I recently returned from a trip that changed me in ways I am still unpacking. In just eight days, Nepal offered more lessons about giving, humility, and love than I’ve had in a while. Not through grand gestures or dramatic moments, but through quiet connection, shared laughter, and the simple presence of children who have very little and yet seem to hold so much.
From the moment we left Dubai and began our journey to Kathmandu, I felt a mix of emotions that surprised me. Excitement and curiosity sat right alongside anxiety and fear. The Himalayas have a way of doing that. Their size humbles you instantly. They make you feel small, but in a good way. A grounding way.
Nepal had been on my heart long before this trip. As a child, I remember talking about Mount Everest with my dad and even having an air mattress named after Sir Edmund Hillary. Fast forward decades later, and after meeting Dr. Clint Rogers and learning about the Ancient Secrets Foundation and their work with local orphanages, something stirred in me. I cannot fully explain it, but I felt called to go. I even started having dreams about Nepal, which felt strange and unexpected. We were not sure until weeks before if the trip would even happen, but something kept pulling us forward. I am grateful we listened.
Our first visit to Mountain Children Home set the tone for the entire journey. Each American visitor was paired with a child. I met Jharana, a tiny three year old who handed me the sweetest handwritten note. At first, she was understandably cautious. But as the evening went on, we watched a talent show together, and she slowly climbed onto my lap. I warmed her cold hands in mine. By the end of the night, she did not want to be put down.
What struck me immediately was the generosity of the children. They hugged freely. They laughed easily. They gave love without hesitation. These were children with so few material things, yet they overflowed with connection and joy. It was my first reminder that giving is not always about what you bring. Often, it is about how present you are willing to be.
As the days continued, the theme became clear. Let go of expectations. Stay open. Connect. We played constantly. Music, games, sports, seesaws, laughter. The children gravitated toward different members of our group, and I somehow became a magnet for the wild boys, which felt fitting. Watching my own daughters build relationships with the kids was one of the most meaningful parts of the trip. It reminded me that quality time is always available if we choose it. That intentional presence is a form of giving we often underestimate.
Thanksgiving in Nepal looked very different than it does at home. We spent the holiday serving at Binita’s Home, an orphanage run by a woman who has dedicated her life to caring for children since she was fifteen. She currently supports seventy children, with one barely functioning bathroom, and somehow still manages to do it with grace, strength, and joy.
We brought traditional American Thanksgiving food. For many of the children, it was their first time trying turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, and pumpkin pie. After dinner, we played games and laughed late into the evening. It was the first Thanksgiving our family chose to serve, and it will not be the last.
That day made something painfully clear to me. These children did not want things. They wanted love. Time. Attention. Presence. In a culture that often equates success with accumulation, they were some of the richest people I have ever met.
One of the most breathtaking experiences of the trip was flying by helicopter to see Mount Everest. The clear skies felt like a gift. Standing there with my daughter, surrounded by peaks older than history, I felt both awe and perspective.
A friend we met on the trip, Tarun, later shared words that captured the experience perfectly. “The mountains remind us that greatness does not need to prove itself. That strength can be calm. That in a world obsessed with being big, true depth comes from humility.”
That lesson echoed throughout the trip. Especially during our final days with the children.
On our last full day, I spent time with Swostika, the young girl we chose to sponsor. She was shy, strong, and reminded me so much of my own daughters. Despite the language barrier, we connected. At one point, she asked if we would come back one more day. It was not in the plans, but something told me to say yes. She followed her request with one condition. Bring lip gloss.
We came back. I brought the lip gloss.
That final day broke me open in the best way. During our group reflections, I found myself in tears. The conviction to help these children hit me fully. Not because of their needs, but because of what they had given me. Perspective. Presence. A reminder that love is a choice we can make at any time.
The children even celebrated my wife Linzee’s birthday, despite her being sick and unable to attend. They made her a cake, paper roses, and small gifts. Their thoughtfulness was overwhelming.
On our last day at Mountain Children Home, we participated in a closing ritual that will stay with me forever. After yoga, meditation, and prayer, the children placed a red tika dot on each of our foreheads. Then we held hands and looked into each other’s eyes for thirty to sixty seconds through heart shaped hands. Soul goggles, as I jokingly called them.
In that moment, nothing else mattered. Backgrounds. Status. Net worth. Titles. None of it existed. We were just people seeing one another fully. The children who had so little in material terms had an abundance that cannot be bought. Love. Curiosity. Playfulness. Presence.
The dot on my forehead felt like new sight. A deeper intuition. A different way of viewing the world.
Nepal taught me that giving is not transactional. It is relational. It is not about saving or fixing. It is about showing up with humility and allowing yourself to be changed.
I left caring far less about things and far more about how I show love. I do not need more stuff. My children do not need more stuff. What we all need is more presence, more kindness, and more willingness to see one another fully.
I hope this experience stays with me for the rest of my life. I hope it shapes how I parent, how I lead, how I give, and how I move through the world.
Namaste.
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