"The offended should be more understanding of the offender's situation and less quick to know everything about the offender. However, this does not give an excuse to the offender to do whatever he/she wants"
As I prepare to step back onto American soil after 9 months in a foreign land with foreign people that I now call home and family, I want to prepare you and apologize.
I'm sorry for my emotional up and down state that will probably occur during certain hours of the day, especially at night when I should be the responsible father and put my boys to bed and play them their bed time story.
I'm sorry if I must remove myself from certain situations or cry or become sad all of a sudden during a conversation or an activity. I have probably been reminded of my kids in some way and will miss them so greatly.
I'm sorry if I distance myself from you for any period of time. I probably just don't want to be around people, want to be alone or may be annoyed with whatever is being done. It's probably not you. Or it could be you.
I'm sorry if you don't understand my English when I use certain phrases like "that one only", "then", "come one time", "don't tell", "simply telling" "simple", "this is life", "any command?" "Ahhss!", "Ayohhh!", "listen no", "Chee! Keep quiet no!" "yes ra", "what is what?", "do I look pretty?", "How does my hair look?", "huh! Hi!" (All while flexing my muscles), "...or what?" I also may seem a little more nosy when I ask "what you're doing", "where you're going" or "did you eat rice?" Just our cool India lingo.
I'm sorry if I'm always wondering why people aren't staring at me. It's not that I've gotten vain since I left. However, since there are no tall African American males who could pass for Nigerians, I was always a sight where ever I was.
I'm sorry if I come to you house and begin eating food with my hands. It's actually easier, more clean because you don't have to wash spoons or forks, makes your food taste better, and it's better for enjoying. I'll try and Be civil for the sake of everyone else.
I'm also sorry if I come to your house and I ask for a bucket and/or a pail. I've been taking bath from a bucket for the past nine months and it's one of the happiest times of my life. I don't expect to give it up soon. So If you hear splashes of water in the bathroom, don't worry. I'm saving water.
I apologize for being even more cheap than when I left and not needing a whole lot of stuff. We didn't have electricity most times, water was outside, my bed was simple and me and my kids were poor. Didn't have the most extravagant food and did without a lot of stuff. I just didn't have it and that was ok.
I'm sorry if I'm always ALWAYS talking about my kids for the rest of my life. Them and my Jesus were everything to me and I could talk to you about it for awhile. If you really don't want to know, then please don't ask because I won't be able to give a short answer and will refrain from telling you other things about my time if I sense you actually don't care that much. Don't worry. It's normal.
I'm sorry if all I want to eat is rice and curry. It's life. As well, sorry that everything I make will now be hot because life is just better that way.
Sorry if I'm always cold during this winter because I don't think it ever dropped below 60 something while I was in Meghalaya, and that was freezing. I'll be wearing jackets and sweaters and coats and hats everywhere. Don't tell.
Sorry if I get mad when you tell me "welcome home." This is currently not the happiest time for me and this is currently not my home, but a foreign place. I may often refer to India as home and america as the foreign place I now live.
I'm sorry if I prefer to sleep on the ground than a bed. In India we didn't have very cushy tempur pedics. We only had blankets and thin mattresses on plywood. However that really helped out my back for the first time in years. So it serves two purposes. It helps my back and I feel closer to home.
Sorry for wearing a lungi everywhere. It's like a man skirt. It's the best thing ever. Sometimes I'll wear a bedsheet in its place
I'm sorry if you don't understand when I'm saying yes or no. It's kinda backwards. I make noises with my mouth and head nods or something something with my hands. I'm probably always listening but you just can't catch my body language and noises.
I'm sorry if when I start driving initially, I go to the wrong side of the road. Everything is backwards there. Just don't let me drive.
I'm sorry if I get nervous about everything. Right now as I type this, I'm nervous to see everyone. I don't know why. It's just a lot to handle at one time: the white ppl, the black ppl, the right side of the road driving, all the bazaars, the nice streets, all the iPhone's and tablets, all the ppl not wearing clothes, not seeing my kids anywhere. That's really hard. All the English. All the stuff... It's a different world out here. I'm trying to get used to this foreign country.
In many different things, you may not understand why things are going the way they are. Just ask me about it. Just seriously want to know how you can help me. If that's what you would like, you can help me make this transition a lot easier.
I don't make an excuse if I hurt you, because that's not ok either but you may be a little more understanding when you read this. So thank you for what you do.
And again, I apologize.
I don't know if Alabanza is the word to describe how I feel now...
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Thursday, November 12, 2015
1, 2, 3
"Don't fret when the Lord takes things out of your life. Chances are, He will replace it with something else soon after"
I wrote a blog some time ago entitled "8 and 9" I believe. It was probably about how I only had 8 months and 9 days until I came back from blessed India. Well even though I try to deny it, I only have 12 days until I leave my kids (my life) and 14 until I'm on a plane back to America (my other old life).
Time is but a fleeting thing in the wind. How true this all has been. I've been doing a lot of going and coming recently, and I think this has contributed to the fleeting time. Right now I'm taking my friend Christian Bunch back to the airport so he can go back to his kids in Chennai. He met my kids, but now it's time for him to return to his own.
Christian's visit was needed for me. I think having another male missionary in my shoes did good for me. I think I balanced well hanging with him and my kids in these last days. We went to a lot of bazaars, went to the village once, went to the waterfalls, had a quick thanksgiving dinner involving Nutella and pancakes and mac and cheese. We did it all. We enjoyed.
We talked a lot about missions and what the Lord is doing with each of our lives. Christian says that he's feeling called to do long term missions in India. I told him I don't feel called at the time but would be willing to come back to my project and do further work for the Lord. So don't be surprised if I pack up my bags and leave America again in the future.
But it's in the Lord's hands. Right?
Right now I have 1 prayer meeting left, 2 sabbaths, and then I'm out of here in a little over 13 days. The 3 in the title stands for the 3 in 13. (I couldn't get more creative than that).
Part of my going away has been getting some memorabilia for my children. So while Christian was here, he helped me figure out the best way to make 27 picture frames for my kids. After struggling for days for an idea, we decided to just use a stick of bamboo that we cut in half and put the picture in between. It's def not Pinterest worthy, but what to do. Most of my kids will simply read the message I write for them on the back and then put the pictures in their photo albums. It's one of the few things I can do for them before I go.
