congregation it must have been very powerful.
After service was over we thanked the Pastor for allowing us to visit. We put our shoes back on and headed back down the hillside for a long awaited lunch. It was our last day with Urkin and his family, and because we had stayed so long with them we were unable to continue any further up the trail. Our bodies were still weak and muscles atrophied from our days of sickness on the first attempt up the mountains and we were glad that we had such a magnificent place to rest, and a lovely family to stay with.
At lunch we talked to Urkin and his family about our plan to leave the next morning.
“A truck just fell off the mountainside two days ago, and six people died! Two people from our village were seriously injured. We told our dad not too come back from Kathmandu because it is too dangerous!”
The concern looks on Urkin’s face as well as the rest of his family was enough to make us stay forever, but we had a plane to catch and we had to return to Kathmandu as soon as possible.
“Because of the landslides the roads are very dangerous, the trucks brakes stopped working and they just fell over the edge. Be really careful.”
Justin and I exchanged glances but there was nothing to be done except return. “We will be very careful.” we promised Urkin.
We began to tell Urkin and his family about how our flute had been stolen in Dunche and that we wanted to make a ‘Wanted’ poster with a reward if it was returned to us.
“Could you help us Urkin? We drew this picture, but we don’t know how to write in Nepali.”
Urkin, still concerned that we were leaving, nodded and began to write: This flute is very special to us. It is a wedding present from our parents. We lost it here. There is a 9,000 rupee reward to anyone that returns it to us. After thanking Urkin and his family for their kindness, we retired to our room to begin packing.
“Could you help us Urkin? We drew this picture, but we don’t know how to write in Nepali.”
Urkin, still concerned that we were leaving, nodded and began to write: This flute is very special to us. It is a wedding present from our parents. We lost it here. There is a 9,000 rupee reward to anyone that returns it to us. After thanking Urkin and his family for their kindness, we retired to our room to begin packing.
Once again we are packing up, and I am reminded of a song that talks about ‘not carrying more than you can hold’. A bitter sweet mixture of emotions fills us, we are sad to be leaving a place we've fallen in love with, and yet, excited to be packing to go somewhere new. Having packed up so many times now, it has become methodically and without much need for thought. We lay down for the last time in our mountain hideaway, and sleep finds us once again; we drift off dreaming of the mountains we have yet to see.
The next morning brought more clouds and good-byes. Endless unspoken words filled the silence of the room as we ate our breakfast; the few remarks that were spoken were few and far between, and what we wished to say stuck in our throats and refused to form into anything worth speak out loud. The time we spent with Urkin and his family was worth the trip to Nepal in itself, and I hope one day we see them again.
I cannot find enough of the right words to express how deeply touched I am to have experienced a natural beauty unsurpassed only by the kindness and love of a family once strangers but now our friends.
I cannot find enough of the right words to express how deeply touched I am to have experienced a natural beauty unsurpassed only by the kindness and love of a family once strangers but now our friends.
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