I will start this post by promising that I am not going to exaggerate. Parts of this story will probably sound dramatic, but I'm going to describe trekking as I experienced it, and during the trip, I felt A LOT of strong emotions. I'm going to focus on what I personally learned from the trek, but make sure you read Chris' trekking posts as well to hear more about what we did as far as ministry and evangelism.
Our trekking adventure began last Tuesday with a 7am bus from Kathmandu to a town called Pokhara. Now normally I have no problems with bus rides, but as I mentioned in my last post, Nepal is hot, and air conditioned vehicles are few and far between. The other challenge on such a long ride was restroom breaks. The bus made three stops, but I really have to be desperate to force myself to use a squatty potty (which in my opinion is even worse than a port-a-potty because the smell is closer to your face), so I pretty much held it the whole way.
But otherwise, the bus ride was uneventful. I spent most of the time looking out the window and wondering what life would have been like if I'd been born in one of the little shacks we drove by, most of which had piles of rocks and rubber tires holding down the tin roof and marshy rice fields all around. To be raised in such a place would provide little access to the gospel. Seeing so many people, many of whom likely have no address or birth certificate, let alone nearby church, gave me a feeling of responsibility. I have received a gift that I don't deserve (the gospel), and I need to be more active about sharing it.
Anyway, after the long drive, we arrived in Nayapul and started the trek. The first thirty minutes were thrilling as I took in the new and gorgeous scenery, but after hearing that a river crossing was ahead (which I knew meant swinging bridges, which are pretty much my worst fear), my mind filled with dread. Combined with a headache, I struggled to enjoy the trip instead of imagining our guide having to drag me across the bridge. Thankfully, the first bridge we came to wasn't that bad. The "ropes" were metal cables, and though it did sway when you walked on it, it was bearable.
What was not bearable was the rain. I'm not a rain person at all, and when the monsoon hit that first afternoon, I knew it was going to be a tough week. I'd expected the rain, but I'd also underestimated it. Despite an ankle length poncho AND an umbrella, I arrived at our first hostel soaked. And emotional. This was day one out of five. What had I gotten myself into?
To top off the day, our hotel had no power. Chris and I each had a bed with a sheet but the single light bulb in our room did not work, and the bathroom (shared by all guests) had no light or toilet paper. I learned quickly that our Nepali guide had a different definition of a "normal" hotel room. Of course, the hotel did have its perks...especially the little drum that our Nepali friends used to entertain us for at least an hour with their traditional songs and dancing. So though it looked rough, it really wasn't too bad.
Day two was by far the hardest day of the trek. With my damp clothes from the night before strapped to my pack, I began the 3,000 steps. Surprisingly, I think going up all those stairs was actually the best part of the day. The village we'd just left became small in the distance, and my legs felt decent (thank God for all the mountains I climbed in VA that helped prepare me). But then, we stopped for lunch, and it took almost two hours for our food to come and us to eat. And as we ate, dark clouds started to roll in. Which could only mean one thing. Monsoon was coming.
We tried to pick up the pace, but we still had three or four hours of "Nepali flat" trekking to go. We thought that meant we were done with the uphill for the day, but we soon learned that Nepali flat is still uphill...just not quite as steep. So the steps continued.
Soon we entered what our guide called "the jungle." It was similar to a forest, but perhaps a bit more tropical. About thirty minutes in, the rain came. We had just donned our rain gear when it started coming down hard. If in the States it rains cats and dogs, it was raining horses and water buffalo with no signs of letting up. And with the rain came the leeches.
The uphill trail soon flooded as rain gushed down the mountain, and suddenly leeches were everywhere. Most of us had never seen leeches, and one of the other Americans appropriately described them as "inchworms with suction cup faces." They're small, and they move just like inchworms, but they're much more terrifying since their life goal is to latch onto your skin with their three teeth, release a blood thinning agent into your bloodstream, and then suck!
Emotionally, the leeches were too much for me. Every time I saw one crawling up my boot, I freaked out until Chris rushed over to apply the salt that would knock them off. Those three hours were brutal. The rain never let up, soaking through my thick boots and leaving my feet swimming in what I prayed was not a pool of leeches. The trail became a slippery waterfall, and every time we stopped to check for leeches, more came out from who knows where. On top of all that, the trail was covered in mule poop, which mixed with all the water and became even more disgusting. And our legs got really tired from all the stairs. And our next village was nowhere in sight.
My mind became completely overtaken by thoughts of misery. "Why didn't I stay home with the other women?" "Why did I think trekking in monsoon would be no big deal?" "I just want to go home!!" I started trying to figure out if there was any possible way for me to quit and go home.
But as I cried, looked for leeches, balanced my umbrella and walking stick, kept walking, and tried not to slip, a song came to mind.
"I have decided to follow Jesus.
I have decided to follow Jesus.
I have decided to follow Jesus.
No turning back, no turning back."
And oddly enough, as I started to think about the lyrics, one of the guys in front of my started singing that very song, totally unprompted! I realized the Holy Spirit was highlighting an important lesson. No matter how miserable I was, turning back was not an option. I could not hike back by myself, and even if I could, I would not be able to get a ride back to Pokhara on my own. It didn't matter if I was tired and wanted to quit. The only thing to do was keep going forward, even though I was convinced that I could not survive three more days.
I think in the future, it will be equally hard to follow Jesus, even more so actually. Right now, it's not so bad. There is some dying to self, but I've experienced no real persecution or danger. But Jesus speaks of perilous times in the latter days. So do the prophets. And in those times, turning back WILL BE an option. In fact, Jesus says in Matthew 24:12 that "because lawlessness will abound, the love of many will grow cold." People who cannot stand the pressure will turn away. "But he who endures to the end shall be saved (vs 13)."
I'm glad the trek had no option to quit because of it had, I probably would have. Instead, I was able to see that I could endure after all. In fact, each day got better and better. Hiking felt easier. We got up earlier and beat the rain most of the remaining days. The clouds cleared some, and we got to see some amazing mountain views. And we had awesome conversations with some other trekkers who needed to hear the gospel (see Chris' post coming soon). We even survived the jeep ride down the hill where our driver drove through waist high water that had transformed the road into the top of a waterfall. It was tough, but we endured. All ten of us. Even me, the only female in the group.
In retrospect, the trek was equally fun and miserable, but it is the misery that I think will stand out most in my memory. And I think that may be a good thing. Because down the road, when things get tough and I want to quit on Jesus, I will remember this trek and how I survived after all. And how following Jesus means no turning back. Holy Spirit, give me strength to endure til the end.
Josy <><
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