One very nice thing happened yesterday that filled my heart with joy: two of my boys came back after a 1 month and 2 month hiatus to Kolkata. I think I gave them about 5 hugs upon their return. I have all of my happy club kids back, and it makes me super happy.
As I get ready to leave, I wonder if the Lord will give something to me in replace of my time and memories here. The Word says that he gives and takes away. I think it's His time to take away my time here in Meghalaya India on Springs of Love campus. I just wonder if he'll give me something else instead.
There isn't much more to talk about in this blog. I officially can't go to the hiring event at Florida hospital and that's a bummer because it makes me salty about spending all that money and losing all that time. However HR says that the hospital does want to hiring me for an actual RN position. So a job is promising. At least more promising than before and it's not a complete loss.
I'm a little more worried about my transition back into American life, so please bare with me if I'm not oober excited to see you or don't want to do anything. I do know that I will need to get a used car when I get back because I'll be joining the working world. So if anyone reading this wants to give me tips on buying used cars or knows someone who could give me a good deal and not having me driving a vehicle with the engine about to fall out, let me know. That's one of my honest, serious worries.
As I've stated before and I'll state it again, I absolutely love it here. I'm so thankful the Lord chose me to do this work. I just pray I've done it all for Jesus and that I'll continue to do more for Jesus in the future. If you've ever considered missions, I suggest you keep considering it. Your life will never be the same. And it may be the beginning of your mission life and not your mission experience if you make it that way.
For now, I'm just chilling with my kid, Timrei and taking Christian back to his kids. I'll be back to my kids in less than 24 hours. The final stretch will begin then. You may not here from me until I get back. If this happens, don't fret. Just know that in 1, 2, 3, you'll be seeing a whole lot more of me.
Jesus help us all.
Kameron Carter
I wrote a blog some time ago entitled "8 and 9" I believe. It was probably about how I only had 8 months and 9 days until I came back from blessed India. Well even though I try to deny it, I only have 12 days until I leave my kids (my life) and 14 until I'm on a plane back to America (my other old life).
Time is but a fleeting thing in the wind. How true this all has been. I've been doing a lot of going and coming recently, and I think this has contributed to the fleeting time. Right now I'm taking my friend Christian Bunch back to the airport so he can go back to his kids in Chennai. He met my kids, but now it's time for him to return to his own.
Christian's visit was needed for me. I think having another male missionary in my shoes did good for me. I think I balanced well hanging with him and my kids in these last days. We went to a lot of bazaars, went to the village once, went to the waterfalls, had a quick thanksgiving dinner involving Nutella and pancakes and mac and cheese. We did it all. We enjoyed.
We talked a lot about missions and what the Lord is doing with each of our lives. Christian says that he's feeling called to do long term missions in India. I told him I don't feel called at the time but would be willing to come back to my project and do further work for the Lord. So don't be surprised if I pack up my bags and leave America again in the future.
But it's in the Lord's hands. Right?
Right now I have 1 prayer meeting left, 2 sabbaths, and then I'm out of here in a little over 13 days. The 3 in the title stands for the 3 in 13. (I couldn't get more creative than that).
Part of my going away has been getting some memorabilia for my children. So while Christian was here, he helped me figure out the best way to make 27 picture frames for my kids. After struggling for days for an idea, we decided to just use a stick of bamboo that we cut in half and put the picture in between. It's def not Pinterest worthy, but what to do. Most of my kids will simply read the message I write for them on the back and then put the pictures in their photo albums. It's one of the few things I can do for them before I go.
One very nice thing happened yesterday that filled my heart with joy: two of my boys came back after a 1 month and 2 month hiatus to Kolkata. I think I gave them about 5 hugs upon their return. I have all of my happy club kids back, and it makes me super happy.
As I get ready to leave, I wonder if the Lord will give something to me in replace of my time and memories here. The Word says that he gives and takes away. I think it's His time to take away my time here in Meghalaya India on Springs of Love campus. I just wonder if he'll give me something else instead.
There isn't much more to talk about in this blog. I officially can't go to the hiring event at Florida hospital and that's a bummer because it makes me salty about spending all that money and losing all that time. However HR says that the hospital does want to hiring me for an actual RN position. So a job is promising. At least more promising than before and it's not a complete loss.
I'm a little more worried about my transition back into American life, so please bare with me if I'm not oober excited to see you or don't want to do anything. I do know that I will need to get a used car when I get back because I'll be joining the working world. So if anyone reading this wants to give me tips on buying used cars or knows someone who could give me a good deal and not having me driving a vehicle with the engine about to fall out, let me know. That's one of my honest, serious worries.
As I've stated before and I'll state it again, I absolutely love it here. I'm so thankful the Lord chose me to do this work. I just pray I've done it all for Jesus and that I'll continue to do more for Jesus in the future. If you've ever considered missions, I suggest you keep considering it. Your life will never be the same. And it may be the beginning of your mission life and not your mission experience if you make it that way.
For now, I'm just chilling with my kid, Timrei and taking Christian back to his kids. I'll be back to my kids in less than 24 hours. The final stretch will begin then. You may not here from me until I get back. If this happens, don't fret. Just know that in 1, 2, 3, you'll be seeing a whole lot more of me.
Jesus help us all.
Kameron Carter
Monday, October 26, 2015
30 days of ordinary memories
"The going is always faster than the coming"-- said nobody ever
I was sitting with my son cornel at church this past Tuesday during prayer meeting. This may seem like a casual statement but it's not. For about two weeks ago, cornel put up the biggest wall between us as a result of the football rebellion. He was the one that was so mad at me that he wouldn't even sing if I was there. He was so outspoken about the unfairness in the punishment and one of the leaders of the rebellion. I never thought we'd be able to sing hymns in church like that again.
Moreover, yesterday, Roben was curious about the safest water to drink since the water went out up here at the campus. He asked me for help and we went on a little adventure together looking for the purest water coming out of the mountain or flowing under the ground. It was fun. Just the two of us. I also thought this would never happen. Roben can tend to me the most stubborn of the boys and his distance he put between us after the fall out was the highest. Even after it took almost a month for things to become normal again, it didn't seem genuine. But then he started to open up again and now I've seen us come back together enough to go on excursions. He also likes to ask me how his hair looks. Ha.
