Over the hills and everywhere.

 Just returned back from a breathtaking week in the far Western mountains of Nepal.

Journey:
9 hour bus ride from Surkhet. Unpaved roads. Someone sat on my head for an hour.

We got stuck in the mud so everyone jumped out and pushed the bus up the mountain.

After the 9 hour Nepali bus ride

When the road ended we hiked for three hours.

Dailekh:

Once upon a time, there was a great mountain of mud.
One day a little village fell out of the sky and plopped down, right on top,
sending a thousand ripples down the hillsides...

...either that or this valley has hosted many generations of hardworking farmers.

Hotel

We stayed in the only hotel. There are underground church meetings in the basement.

Basement bedroom

Hotel hallway

Tegan and Rachael slept here. Cement has never looked this cozy.

 One of my teammates accidentally locked me in the room for half an hour.
When the hotel owner heard me knocking, he couldn't find the key.
"Have not the fear! So sorry!...oh, it is good that you make the laugh!"

Mornings:

Milk tea. Vultures. Watercolors. Woolens. Bible. Cardboard chair. Terraces.

Baptism in a waterfall. Beauty.

We came to provide for a water project.
Someone ran over the water pipe with their bulldozer, cutting off our water supply.
Hailing twenty-five liter jerrycans across town several times a day.

People stare.
"It's the Scandinavian freakshow! Featuring Rachael and Tegan.
With special guest: THE WATER FILTER!"

No water, no shower, no problem.  Nothing but a week's worth of dirt can tame this rootball. :)

Three most used words in my journal:
Beautiful. Dirt. Poop.

Three Nepali nouns I know:
Cheel (Falcon). Tato Pani (Hot Water). Shisno (Nettle)

Ah, my beloved, Shisno

 One morning a little white goat was dragged, bleating, up the road.

That evening was a lantern lit dinner of goat intestine soup.

Since the village only had instant noodles and crackers for sale, we were happy for meat.

School

I have store of delicious memories, 

but the best was seeing scores of children 

racing down the hillside, under the moon, to hear my stories.

They sat so still and quiet as I told them how beautiful and precious they were

and about the man who lives in my heart.

My dearest friend who loves them so

 and walks with me all over this world.

All over America, all over Nepal,
Over the hills and everywhere.

These days, my life is the most savory and wild adventure. 

Cocoon

Before I hit publish the power went out,
adding the last straw to a painful, heart wrenching day.

Fears. Frustration. Rebellion. Illness. Nightmares. Bad news. Human suffering. Ugliness.
I wandered over to a roadside stall and cried bitter tears over milk tea together with equally sorrowful Canada and Denmark.

Nepal is a beautiful, hot sticky mess challenging me on every side.
Nothing feels comfortable or safe. Nothing feels in control.

Which is true. I'm not in control.
Papa's got it all in His hands.

He whispers that He can use my fears and uncertainties to draw me closer.

I'm comforted by Exodus 14:14.

He will fight for me, I only have to be silent.

If I silence my bitter, doubting, angry heart He is able to whisper sweet Truth into my life.

Be still. Be silent. He's not going to scream over me.

I don't have to carry it all.

Hallelujah.



Cocoon-Hymns From Nineveh

I spent the night in the forest,
you were shining when I cried,
when I cried:
"Oh where is the light?"

I spent all day in my mindscape,
you were with me
when I weapt,
when I weapt,
you watched me when I slept.

Skies have grown darker,
but stars have grown brighter,
and my room,
and my room
is a safe cocoon!

Streets have gone misty,
but peace is upon me when I sing,
when I sing:
"Holy is the King!"

and You won't wash away if I fade,
and it's OK to break in two,
break in two,
if I'm breaking into you!

Christmas Traditions

This Christmas found me in Valencia eating yam pancakes and catching a bus to Barcelona.
Not quite traditional, this year.

My mom collects snow globes.
Only glass ones, she never has have anything plastic or tacky.

My favorite is the English caroling ice-skaters.

Growing up my favorite Christmas decoration was a set of golden deer candle holders.

The Christmas after Paul left, they were gone, 

along with several of my most favorite Christmas tree ornaments.

When I was nineteen I came home to find almost an identical set waiting on my desk.

My mom is the queen of Goodwill treasure hunting.

I like to fall asleep under the tree while it's still naked of decor.

Mom's rule of Christmas lights:

Blue Christmas lights are cold, red are ugly, and multi colored are tacky.

The only suitable colors are green and white and sometimes purple.

Kelly always makes us eat a bowl of porridge,
after stockings, before presents on Christmas morning.

After presents we eat real breakfast
with champagne and peach schnapps or cocoa with peppermint.

I love Cream of Wheat. Gracie hates it.

I remember mixing unholy amounts of hot chocolate mix into the pot to try and get her to eat it.
I like to eat the lumpy bits of hot breakfast cereal.

I learned to drive in the snow because we were out.
Kelly taught me.

Mom chooses a special ornament every year for each of us.

