What do you get when you take a family of Christians, a family of Tibetan Buddhists, stretch them across 7,874 miles, and separate them by 12 hours and 45 minutes?
You get a deep, rich, fully textured awakening in your life.
In 2001, my wife and I felt a quiet but unmistakable calling to travel to the Khumbu region of Nepal. We were trekking up Kala Patthar, looking straight up the throat of Mount Everest, when something happened that would forever change the trajectory of our lives.
High in the Himalayas, we met a remarkable 14-year-old girl. She spoke five languages. She had fire in her eyes. And without discussion, logic, or debate, both of our hearts instantly knew—she was meant to come live with us.
Her name is Nawang.
At the time, Nepal was in the midst of the Maoist Revolution. It was not a safe place for a young woman. Her parents, Pema Dorje Sherpa and Mingma Sherpa, knew this as well. In one of the most courageous acts of trust I have ever witnessed, they entrusted us with their daughter.
We raised Nawang through her teenage years as our own.
She brought immense joy into my life—and yes, a few gray hairs too. She grew into a strong, vibrant, independent young woman. We love her deeply, without condition or distinction. She is our daughter.
Every difference you could imagine was present—food, faith, worldview, rhythm of life. Yet something unexpected happened. Instead of chaos, we experienced calm. Instead of friction, we found grounding.
By choosing curiosity over judgment, and understanding over fear, our inner world began to settle. Our perspective widened. Our children grew in ways no classroom could ever teach. Our lives became richer—and quieter—in the best possible way.
Over the years, each of our children returned to the Himalayas. Lifelong friendships formed. Tashi and Tenzing, our sons’ Sherpa brothers, later came to the United States for education and remain family to this day.
This Christmas, we gathered again with our Sherpa family. We laughed, sang, danced, and shared spicy momos. And as we sat together, I was reminded of something simple and profound:
Chaos dissolves when we stop trying to be right and start trying to understand.
Here is what crossing cultures taught me. It is not better. It is not worse. It is just different. And when difference is met with humility, openness, and kindness, the nervous system settles, the soul exhales, and peace finally has room to enter.
So here is my invitation to you. If you want more calm in your life, cross a boundary. Listen longer. Seek another perspective. That is how we calm the chaos—inside ourselves first.
With clarity,
Rich Christiansen