I owe it all to Jesus and to answering the prayers lifted from this side of the world and from America. I thank you all for praying. For everyone finally, things are back to normal as if nothing happened.
But in these things returning to normal, I realized one terrifying thought: I have less than 30 days.
So much has happened in getting to these 30 days: my son Blessingson has been sick with malaria/typhoid or both. I've been a teacher, Dean, principal, nurse, and father again, I had my first death, many of my kids have left me one my one and many have come back one by one, I've held a lot of babies, I've rearranged my room, I've been giving pictures to my kids, I've been experiencing God.
And in a week, my friend Christian will be coming to visit. He's doing mission work in South India and will be coming to hang with me and my kids for a week. I think they will really like him and probably not want him to leave. It will be nice having another male my age who's also single and doing the same thing as me.
However, his visit is also sad; for when he leaves, I will only have 12 more days with my kids.
I don't even know what that's like. When I look through pictures with my girls and boys, I look at the dates of some of these memories and can't believe that they are truly that far back. "That happened in April?!" I always ask myself these kinds of questions. It's very strange to think so much happened in such a short time, and I feel like it didn't happen. I haven't been gone from America that long yet. I was just there studying for my NCLEX last week and preparing to come.
Coming back two weeks sooner than planned is also bitter in my mouth right now. I changed my schedule so I could come back for a nursing event and hopefully get offered a job right on the spot. (This would allow me save money, pay off loans, and come back home to India). I moved my ticket, spent all this money, cringed thinking i'd have to lose two weeks with my kids, just to get the chance to get this job in Florida. I applied for the position, just in time, and even was in contact with an HR lady to make sure I got everything in on time. Then she contacted me and told me that she went through my application and saw that I was a graduated nurse and that the event was solely for nurses in their last semester of school. She told me I would not be able to go.
When she told me that, I almost vomited. I still almost vomit. My teachers are in the process of fighting for me, however. We'll see if it works. Cause all I know is that if I don't meet my future wife in that two weeks early that I'm back, it will make returning even so much harder. And yet.... May God's will be done right?
Ella and my friend Cassie, told me to take pictures of the ordinary things recently: how This looked, how that looked, what teaching was like, what hanging with my boys was like, just all the ordinary things that have just become part of my day. They say it is these things I will miss the most.
I will miss waking up in my bed knowing I have to go wake the boys, which is like waking a bear. I will miss walking around campus early in the morning and saying "good morning" to everyone but "good evening" to ms Awon. I will miss my boys shenanigans like calling me "mrs. Kam" recently, and them calling my name but not saying anything when I respond, or telling me all these deep cat poster worthy quotes. I will miss eating with them and spending more time laughing than eating. I will miss their singing and them coming back from work in the afternoon, as if I'm their father waiting for them to come home. I will miss the girls yelling at me and getting mad because they have a stubborn father but I have bad kids. I will miss my kids being good. I will miss the girls wanting to take pictures with me. I will miss the boys asking me how their hair looks and if they look pretty. I won't have anyone to say "where are the girls" or to correct about not being modest and keeping their pants past their butts. I'll miss Saturday night games. I'll miss hearing the bell ring for worship. I'll miss going to go see the cooks in the kitchen. I'll miss having rice twice a day and potatoes. I'll miss putting my boys to sleep at night even though it's like trying to pull teeth sometimes, but then looking back on it thinking, wow I've got some good kids. I'll miss going to the village on the bike. I'll miss talking to the midwives and taking pictures with all the babies. I'll miss it all for sure.
So I'm taking pictures of these ordinary things. I'm taking audio of this simple life, of the causal day to day, of washing clothes, of worship, of the girls and the boys.
I hope to go through it all before I leave, when I leave, and after I leave. I know I'll cry. I know it'll be tough. But I think these pictures and videos of ordinary life here will carry me through.
Am I ready to come back? Well you know the answer is no. Am I excited to come back to the states? You know the answer is no. It'll be nice to have chipotle, hug JB who I haven't seen in over a year, and eat ice cream and drink almond milk. That will grow old quick and I'll want to come back.
For now I'm just clicking away at the pictures and making due with this last bit of time.
Pray for me because I'm not sure how to deal with this last 30 days.
Here's to 30 more days of ordinary memories.
Alabanza. Bless. Bless it all 🙏🏾. Hallelu.
Kameron Carter
I was sitting with my son cornel at church this past Tuesday during prayer meeting. This may seem like a casual statement but it's not. For about two weeks ago, cornel put up the biggest wall between us as a result of the football rebellion. He was the one that was so mad at me that he wouldn't even sing if I was there. He was so outspoken about the unfairness in the punishment and one of the leaders of the rebellion. I never thought we'd be able to sing hymns in church like that again.
Moreover, yesterday, Roben was curious about the safest water to drink since the water went out up here at the campus. He asked me for help and we went on a little adventure together looking for the purest water coming out of the mountain or flowing under the ground. It was fun. Just the two of us. I also thought this would never happen. Roben can tend to me the most stubborn of the boys and his distance he put between us after the fall out was the highest. Even after it took almost a month for things to become normal again, it didn't seem genuine. But then he started to open up again and now I've seen us come back together enough to go on excursions. He also likes to ask me how his hair looks. Ha.
I owe it all to Jesus and to answering the prayers lifted from this side of the world and from America. I thank you all for praying. For everyone finally, things are back to normal as if nothing happened.
But in these things returning to normal, I realized one terrifying thought: I have less than 30 days.
So much has happened in getting to these 30 days: my son Blessingson has been sick with malaria/typhoid or both. I've been a teacher, Dean, principal, nurse, and father again, I had my first death, many of my kids have left me one my one and many have come back one by one, I've held a lot of babies, I've rearranged my room, I've been giving pictures to my kids, I've been experiencing God.
And in a week, my friend Christian will be coming to visit. He's doing mission work in South India and will be coming to hang with me and my kids for a week. I think they will really like him and probably not want him to leave. It will be nice having another male my age who's also single and doing the same thing as me.
However, his visit is also sad; for when he leaves, I will only have 12 more days with my kids.
