Loving God and Loving Others

The lady looks over her shoulder as she pours the fresh yak milk into a large pot. Can I keep him? She grins. He has no idea what she is asking. My son, that is. Eight years old and taking it all in. The new, the different, even the strange. He squats down near his friend and drinks the yogurt that she has just served him. We’re in Mongolia. Very far from home, we are in one of the most landlocked areas of the world. This gher, a white domed portable tent, is home to a precious family and some of their animals. The rest of the animals live in a pen next to them. There is no sign of other families around them for as far as I can see. Over the hill I have been told are a few more families. It’s amazing. We live in a complex with over 6,000 people. 45 buildings and lots of people. This country of 3 million could fit into a small part of our city, our city that numbers close to 11 million. Bumping along dirt roads with only a compass, we made our way via a four-wheel drive from the cap