I Can't Believe We're Here: Trekking the Himalayas

Uphill Climbs, Mountain-Top Experiences, and Downward Stumbles

I’ve shared some of my I Can’t Believe We’re Here moments in two parts. You can check out those posts here:
Part 1: Baptisms, Births, and Betrayals
Part 2: Food + Fellowship & Hellos + Goodbyes

Today, I’ll share moments from our trekking trip in the Himalayas. It was among the hardest things I’ve ever done. But to my children’s surprise, the tears I promised turned out to be tears of laughter and joy.

Praise God, our family completed the trek and even thrived in some grueling circumstances. We all share the sentiment, “That was great, but I don’t want to do it again anytime soon.”

Uphill Climbs

• We sat at a teahouse, hungry for trail mix and anxious to lighten our load before beginning our ascent. I snuck a lollypop to a toddler who’d shed her cap as the morning warmed, wondering how many tourists give her treats in a day. I looked back to where we’d come from and considered how far we had to go. The waterfall wound up my fears and cast them into the river, the whooshing sound a comforting ballad with familiar lyrics, I Can’t Believe We’re Here.

• A group training to be porters carried packs on their backs, the weight written in black marker on canvas. One man sat down, exclaiming, “I’m dead. I’m already dead.” I gave him an encouraging smile as I passed with my considerably lighter backpack. I climbed the last steps to our lodging built into the mountain and plopped down next to my husband. I almost said, “I’m dead. I’m already dead,” but instead I said, I Can’t Believe We’re Here.

• Snow fell while we slept and a rat chewed through the Minnie Mouse snack bag. Since there’s no way to keep kids who never see snow inside, we left at first light. Our five-year-old had never experienced cold that makes your hands draw up and ache. She cried while the wind blew against our crew for thirty minutes. My husband knocked at a teahouse. The Uncle, who’d been sleeping, made black tea on a fire that appeared out of nowhere. The father of the three-year-old in our group said, “We’re terrible parents,” as we held the girls’ hands to the fire. We discussed turning back or forging on, and I shook my head. I Can’t Believe We’re Here.

  

Mountain-Top Experiences

• We hoped to celebrate our daughter’s thirteenth birthday before descending, but the local bakeries hadn’t yet opened for the season. With unparalleled optimism, my husband checked once more. Being the nearest bakery’s first day open, they were delighted to receive a cake order. A team of mountaineers joined in singing happy birthday to the 13-year-old who would hike 13 miles the next day. I hugged her tight and whispered, I Can’t Believe We’re Here.

• A tiny snowman stood perched on a rock, the sun bearing down and threatening its existence. A lazing Newfoundland looked on while our children played in the shadows of the Himalayas. I sat on a feeble bench with the dear friend I barely knew a year ago, as the wind whispered, I Can’t Believe We’re Here.

• I caught snowflakes in my hand, examining to see if they were real. Falling snow looked so foreign to me. Our kids danced and sang. They stuck their tongues out to taste the memory of Ohio winters. College girls from the city jumped up and down, their phones capturing shaky footage of the first snowfall they’d ever seen. I rubbed my hands together, and the snowflake disappeared into my very being. My breath made a balloon over the parade as I said, I Can’t Believe We’re Here.

Downward Stumbles

• 13-year-old C. kept a list of falls in a spiral notebook zipped into the handiest pocket of his backpack. We learned quickly who should be closely watched. The landslide we crossed didn’t seem menacing goin up, but going down, it was a knife to my chest. I hung onto the rung of my son’s backpack, trying to forget that mine had already snapped. Rocks slipped into the river that rushed parallel to our team trying to find solid ground. When we met my husband and daughters at the bottom, I gasped, I Can’t Believe We’re Here.

• Like the pack mules we’d met along the way, our families crossed a suspension bridge as a snowstorm blew in. We willed our bodies to move faster while our muscles demanded a slower place. Black dots danced in my eyes, and the path before me rippled and waved. A sphere of pain pushed at my temples as I chugged a rehydrating drink. When we finally found Hotel Super View, I collapsed on a bed covered by a thin floral sheet, dreaming, whispering, maybe hallucinating — I Can’t Believe We’re Here.

• After passing a bridge at the top of a waterfall, I turned a corner to see a yak blocking the path. Its enormous backside hovered over the edge, and its thick horns pointed to dripping icicles on frozen trees. I froze too. My husband presumed the best course of action was to clack his trekking poles together. The yak put his head down, declaring his dominance. I breathed grateful praise when it moved into the icy clearing. We walked by, holding breaths and expressions of I Can’t Believe We’re Here.

  

  Tracing Our Steps

  I never thought we would really go trekking though my husband talked about taking each kid as they neared graduation. He mentioned his plan to a friend who immediately ran with the idea, ignoring our timeline and including mothers and small children. We needed that. We needed a push to do something outside of our comfort zone that isn’t ministry or homeschooling. Challenging ourselves and pushing our bodies fueled us for our responsibilities back at home and in service to the Lord. I am so grateful… but I don’t want to do it again anytime soon.