I don't even know what that's like. When I look through pictures with my girls and boys, I look at the dates of some of these memories and can't believe that they are truly that far back. "That happened in April?!" I always ask myself these kinds of questions. It's very strange to think so much happened in such a short time, and I feel like it didn't happen. I haven't been gone from America that long yet. I was just there studying for my NCLEX last week and preparing to come.
Coming back two weeks sooner than planned is also bitter in my mouth right now. I changed my schedule so I could come back for a nursing event and hopefully get offered a job right on the spot. (This would allow me save money, pay off loans, and come back home to India). I moved my ticket, spent all this money, cringed thinking i'd have to lose two weeks with my kids, just to get the chance to get this job in Florida. I applied for the position, just in time, and even was in contact with an HR lady to make sure I got everything in on time. Then she contacted me and told me that she went through my application and saw that I was a graduated nurse and that the event was solely for nurses in their last semester of school. She told me I would not be able to go.
When she told me that, I almost vomited. I still almost vomit. My teachers are in the process of fighting for me, however. We'll see if it works. Cause all I know is that if I don't meet my future wife in that two weeks early that I'm back, it will make returning even so much harder. And yet.... May God's will be done right?
Ella and my friend Cassie, told me to take pictures of the ordinary things recently: how This looked, how that looked, what teaching was like, what hanging with my boys was like, just all the ordinary things that have just become part of my day. They say it is these things I will miss the most.
I will miss waking up in my bed knowing I have to go wake the boys, which is like waking a bear. I will miss walking around campus early in the morning and saying "good morning" to everyone but "good evening" to ms Awon. I will miss my boys shenanigans like calling me "mrs. Kam" recently, and them calling my name but not saying anything when I respond, or telling me all these deep cat poster worthy quotes. I will miss eating with them and spending more time laughing than eating. I will miss their singing and them coming back from work in the afternoon, as if I'm their father waiting for them to come home. I will miss the girls yelling at me and getting mad because they have a stubborn father but I have bad kids. I will miss my kids being good. I will miss the girls wanting to take pictures with me. I will miss the boys asking me how their hair looks and if they look pretty. I won't have anyone to say "where are the girls" or to correct about not being modest and keeping their pants past their butts. I'll miss Saturday night games. I'll miss hearing the bell ring for worship. I'll miss going to go see the cooks in the kitchen. I'll miss having rice twice a day and potatoes. I'll miss putting my boys to sleep at night even though it's like trying to pull teeth sometimes, but then looking back on it thinking, wow I've got some good kids. I'll miss going to the village on the bike. I'll miss talking to the midwives and taking pictures with all the babies. I'll miss it all for sure.
So I'm taking pictures of these ordinary things. I'm taking audio of this simple life, of the causal day to day, of washing clothes, of worship, of the girls and the boys.
I hope to go through it all before I leave, when I leave, and after I leave. I know I'll cry. I know it'll be tough. But I think these pictures and videos of ordinary life here will carry me through.
Am I ready to come back? Well you know the answer is no. Am I excited to come back to the states? You know the answer is no. It'll be nice to have chipotle, hug JB who I haven't seen in over a year, and eat ice cream and drink almond milk. That will grow old quick and I'll want to come back.
For now I'm just clicking away at the pictures and making due with this last bit of time.
Pray for me because I'm not sure how to deal with this last 30 days.
Here's to 30 more days of ordinary memories.
Alabanza. Bless. Bless it all 🙏🏾. Hallelu.
Kameron Carter
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Somebody Save Me
"You can't save them all. Only Jesus saves."
Wednesday Oct 7, 2015, was already starting off to be a rough day. Alex, a girl from Puerto Rico, who came to be a midwife teacher, grandmother, and friend left that morning at 430 am with one of my boys. Don't worry, we didn't fall in love and I'm not getting married.
I was sad, however. It was nice having another American around who understood some of the struggles, who ate pancakes with Ella and I, who enjoyed some good old fashioned butter. But it was her time to go. We paid our dues and said goodbye.
Yet, the day had to continue as always. I went to my first class, economics, a little bit late; also typical. Soon after we started, Ms. Leishimi came running in the class
"Kameron Sir? There is one very serious patient in the nearby village that you need to go see. The father just came and wants us to come. I can't go because I'm teaching the midwives."
And my first thought, "and I'm clearly here having an ice cream party because I have nothing else to do..." I always hated moments like this. It was one of the downfalls of being a teacher and a nurse for the village. I couldn't and still can't do both effectively. At times, I am forced to neglect my students for my patients and my patients for my students.
I asked her if he was breathing and stable, and she said she wasn't sure. I told her I would go after lunch cause I didn't want to miss all of the classes for my kids. Plus, I could count many times where villagers pulled this stunt just to get me there faster and I show up and everything is completely fine.
My students in the class I was in piped in and said I should go because what if he really was serious and died.
'Twas a good excuse but I also knew they wanted to get out of class. So then I decided to go right after that class and hope and pray I could solve the problem in my 40 min before my next class.
So I finished that class and kind of put some "pep in my step." I wasn't that excited to go to this patient's house just to have everything be fine.
So I called one of the midwives, the one who knows the most garo and English, because if it was an actual emergency, I would need her.
Right before I left, I told the kids I would hopefully be back before their next class. When I went up, the midwife I asked to go with me said that another garo midwife was going to go. I wasn't sure why but i wasn't going to argue because this midwife did know English and I had worked with her before on many occasion.
So we got on the bike, said a prayer and began the "down the street" journey.
When we almost got there, while going up a hill in too high of a gear on the bike, I stalled. Awkward. Lenitha, the midwife with me, got off and walked up the rest of the hill to the patient's house while I pushed the bike up the hill with a garo man nearby.
Then everything began to happen like a dream.
Lenitha told me to come fast from the hill. I did as I was told because there was much stress in her voice.
When I got inside, there was a small boy about the size of my leg, lying on his mother's lap. The mother was crying and yelling, and I took note the boy didn't look like he was in the best state. I told her to quickly put the boy on the ground so that I could check everything better. In her distress she did as she was told. I began to check vital sounds while I asked Lenitha to ask them exactly what happened. If I was going to save this boy, I needed to know what happened.
