Today Est and I flew into mellow Kathmandu from Dhaka for Spring Break. Our arrival was on time, our visa application a breeze, and customs effortless. Our driver promptly picked us up and drove us through the rolling, narrow streets to Hotel Manang.
Once we checked in, sick Est ran for the toilet and I pulled open the curtains, screen window, and glass window of our room to sit on the narrow ledge of our fourth floor room. I gazed at the mountains creating a smokey backdrop to the staggered, many layered city buildings. My feet dangled above a rooftop garden and a Nepali woman gathering laundry stared at me curiously.
The beauty of the vague bulky shapes of the mountains overwhelmed me and for a moment my chest ached. Two tear drops wound slow paths down my cheeks, then I was sobbing, shaking. My auburn haired friend emerged from the bathroom and squeaked, shocked probably at the sight of me crying on the edge of a steep drop. She climbed gingerly through the window and perched next to me.
"Isn't it amazing to think that God can move those mountains if He wants to?" She gently squeezed my shoulder.
"I know He can," I whispered through my tears, "but why doesn't He seem to move mountains for me?"
My heart felt-still feels- like someone pulled it from the deep proetective layers I've carefully buried it in and dropped it unprotected off the ledge of our hotel.