Dear Friends,

Victory comes in many ways. Blessings often come with challenges, gifts are sometimes couched in lessons, and all things work out for our good.

I have lived my life with these beliefs, and experiences over nearly 68 years continue to bear them out. I offer you a recent such experience.

This past August, my husband Hari Nam Singh and I were part of a spiritual pilgrimage to India, to a beautiful place in the Himalayas where there is a legendary temple at 15,200 feet altitude. Quite a trek!

Nine others came with us from our Phoenix community They heard the story of the great yogi who centuries ago meditated for many years at this chilly place, surrounded by glacial snows, and who returned to a lifetime where he became a great guru and led bands of noble Sikhs to resist the armies of the oppressive Moguls. It is a compelling story and this site draws many thousands each summer when it is free enough of snow for pilgrims to get through.

We knew the climb would be formidable and some of us had decided to go up with the help of mules. The first part of the trek rose from a village at 5,800 feet to a windy cold village at 10,000 feet. After two hours of riding, and two mules who tripped and fell on the downslopes, I decided to switch to hiking. It was easy at first. I had been training on our Phoenix hills and even a bit up on the ski slopes at Flagstaff.

The rain-drenched trail was good in some places and horrid in others. After about 4 hours of slow walking, having reached about 8,500 feet, I began to exhibit the heavy breathing signs of high altitude sickness. Reluctantly, I had to call for help, being carried the rest of the way. By the time I got to that high village, the damp cold air had taken its toll on me and others, and several of us were wrapped in many blankets to warm up.

So with sadness I resigned myself to staying behind for the final ascent to 15,000 ft. I urged a couple of reluctant ladies in the group to go ahead, and all made the ascent to the temple, many on mules or carried in baskets.

As the rains came in that morning and they took off, I pushed past my own personal sadness and upset, realizing how difficult this was going to be for them. So I started to pray and chant, picturing them clambering over the rocks and boulders. There are few times in my life that I can remember praying so hard with all my heart as they took those steps. All morning, afternoon, into the night. Chants came to my lips that I didn’t even know I knew!

And as each trekker slowly returned throughout the afternoon, I felt a growing relief and joy for them. Last to return was Hari Nam who rescued someone stranded in the rain and walked slowly down with her on into the rainy night, arriving soaked but safe at 9 p.m.

They all shouldered their victories in various ways and it would take time for each to process their experiences. For myself, I saw only what I had not done, not the power of what I had done. It was several weeks afterward that I realized I too had reached a higher altitude, on the internal plane. My victory was to rise above the little self and reach out to help the others through the power of prayer.

I wish you all the joy of many victories won in service to others.

Bless you in all ways always!

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