She told me that he was eating rice and then all of a sudden he stopped and went into this state
Vitals were finished. Pulse and breathing seemed a little low for a 5 year old boy. I still wasn't sure what was going on. I was starting to get a little nervous.
I asked more questions: had he been sick before? What were his symptoms? how sick was he? Did he fall? Did he cut himself earlier? How long has he been sick and like this? Exactly what just happened? Does he have allergies? Did he suddenly choke on rice?
I needed to know more. When examining the boy again. He was definitely losing levels of consciousness, with his eyes slightly open. He looked yellow in his body and wasn't responding to much stimuli. His heart rate and breathing still a little slower than I expected. He was a 5 year old boy, not a grown man.
By this time the mother wasn't as distressed but everyone around me started putting oil and garlic on the boy's arms and legs. Not my favorite thing at the moment in time. But you can't always argue with the culture.
Then Lenitha got word that he had a cough for a week and that he had malaria and they were giving treatment. But then they said that he hadn't gotten a blood test and they just suspected he had malaria so they brought medicine.
Now I was confused. This is where communication began to become gray with me and the Lenitha, and therefore the people I desperately needed to talk to.
I just decided to do a malaria test really quick. However getting blood became a serious problem with all this oil and garlic they were putting on his body. Cleaning his skin and trying to get fresh, uncontaminated blood was the most stressful thing at the most inappropriate time.
Stress began to rise on both sides. My heart was starting to thump as I poked his skin and poked trying to get blood, trying to keep everything clean, trying to think of what I was going to do because at the moment, i didn't know.
By this time, we had gotten a gathering of neighbors outside and inside the house. Perfect, I thought. These extra people is exactly what I need right now.
I was somehow able to get enough blood, that may have been contaminated after poking this boy an infinite amount of times. I put in my drops and waited.
I checked my vitals again, thinking I still don't know what to do. I don't know what happened. Everything was still blurry. The boy wasn't getting better. I knew that.
I kept asking questions. But I wasn't getting answers. At least not the ones I wanted.
"Lenitha I really need you to ask them what exactly happened. Did he choke? Was he sitting there eating and then all of a sudden he feel over or he just started feeling bad? What? What sickness did he have before? I need to know all this; if not I can't help."
Part of the conversation
There still seemed to be a divide. Miscommunication. The works.
I told Lenitha to come sit next to the boy and make sure he still was breathing and had a pulse while I looked through my book for some kind of answer
Lord don't let this boy die on me. Help.
My prayer.
I thought that possibly an iv with some fluid going through him might help and at least I could give some medicine that way.
And then, I realized that I didn't have any IV tubing.
YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! I thought. I didn't trust myself to go get it nor could Lenitha drive. So I called one of the midwives at the compound while leaning over this boy still doing assessments. Time passing. I got ahold of one and instructed her with such seriousness how important this was and how fast I needed her to move. "Find someone to drive you in the other vehicle. Go fast!" I hung up.
There was much chaos that was beginning to ensue. My books and everything were everywhere. The number of people began to increase. The mother began to yell the boy's name and say many thing in garo in her distress. She and I and everyone there were scared. I didn't know what to do.
More garo medicine. More garlic and oil.
And then no malaria. At least that's what the test said.
I keep asking questions trying to narrow down what happened. Still no answers.
The stress was only increasing. I felt my stomach in my throat. I think I was sweating. I think everything began to truly feel like a dream.
Then I heard the sound of someone gasping for breath. It was the boy. I realized that was the only breathing he was doing. His pulse shot up. He lungs still sounded clear but from the little information I knew, his body was shutting down. I knew there wasn't much time.
I still wasn't sure what to do. At least with medicine. I grabbed my CPR mask because I knew it was going to come to that.
And then, another assessment. His breathing was little to nil, and no pulse was felt.
Some choice words were said under my breath.
I started CPR.
There is nothing more terrifying than the thought that this CPR thing has more to it than me just simply pumping and giving breaths. Normally this is an AED on the way, someone is about to give epinephrine, there is more help to be given. But no, I just had me and a midwife that I was having communication issues with her.
While doing the CPR, I was praying, trying to drown out the mother's frantic crying and screaming. I tried to teach the CPR thing to Lenitha while doing it myself. She wasn't understanding. Perfect.
I kept doing CPR. It was the only thing I could do right now.
The compressions, the breaths, the oil, the garlic, the garo people, the screaming mother. The chaos.
And then "sir they want you to stop."
The words of Lenitha that I didn't quite hear correctly. Or so I thought.
"They want me to stop?! Are you sure?!"
"Yes"
Ok.
And so I stopped. I respected their decision. But it hurt me so much inside even though deep down I knew I was probably doing CPR in vain to begin with. How long could I have done CPR without knowing what was truly going on?
I checked his pulse and listened for breathing for about 2 min just to make sure of any chance of life.
That boy died right there. That 5 year old died right in front of me. Practically in my lap.
The wails rang clear when I told everyone that he was finished. All the tears flooded the air and the sounds of a grieving mother was the music of the moment. All other family flooded in as I stepped out, giving them space.
Even with everything going on, I was replaying again and again the moment. I thought up everything that happened. I thought of how it could have gone better. I thought of what I could have done more. I thought of the lack of communication. I thought if I would have come earlier, would he have died. I thought of all the questions that were unanswered. I thought of this young family, now childless, for their newest baby died in a still birth and now their only son died and no one knows why.
I thought of how I couldn't save him.
Even though the sun was shining, my mind and heart were sad as I drove the bike home.
I was still in shock so I quickly parked the bike, dropped off my stuff in the room and then tried to leave without being seen. For those who crossed my path and asked "how is that boy?", with a straight face and quick response, I said, "he died."
I kept it moving.
I walked to the river. Down the hill, through the jungle, away from it all. I was ok for a bit. Just really upset.
Then I lost it all and began to cry with such ugliness and loss of control.
It all happened at once. Then I missed people. I wanted Cassie there to give me a big hug and make me laugh. I wanted Obi to give me that look he always does when bad things happen but his face says, God is there. I wanted Jeffrey's incredibly strange but awesome laugh and wanted to just lounge around with him, normally me talking and him listening and then falling asleep. I for sure just wanted to be held. That made it worse.
