Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of traveling to Nepal.
My grandparents were missionaries here in the 50s and the stories I used to tell were fascinating.
I can't believe I'm here.
It's even more majestic than my dreams.
The people are so warm and kind.
It's nothing like back home where everyone just keeps to themselves.
I love it.
The culture is so rich.
Everything is steeped with meaning and tradition.
There's just so much to see and learn.
The way I see the world is changing every moment I am here.
You don't learn about this stuff in school or maybe I just didn't pay attention.
I wonder what the world would be like if everyone could experience another culture.
My grandparents always told us how hard it was to be a missionary.
There are some places in the world that are difficult to share the gospel.
But now that I'm here, I'm starting to wonder if sharing the gospel is really necessary.
I mean, these people seem so committed, devout, happy.
Do they really need to believe in Jesus?
The more I think about it, the more I'm confused.
Are all of these people wrong?
I have such a hard time believing that they are.
But then if they aren't wrong, I must be.
Unless we're both wrong, I mean, how do I really know?
Maybe we're both right, but only in part.
Perhaps they have tapped into the mystery of God or the universe in a different way
than I have.
What if we're all on different paths, heading up the same mountain?
We see different views, different landscapes, experience different aspects of this mountain.
Yet in the end, we all reach the same place.
This sounds nice, but is it true?
I wish the world were that simple, but I don't think that it is.
