Whoa! We're Halfway There

It’s so hard to believe that after four weeks, I’m halfway through my contextual ministry placement. Time seems to be going by so quickly and so slowly at the same time. I am excited for what this next month holds, somewhat saddened that my time here is growing short, but also thankful that I will be back in American soon. It is a strange mixture of emotions, but I think I’m learning to process them healthily.

This blog is all about stories. Over the course of this week, I had the opportunity to speak with many people about many things. I am thankful that I had the opportunity to sit (or walk with) and listen to so many people’s stories.

Tuesday, the shop owner took the day off for a much-needed rest after her visit to the village, so it was me and the girls again. The day was pretty uneventful until I left the salon. As I walked home on my usual route, I saw a new shop. I thought it was strange; this shop had not been here my entire time in Kathmandu. The shop keeper, a young Nepali woman, saw me looking and invited me to see her shop. I looked inside this room perhaps half the size of my bedroom in Atlanta and saw paper goods:  plates, tissue, q-tips, homemade soaps, and the like. Most little shops like this only sell snacks and vegetables, so this one caught my attention. I looked to the right and saw a boy, eight-years old, sitting at a desk doing his homework. His English was very good, so we talked for a minute or so. His mother invited me to sit down and spoke with me for a while. She gave me a mango (a sign of hospitality) and started to ask me questions. Her English was limited, so she asked me many basic questions about my life in America (job, if I was married, how many siblings I have). With my broken Nepali and her broken English, we were able to talk for over an hour. Her family’s story is something I never want to forget.

She has a Bachelor’s degree, but cannot find work. Her husband has a Master’s degree in Administration, is certified to teach +2 (which I think is similar to an Associate’s degree), and speaks English very well, but cannot get a job. The school board approves his written application and he does well in his spoken interviews, but they will not hire him. Other applicants bribe the school board with money, which they accept, and only hire those applicants. Out of integrity this man does not bribe the board; as a result, they do not hire him. This scandal has happened at each of the dozens of schools he has applied to. Out of frustration and desperation, they decided to open the shop. When I met her, they had only been open for two days. As she told me their story, she kept saying, “Life is struggle.”

In the midst of that struggle, they have high hopes for their son. Despite their lack of vocational success with their levels of education, she and her husband strongly encourage their son in his studies. As I sat in the shop, she made sure he finished his homework before he went to play with his friends. I asked him what his favorite subject is, and his face lit up when he replied, “Science!” He is a very smart kid and I hope he can go to university one day.

I also got to meet her husband. He is a very kind man who wants what is best for his family. From my brief interaction with him, I would describe him as a man of good character, determination, and compassion.

I want to help this family. I started to ask my friends here if they know of any good schools this man could apply to work. The only problem is that most of the people in I know in the educational circuit here belong to private Christian schools, and this family is either Hindu or Buddhist. Please, if you feel led, join with me in prayer that a school board of integrity would find this man, recognize his credentials, and hire him. I cannot imagine the fear and uncertainty they face as a family trying to live and support their son.

Wednesday, the salon owner came back. Oh, what joy I felt to see her! She is such a bright, beautiful light and I missed her so much over the past week. After she put her bag down, we went to the office and she told me of her time in the village. I have heard story after story of poverty in the villages, but it is so different when these stories come from the experience of someone you love.

Her village is rural and traditional. Every morning, the women have to wake up at 3 am to walk miles and collect water. Once they collect the water, they must carry them on their backs back to the village. These tanks of water weigh at least 35 pounds, if not more. They must carry these tanks for miles up the steep hill on which their village sits. Then, they spend hours in the hot sun, cutting grass for the water buffalo to eat; she showed me the cut on her calf from the tool she used to cut the grass. There was little safe drinking water, so, even though she got very sick one day, she did not drink much, if at all. Even though she was only visiting her family, she still had to do all of the tasks required of the women of her village. She was understandably exhausted. Even though she did not enjoy her time in the village, she still loves her village. She told me with great compassion and pain about how she wants to help the people in her village, especially the young girls. I cannot imagine coming like a place like that and wanting nothing more than to go back and try to help. Although she would never admit it, this woman has a heart of gold.

Thursday, after our time at the salon, I went home with the American overseer. We shared a good night of conversation and laughter. She shared with me about her time at the Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry and I shared with her about my time at Carson-Newman and the McAfee School of Theology. Despite our different schooling backgrounds, she was surprised by my openness and experience with supernatural encounters with God. It was also a great time to learn more about her and her background. I am thankful for the experience.