Then I sang some hymns. I felt the Lord draw close and touch my heart, touch my mind, touch my body. He whispered in his own way, "you're ok. I'll still make something beautiful out of this"
It didn't last too long, all the excessive self loathing. God stopped that real quick. I prayed a lot. For the mother, for the family, for it all.
Eventually, I got up and walked up the hill and back to my room. I avoided everyone and went to sleep.
That was a hard day. It was a day. It was one I won't forget.
Truly God taught me some lessons: 1) sometimes you do your best, and it's not enough. 2) He knows better than I. 3) We can't save anyone. We can prolong their lives. But only he can save.
Jesus is in the business of saving us and getting us out of here. It's because 5 year olds can die just like that is the reason He is in the business of getting us to a better home. I'm not quite sure when that will be exactly; however as I look at the prophetic events being played out exactly as scripture and the spirit of prophecy put it, I know it's soon. No joke soon.
For life sake, I pray it's soon enough. Be ready.
Bless. Bless it all.
Kameron Carter
Wednesday Oct 7, 2015, was already starting off to be a rough day. Alex, a girl from Puerto Rico, who came to be a midwife teacher, grandmother, and friend left that morning at 430 am with one of my boys. Don't worry, we didn't fall in love and I'm not getting married.
I was sad, however. It was nice having another American around who understood some of the struggles, who ate pancakes with Ella and I, who enjoyed some good old fashioned butter. But it was her time to go. We paid our dues and said goodbye.
Yet, the day had to continue as always. I went to my first class, economics, a little bit late; also typical. Soon after we started, Ms. Leishimi came running in the class
"Kameron Sir? There is one very serious patient in the nearby village that you need to go see. The father just came and wants us to come. I can't go because I'm teaching the midwives."
And my first thought, "and I'm clearly here having an ice cream party because I have nothing else to do..." I always hated moments like this. It was one of the downfalls of being a teacher and a nurse for the village. I couldn't and still can't do both effectively. At times, I am forced to neglect my students for my patients and my patients for my students.
I asked her if he was breathing and stable, and she said she wasn't sure. I told her I would go after lunch cause I didn't want to miss all of the classes for my kids. Plus, I could count many times where villagers pulled this stunt just to get me there faster and I show up and everything is completely fine.
My students in the class I was in piped in and said I should go because what if he really was serious and died.
'Twas a good excuse but I also knew they wanted to get out of class. So then I decided to go right after that class and hope and pray I could solve the problem in my 40 min before my next class.
So I finished that class and kind of put some "pep in my step." I wasn't that excited to go to this patient's house just to have everything be fine.
So I called one of the midwives, the one who knows the most garo and English, because if it was an actual emergency, I would need her.
Right before I left, I told the kids I would hopefully be back before their next class. When I went up, the midwife I asked to go with me said that another garo midwife was going to go. I wasn't sure why but i wasn't going to argue because this midwife did know English and I had worked with her before on many occasion.
So we got on the bike, said a prayer and began the "down the street" journey.
When we almost got there, while going up a hill in too high of a gear on the bike, I stalled. Awkward. Lenitha, the midwife with me, got off and walked up the rest of the hill to the patient's house while I pushed the bike up the hill with a garo man nearby.
Then everything began to happen like a dream.
Lenitha told me to come fast from the hill. I did as I was told because there was much stress in her voice.
When I got inside, there was a small boy about the size of my leg, lying on his mother's lap. The mother was crying and yelling, and I took note the boy didn't look like he was in the best state. I told her to quickly put the boy on the ground so that I could check everything better. In her distress she did as she was told. I began to check vital sounds while I asked Lenitha to ask them exactly what happened. If I was going to save this boy, I needed to know what happened.
She told me that he was eating rice and then all of a sudden he stopped and went into this state
Vitals were finished. Pulse and breathing seemed a little low for a 5 year old boy. I still wasn't sure what was going on. I was starting to get a little nervous.
I asked more questions: had he been sick before? What were his symptoms? how sick was he? Did he fall? Did he cut himself earlier? How long has he been sick and like this? Exactly what just happened? Does he have allergies? Did he suddenly choke on rice?
I needed to know more. When examining the boy again. He was definitely losing levels of consciousness, with his eyes slightly open. He looked yellow in his body and wasn't responding to much stimuli. His heart rate and breathing still a little slower than I expected. He was a 5 year old boy, not a grown man.
By this time the mother wasn't as distressed but everyone around me started putting oil and garlic on the boy's arms and legs. Not my favorite thing at the moment in time. But you can't always argue with the culture.
Then Lenitha got word that he had a cough for a week and that he had malaria and they were giving treatment. But then they said that he hadn't gotten a blood test and they just suspected he had malaria so they brought medicine.
Now I was confused. This is where communication began to become gray with me and the Lenitha, and therefore the people I desperately needed to talk to.
I just decided to do a malaria test really quick. However getting blood became a serious problem with all this oil and garlic they were putting on his body. Cleaning his skin and trying to get fresh, uncontaminated blood was the most stressful thing at the most inappropriate time.
Stress began to rise on both sides. My heart was starting to thump as I poked his skin and poked trying to get blood, trying to keep everything clean, trying to think of what I was going to do because at the moment, i didn't know.
By this time, we had gotten a gathering of neighbors outside and inside the house. Perfect, I thought. These extra people is exactly what I need right now.
I was somehow able to get enough blood, that may have been contaminated after poking this boy an infinite amount of times. I put in my drops and waited.
I checked my vitals again, thinking I still don't know what to do. I don't know what happened. Everything was still blurry. The boy wasn't getting better. I knew that.
I kept asking questions. But I wasn't getting answers. At least not the ones I wanted.
"Lenitha I really need you to ask them what exactly happened. Did he choke? Was he sitting there eating and then all of a sudden he feel over or he just started feeling bad? What? What sickness did he have before? I need to know all this; if not I can't help."
Part of the conversation
There still seemed to be a divide. Miscommunication. The works.
I told Lenitha to come sit next to the boy and make sure he still was breathing and had a pulse while I looked through my book for some kind of answer
Lord don't let this boy die on me. Help.
My prayer.
I thought that possibly an iv with some fluid going through him might help and at least I could give some medicine that way.
And then, I realized that I didn't have any IV tubing.
YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! I thought. I didn't trust myself to go get it nor could Lenitha drive. So I called one of the midwives at the compound while leaning over this boy still doing assessments. Time passing. I got ahold of one and instructed her with such seriousness how important this was and how fast I needed her to move. "Find someone to drive you in the other vehicle. Go fast!" I hung up.
There was much chaos that was beginning to ensue. My books and everything were everywhere. The number of people began to increase. The mother began to yell the boy's name and say many thing in garo in her distress. She and I and everyone there were scared. I didn't know what to do.
More garo medicine. More garlic and oil.
And then no malaria. At least that's what the test said.
I keep asking questions trying to narrow down what happened. Still no answers.
The stress was only increasing. I felt my stomach in my throat. I think I was sweating. I think everything began to truly feel like a dream.
Then I heard the sound of someone gasping for breath. It was the boy. I realized that was the only breathing he was doing. His pulse shot up. He lungs still sounded clear but from the little information I knew, his body was shutting down. I knew there wasn't much time.
I still wasn't sure what to do. At least with medicine. I grabbed my CPR mask because I knew it was going to come to that.
And then, another assessment. His breathing was little to nil, and no pulse was felt.
Some choice words were said under my breath.
I started CPR.
There is nothing more terrifying than the thought that this CPR thing has more to it than me just simply pumping and giving breaths. Normally this is an AED on the way, someone is about to give epinephrine, there is more help to be given. But no, I just had me and a midwife that I was having communication issues with her.
While doing the CPR, I was praying, trying to drown out the mother's frantic crying and screaming. I tried to teach the CPR thing to Lenitha while doing it myself. She wasn't understanding. Perfect.
I kept doing CPR. It was the only thing I could do right now.
The compressions, the breaths, the oil, the garlic, the garo people, the screaming mother. The chaos.
And then "sir they want you to stop."
The words of Lenitha that I didn't quite hear correctly. Or so I thought.
"They want me to stop?! Are you sure?!"
"Yes"
Ok.
And so I stopped. I respected their decision. But it hurt me so much inside even though deep down I knew I was probably doing CPR in vain to begin with. How long could I have done CPR without knowing what was truly going on?
I checked his pulse and listened for breathing for about 2 min just to make sure of any chance of life.
That boy died right there. That 5 year old died right in front of me. Practically in my lap.
The wails rang clear when I told everyone that he was finished. All the tears flooded the air and the sounds of a grieving mother was the music of the moment. All other family flooded in as I stepped out, giving them space.
Even with everything going on, I was replaying again and again the moment. I thought up everything that happened. I thought of how it could have gone better. I thought of what I could have done more. I thought of the lack of communication. I thought if I would have come earlier, would he have died. I thought of all the questions that were unanswered. I thought of this young family, now childless, for their newest baby died in a still birth and now their only son died and no one knows why.
I thought of how I couldn't save him.
Even though the sun was shining, my mind and heart were sad as I drove the bike home.
I was still in shock so I quickly parked the bike, dropped off my stuff in the room and then tried to leave without being seen. For those who crossed my path and asked "how is that boy?", with a straight face and quick response, I said, "he died."
I kept it moving.
I walked to the river. Down the hill, through the jungle, away from it all. I was ok for a bit. Just really upset.
Then I lost it all and began to cry with such ugliness and loss of control.
It all happened at once. Then I missed people. I wanted Cassie there to give me a big hug and make me laugh. I wanted Obi to give me that look he always does when bad things happen but his face says, God is there. I wanted Jeffrey's incredibly strange but awesome laugh and wanted to just lounge around with him, normally me talking and him listening and then falling asleep. I for sure just wanted to be held. That made it worse.
Then I sang some hymns. I felt the Lord draw close and touch my heart, touch my mind, touch my body. He whispered in his own way, "you're ok. I'll still make something beautiful out of this"
It didn't last too long, all the excessive self loathing. God stopped that real quick. I prayed a lot. For the mother, for the family, for it all.
Eventually, I got up and walked up the hill and back to my room. I avoided everyone and went to sleep.
That was a hard day. It was a day. It was one I won't forget.
Truly God taught me some lessons: 1) sometimes you do your best, and it's not enough. 2) He knows better than I. 3) We can't save anyone. We can prolong their lives. But only he can save.
Jesus is in the business of saving us and getting us out of here. It's because 5 year olds can die just like that is the reason He is in the business of getting us to a better home. I'm not quite sure when that will be exactly; however as I look at the prophetic events being played out exactly as scripture and the spirit of prophecy put it, I know it's soon. No joke soon.
For life sake, I pray it's soon enough. Be ready.
Bless. Bless it all.
Kameron Carter
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Little Goodbyes
"Try to see 'goodbyes' more as 'until heaven.' It makes the pain of departure less heart wrenching"
In less than two weeks, 5 people very dear to me have left either temporarily or permanently. Miss Alex, the midwife from Puerto Rico left for the states yesterday. Don't worry, we didn't fall in love and aren't getting married. However, she was fun and great to have around, to talk about foolishness with, eat pancakes with, share American times with Ella and I. She is missed. With her, I lost one of my sons, Robert. Robert was sent as her bodyguard because he's so big and scary, but very nice and a great kid. He also has business to do with his school. Thankfully, he will return.
Then there are Kristina and Grace, two of my daughters, both of which told me they were leaving at the last minute. I was so upset. Thankfully Kristina will come back. However, Grace told me that she won't. It all happened so fast. She told me she needed pictures but I told her I was busy. She responded with this being the only time available because she wasn't coming back.
Then I flipped over the campus in my anger.
I said my last good byes and all to her just a couple of moments ago.
And then, there is Muthu. Muthu is very near to my favorite child, little brother who is not my brother, son ever. I spend the most time with this one. He was the first one to say hello to me when I arrived. He always comes to my room, at least 6 times a day, normally just to say hello and check on me and ask me If I think his hair looks nice. He jokes with me constantly, and we go on adventures together. He was one of the only ones who didn't let our football schism destroy our relationship. And I appreciated that.
He's going to get some school business done too and see the doctor. He says he will be back in a couple of weeks and I pray that it's so. My life shall be severely lacking with this one not in it. Plus when he returns I'll only have like 20 something days left with him and that is daunting.