She didn't want us flocking to Walmart, frantic for Christmas decorations, when we moved out.

I left home with a box full.

We always get new pajamas on Christmas Eve, because it's so nice to wake up on Christmas feeling swanky in your new pjs.

In Norway:

Santa lives in the barn and eats porridge.

They also have nisse, or house gnomes who live under the house.
The mountain nisse make the gloaming blue hour, with alpine blueberries.

Whoever finds the almond in their Christmas Porridge gets a marzipan pig.

They also sing and dance around the tree.

 I think it seems delightfully pagan for a Christian nation.

After everyone goes to bed on Christmas Day I stay up to watch Little Women.

Lucia

Saint Lucia

Woke up at 6:45 to the sweetest choir of pepperkaker bearing children.

Happy St. Lucia Day!


The sun didn't come up today.
It hovered in the Southern sky for an hour or two then lit the Atlantic pink.

It's the last week before Christmas Holiday and our main outreach.

I'll be gone for three months.
Oslo. Valencia. Barcelona. Dublin. Nepal.
Packing, lodging, communication nightmare.
Seven flights. Three trains. Five buses. One ferry.

The boys brought home our Christmas tree, today.

The chaos is a little more manageable with joy, peace,
and a spruce scented mudroom.

Nordtun's handy-dandy Norwegian boys.

I won't be home for Christmas, not even in my dreams.
I'll be in Barcelona gazing lovingly at the hot sun.

Grace

I wish grace and healing were more abracadabra kinds of things;
also that delicate silver bells would ring to announce grace’s arrival.
But no, it’s clog and slog and scootch, on the floor, in silence, in the dark.

-Anne Lamott

High Standards

Frederik recently got engaged. He helped make ginger carrot soup this afternoon.

"So, describe your dream man to me. Not how he looks but about how his character is."
 I did. After about 10 minutes he exclaimed 

"Oh-ho! Rachael! You're talking about Jesus!"

story people

"You will find a good husband" 

"Yeah, but he is probably living in South Africa."

I saw the light.

October.

Four days of spelunking in Beiarn.

We stopped on the mountain so A.J. could see her first snow

The First Day

We hiked up into the mountains to the first cave. 

In general, I'm quite fond of spelunking. Except when spelunking in caves that are filled with raging rivers. 

We crawled on our bellies on the ledge above these rather turbulent waters. 

This was fine, until Øystein and Henning started scaling the wet cliffs on either side of the waterfall,

 in the dark. 

*Begin instant revaluation of placing trust in the crazy Norwegians*

I was not inclined to climb up after them, but Lars threw me an eyebrow that said I'd better follow him.

Once I was soaking wet it was delightful.

"If you don't grow, you won't be able to offer anything."

photo: Lydia Palsdottir

Caves are gorgeous. Marbled and starry wet ceilings.

We popped up between them in green mossy places full of bright sands, ferns, and waterfalls.  

I led us down a narrow passage back to the water. 

Underground bouldering. Dark silence soaking. River wading. Dew licking. Fear swallowing.

Back down the mountain, filthy and frozen, to find the coziest Norwegian cabin waiting for us.

Even the Northern Lights came out to play.

The Second Day

Clear mountain morning and a long run through farms and forests.

Snowy paths. Southern gospel singing. Kitchen dancing. 

Golden hour tromping back to the hills. 

Those stark, snowy mountains smiled down on us with their wide, rocky grins.

Lunch and fire in the snow in our classiest of caving clothes.

In the last 15 minutes we could feel the wind. We turned out our lights and followed it.

The light came in all green and gold. 

With colors so wet and warm they could quench your thirst.

Curry dinner. Sauna. Milky way. Story telling with Tegan.

The Third Day

Morning. Coffee. Isaiah. Heather Pink Sky. Hymn whistling. Gracious receiving.

Mirjam. Jon. Lars. Christophe. 

There should have been a rope leading to the exit but it was rotted away. I climbed into a tunnel in the ceiling that led us down a new passage. Then we came to a chasm that fell into the river. Lars was barely able to swing himself over. The rest of us had to drag ourselves over the ledge and drop down on the other side. 

It was deliciously terrifying.

Fortunately, there was an exit to our tunnel since we would no have been able to return that way. My excitement at finding it was suffocated by the discovery that my hips would not pass through. Even if they did, I had the smallest set of hips in our party. Magically, they managed to slide out of that unmovable granite birth canal as did everyone else's. 

Belly laughing. Bruised hips. Bruised shins. Bruised elbows. Chapped hands. Cracked lips. 

After, Mirjam wanted to see the top of the mountain. 

Papa sure loves us.

I truly didn't think the day could have been anymore perfect 

but that was before we found...

Unrestrained delight. 

Jon and I filled our helmets full.

 At breakfast, the next morning, we made the most beautiful potato chanterelle scramble.

Muddy, sandy head. Tired body. Peaceful spirit. Joyful heart.


We are oh so blessed.