I Am Not Japanese! (Not That There's Anything Wrong With That)

As I was browsing through pictures of my stint in Nepal, my mind became overwhelmed with the countless stories and adventures that resulted from my time out East. If I were to say the trip was life-changing, I would not be telling the truth. If I had to describe it though, I think that life-reaffirming would be most appropiate. I learned alot by living with real-live missionaries for six weeks. But it in a totally different way than I expected. I have no stories of healed street beggars, no stories of divine appointment, and no stories of the hand of God touching the dark and hurt and hopeless. Instead, I have stories of challenge, of uneventfulness, of failed plans, of chaos, of failed plans, and did I mention failed plans. I guess the greatest lesson I took out of living in a third world country is that nothing ever goes according to plan--there are strikes, there are traffic jams, there are sicknesses, and there is just bad luck. I think my view of missionary work changed a bit, and it is best described by J. Hudson Taylor who said that "the work of a true missionary is work indeed, often very monotonous, apparently not very successful, and carried on through great and varied but unceasing difficulties." I realized that doing this type of work is...well, work. It is not an Indiana Jones type adventure (although they occasionally occur), or a career/vacation (although it is loads of fun).

To describe an example of a drastic change of plans during the trip would be easy, I have dozens to choose from. But, I have been thinking a ton about our mountain biking trip to Gosaikunda lake. Here was the plan: Jonathan, Caleb, and I were to ride to Trisuli, 53 km from our flat. From there, we were going to take a Jeep to the town of Dunche. From Dunche, we were going to hike up to Gosaikunda lake--a holy pilgrimage site for Hindus. We were lastley going to ride back down the trail, and call it a trip. All the while doing some praying for the place, and all the while taking sweet pictures and video to impress a number of Caleb's potential sponsors. Well this was the plan, but as I mentioned, in Nepal...nothing ever goes according to plan.

Of all the outside forces that can potentially throw things out of proportion, the one that decided to intervene this time was a microscopic critter that decided to pitch camp within me. Although I don't know for sure, I believe I know the source of my little friend. In downtown Kathmandu there is a little Nawarian restaurant (Nawari's are the original people-group to inhabit Kathmandu valley). Now this is a curious little place if there ever was one. The door was about 4 foot high, and the ceiling not much higher. The place was dark and really warm. The warmth was due to the wood burning stove blazing full steam in the corner of a tiny cluttered room. We ventured up a steep, metal staircase, each step being no wider than 6-inches (maybe a ladder would be a more appropiate term). On the next floor, we sat by one of the couple of tables in the tiny room. We were served a delicious Nawarian meal: bamboo soup, fried water buffalo, and some amazing potatoes. But this meal had an interesting side dish--cold, red, raw, buff meat that we later nicknamed buff sushi. I was smart enough to stay away from this delicasy, but I do not think that helped much. As, I still got ill from the meal.

Well, a couple days later, after feeling funky the whole time, and after finally riding bikes to the airport in order to retrieve my week long "delayed" baggage (a whole 'nother story altogether), we were finally setting off on the bike trip. I understood the challenge of the trip from the start, because as anyone who knows the Spear brothers could attest, they are beasts. I mean they are some of the most hardcore guys I've ever met. But it wasn't the Spear boys that challenged me, it was the passenger hitchhiking within me.

During the ride to Trisuli, I continually became void of energy. The more we rode, the less I could move. We walked our bikes up a beautiful paved pass, through military camps and spectacular views. Finally on the downhill portion of the pass we flew down rutt-laden, bumpy, rocky dirt roads. What should have been a blast of a downhill ride turned into a hell of a ride. With every bump, I felt my life zapped from within me. When we reached flat land, I could barely ride in a straight line let alone with any efficiency. I honestly thought I would wake up on the floor, after passing out on the trail. The two hundred pound weight dragging behind my bike caused me to take a consistent half hour break. I would lay on the side of the road, and nearly fall asleep on the spot from my flu-like exhaustion. Nepali's would stop and stare, and ask questions. They saw the tall, blonde haired, blue eyed, American boys sitting with the half dead, short, dark haired kid. Several Nepali's insisted that I could not be American like my comrads, no I was "Japanese"! Japanese! (not that there's anything wrong with the Japanese, but I am not Japanese!)

Well, to cut the story short, after the longest 12 hours of my life, we reached Trisuli. Caleb bought me the most refreshing Coke I have ever had, and I was blessed to sleep in the nicest guest house I had seen in Nepal. The night ended with a Futbol match and WWE wresting on the little cable TV in my room, and the best night's sleep I can remember. We scraped the rest of our plans, and took the Jeep back home to Kathmandu. Although I missed out enjoying some of the most breathtaking scenery in the world, as well as interacting with some of the most wonderful people in the world, I know that it was worth it. The perseverance and the mental strength that I gained from that trip made it all worth while. I have no regrets, I had a blast, even in the hardest of times. And I will be back. Besides, nothing ever goes according to plan in Nepal. That's just the way it is, no use complaining about, you just have deal with it. You must carry on "through great and varied but unceasing difficulties."