In January, I shared my reflections on Seattle Mennonite Church as we thought critically about our complicity in the Doctrine of Discovery.

Part of that reflection was a consideration of my own roots.

How was I influenced by my Mexican, Portuguese and American heritage?

How was I molded by my parents’ path and that of those before them?

What I didn’t share was that I had just returned from a month of backpacking through the Himalayan Mountain Range in central Nepal.

With a friend, I joined an excursion along the Annapurna Circuit. Depending on one’s route, this trek climbs up 17,800 feet from lush rice valleys to thin-aired mountain villages over a path that stretches more than 100 miles.

While the terrain challenged my body in new ways, the five to six hours of daily walking also took my mind and spirit to new places. Carrying our 20-pound packs, we took short breaks every two to three hours.

For much of that time, I found myself alone with God, each turn of the trail offering another gorgeous wonder.

With each step, I felt the Spirit moving within and around me. In such grandeur, accompanied by silence, the massive mountains became reflecting pools.

My thoughts being the only dialogue, it was as though they bounced off the mountain and returned to me in amplified form.

As days passed, I realized the thoughts that came were often of the past—old conversations, arguments long gone, questions I thought I had put to bed long ago. It was clear these conversations, these feelings and the people they involved were buried, perhaps, but by no means gone.

Out of the mountains, and with these echoes, I walked into Seattle Mennonite just as we started the aforementioned discussion.

I considered it no coincidence that our faith community was asking these hard questions. Many of the questions that came up for me on the trail were also tough ones about my past, and I considered it a providential urging to dig deeper into my own story.

To put it simply, my family life during childhood was a tumultuous one.

We all experience events and people that shape us.

One piece that shaped me was the absence of my father. Imagine a path with many potholes and ditches. Perhaps one freshly inundated with Nepal’s famous summer monsoons. At some point when walking down that road, you become so adept at walking around the holes, you don’t see them. And then, over time, you may even forget they are there.

This is how I think about my father’s absence.

The ramifications of that were constant and deep, but it had been so long, I couldn’t see them clearly. I could tell, however, that the ground my feet traversed was not sturdy.

In light of Nepal, and in light of the Doctrine of Discovery, I decided to go back and fill in the holes.

So, after 25 years of silence, I reached out to my dad and made plans to see him. I didn’t know what I was getting into, but I knew it would wake up parts of my spirit I hadn’t acknowledged in a long time. Like it or not, this was the invitation God had put before me—to return to the start and revisit my foundation.

Sometimes you return and things are wonderful—there is joy in the familiar, the people who have seen you grow through different stages of your life, the places that have held different meaning for you at different times, all important in their own way.

These constants serve as beacons, reminding us of who and how we are.

This reminds me of the Eternal Return, of Jesus rising from the tomb. I think of the original disciples as they ate the Last Supper and lived through what would become the first Easter Sunday.

Their hearts broken, watching the cruel death of their beloved friend, were they comforted by his promise of return? What joy must have poured from their hearts when he did return. And after his return, were things easier? Or did the same old doubts creep up?

Two days before we were to meet, my father canceled our reunion without explanation.

I was angry and disappointed.

My return did not look or feel the way I hoped it would. But I was also hopeful.

What I see in Jesus is that the return itself is sacred. When God calls, we must return.

We must honor the journey in this way and let God shape the rest. Such is my experience of growing in faith with Christ.

Jenn Carreto is a member of Seattle Mennonite Church. She can be reached at jcarreto@jhu.edu.