I was so grateful for the weekend. I had the opportunity to see much of Kathmandu and to learn more about Nepali life in Kathmandu. After church (which I could understand more of! The sermon was on the importance of prayer for ourselves, for our family, for our community, for our country, and for the world), I went with two of my friends to explore the hills surrounding the Kathmandu valley. Despite the rain, we enjoyed four hours of walking, hiking, and exploring. It was so much fun! The views of Kathmandu from different points in the hills were beautiful. We also explored little nooks and crannies, like the one lone, tin café smaller than my bedroom where we enjoyed a traditional Nepali snack (and I held my own with the boys as we ate some very spicy chili peppers). They also showed me some beautiful parks and gardens and told me the history of each place.  After our 7ish mile adventure, we went back to the pastor’s house, where we shared a wonderful meal, great fellowship, and a good night’s rest. Their home is full of such joy and I am thankful that they are welcoming me into their community. They want me to come more often and want to get to know me more =)

Sunday was a holiday for the Kathmandu valley, so the schools were closed. The salon owner could not stay home to watch her son, so she asked me if he could come over. I happily agreed. He is nine-years-old, and such a fantastic kid. He is so smart and mature; I keep thinking he’s twelve or thirteen. That morning, I taught him how to play some Western games that were lying about the house (Phase 10 and Guess Who?). He creamed me at Phase 10, and was very proud of himself for doing so. Then, he showed me how he cooks omelets Nepali style. After a delicious lunch, he taught me how to play cricket. We played cricket and badminton for hours. Then, we raced each other back to the salon to meet his mom. That may be one of my favorite days thus far. He wants to come back and play again soon =)

Monday, my plans fell through, so I spent the morning and early afternoon exploring Kathmandu. I did much walking; it was nice to be able to walk around Kathmandu and know how to get places =) It’s strange, and wonderful, how natural life here is starting to become. It’s becoming normal to walk miles every day, to take a took-took every now and then, to buy fresh produce at the little mart just down the road from my house.

That afternoon, my new friends at the paper-goods shop invited me sit with them. The wife had to go to the bank (something that is not normal in Nepali culture) and pick up her son from school, so I sat and spoke with her husband. He explained to me that they have a bank account set aside for their son’s education. Every week or every month, they put something into the account so he can go to university later. “It is little what we put in, but it will grow.” They put 500 rupees in the account that day. That is roughly 5 American dollars.

As I sat with him, he explained to me the culture of his old village, how he left the village because Kathmandu is the only place in Nepal someone can go to university, and how he and his family are breaking away from the cultural norm. He expressed to me his frustration with corruption in the government, how the constitution of Nepal grants the people many of the same rights Americans have but politicians do not grant these rights to the people. “People do not know they have rights because no one has told them.” He expressed his desire to see the caste system die. “God only made three things:  man, animals, and plants. Everything else is manmade and should be ignored. Caste system is manmade.” He expressed to me his desire to get his PhD in Administration and to make change in his country. His frustrations and desires inspire me and I want for him to get in a position of influence in Nepal.

Shortly after his wife and son returned, they invited me into their home to share a snack. I’m not sure what I expected… but it wasn’t this. The son pulled back the curtain to their doorway and beckoned me inside. I stepped in, ducking because the doorframe is so low. It took every ounce of self-control I have to not cry. Their home is small, only two rooms:  kitchen and bedroom. Both rooms combined are maybe the size of the living room in my apartment in Atlanta. The only furniture they have are two beds. Along the dirty, pale pink wall, they had hammered nails. On these nails hung their clothes because they have no closet. On the wall next to the door hung their son’s academic calendar, placed where they can see it every day. I sat on the floor in the kitchen and watched the wife make some traditional Nepali flat bread. She said to me, “House is small.” But for all its smallness, it is a home, and a place where each of its residents show a beautiful kind of love. In their home, there is a love that encourages their son to be all he can be. In their home, there is a love that inspires a man to show respect to his wife, even though it contradicts the culture of his family. In their home, there is a love that welcomes an ignorant foreigner and asks for nothing in return. This kind of love adds something that no coat of paint, piece of furniture, or material object can add. In response to her statement, I looked her in the eye and said, “It is beautiful.”

After we broke bread, I told them I needed to leave; I admit shamefully I wasn’t sure how much more my heart could take. We made arrangements for me to share breakfast with them the following Monday (early enough so that their son is still there before he leaves for school). I am excited and honored to continue to build this relationship with them.

All in all, this week has been wonderful. I have been so blessed by the hospitality of so many people. I am excited for what this next month holds and for the adventures I will have. Thank you for your continued prayers as I learn to minister through presence, not just words.