Actually all of these goodbyes, starting with Alex and Robert have been wake up calls. Reminders that, "hey! You're about to leave these kids for real now, potentially indefinitely."
I'm not sure I'll come back. It took Ella 5 years. Granted. She had school and I don't; but still.
I really want to come back. For many who have talked to me, I have expressed how I don't even want to go. The kids are going to strap me to the ceiling of the hostel and take all my stuff. I'm fine with that.
I've been looking at my countdown a lot more recently, trying to prepare myself. But I think I'm going to stop and just try and enjoy the moment.
Cassie, my best friend, told me to start taking pictures of the ordinary day to day, those activities that you don't think twice about doing, but it's apart of my current life. I will miss it and wish I could visualize it. I'll take advantage of this.
All these goodbyes are making me enjoy more of the simple things, laugh so much more, just being with my kids cause I can be. I want to know more about them, hang out, go on adventures, teach them and show them Jesus hopefully.
I really look forward to heaven at times like this because I know that it will finally be the place where I don't have to say goodbye. And if I do it will be with the knowledge that I'll see you at some other time in eternity. I'll have my Indian children, my American families, my friends, and all the other people whole love Jesus like me.
The experience shall indeed be the best. I'll laugh with my Indian kids and then hang out with my America family. I'll ride a kangaroo one moment and then talk to a stranger about how Jesus brought them to our Home.
I can't imagine the joy that will be in place. But I do know it will be joy forever more.
Some of my kids will come back in a couple of weeks. Some won't. I may see Alex again, or I may not. I may come back to Indian again, or I may not. It's all a bunch of "if's" "and's" and "but's".
Even with all these questions, I'm praying fervently for one thing right now. And that is that we all will go to heaven and live with Jesus forevermore.
At least then, we don't have to worried about "coming back" to anything because everything and everyone will always be right there.
And that, well...
Bless. Bless it all.
Kameron Carter
In less than two weeks, 5 people very dear to me have left either temporarily or permanently. Miss Alex, the midwife from Puerto Rico left for the states yesterday. Don't worry, we didn't fall in love and aren't getting married. However, she was fun and great to have around, to talk about foolishness with, eat pancakes with, share American times with Ella and I. She is missed. With her, I lost one of my sons, Robert. Robert was sent as her bodyguard because he's so big and scary, but very nice and a great kid. He also has business to do with his school. Thankfully, he will return.
Then there are Kristina and Grace, two of my daughters, both of which told me they were leaving at the last minute. I was so upset. Thankfully Kristina will come back. However, Grace told me that she won't. It all happened so fast. She told me she needed pictures but I told her I was busy. She responded with this being the only time available because she wasn't coming back.
Then I flipped over the campus in my anger.
I said my last good byes and all to her just a couple of moments ago.
And then, there is Muthu. Muthu is very near to my favorite child, little brother who is not my brother, son ever. I spend the most time with this one. He was the first one to say hello to me when I arrived. He always comes to my room, at least 6 times a day, normally just to say hello and check on me and ask me If I think his hair looks nice. He jokes with me constantly, and we go on adventures together. He was one of the only ones who didn't let our football schism destroy our relationship. And I appreciated that.
He's going to get some school business done too and see the doctor. He says he will be back in a couple of weeks and I pray that it's so. My life shall be severely lacking with this one not in it. Plus when he returns I'll only have like 20 something days left with him and that is daunting.
Actually all of these goodbyes, starting with Alex and Robert have been wake up calls. Reminders that, "hey! You're about to leave these kids for real now, potentially indefinitely."
I'm not sure I'll come back. It took Ella 5 years. Granted. She had school and I don't; but still.
I really want to come back. For many who have talked to me, I have expressed how I don't even want to go. The kids are going to strap me to the ceiling of the hostel and take all my stuff. I'm fine with that.
I've been looking at my countdown a lot more recently, trying to prepare myself. But I think I'm going to stop and just try and enjoy the moment.
Cassie, my best friend, told me to start taking pictures of the ordinary day to day, those activities that you don't think twice about doing, but it's apart of my current life. I will miss it and wish I could visualize it. I'll take advantage of this.
All these goodbyes are making me enjoy more of the simple things, laugh so much more, just being with my kids cause I can be. I want to know more about them, hang out, go on adventures, teach them and show them Jesus hopefully.
I really look forward to heaven at times like this because I know that it will finally be the place where I don't have to say goodbye. And if I do it will be with the knowledge that I'll see you at some other time in eternity. I'll have my Indian children, my American families, my friends, and all the other people whole love Jesus like me.
The experience shall indeed be the best. I'll laugh with my Indian kids and then hang out with my America family. I'll ride a kangaroo one moment and then talk to a stranger about how Jesus brought them to our Home.
I can't imagine the joy that will be in place. But I do know it will be joy forever more.
Some of my kids will come back in a couple of weeks. Some won't. I may see Alex again, or I may not. I may come back to Indian again, or I may not. It's all a bunch of "if's" "and's" and "but's".
Even with all these questions, I'm praying fervently for one thing right now. And that is that we all will go to heaven and live with Jesus forevermore.
At least then, we don't have to worried about "coming back" to anything because everything and everyone will always be right there.
And that, well...
Bless. Bless it all.
Kameron Carter
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Hope for Us All
"We need to get out of the habit of saying that 'all we can do is pray' when in reality, it's the best thing we can do."
All this drama has kept the wall up with my boys. They dug their own hole and then put a wall there, not allowing me or anyone to help them out. It's been a rough couple of days.
We've all been praying a lot. The girls especially have been trying to convince the 3 boys who quit choir practice to join so that we can have the whole group together and praise Jesus as a team. After their practice this Wednesday, they actually initiated a group prayer session where they all kneeled, held hands in a circle and prayed for each boy individually. There are about 15 girls so the boys were showered plenty. My heart was so filled with joy when I saw it happening. My kids believed in Jesus.
Even though it's been sticky for me and 7 of the 9 boys, I've been thankful to have two this whole time. My son Muthu has been the same; he always comes to check on me, asks me how his hair looks, talks to me about his love for the midwife students, and brings me all his medical problems. We still hang out and go places. He wasn't even phased by all the drama.
Suban is a very joyous easy going guy and also seemed fine with everything. Moreover, he doesn't think I did anything wrong or out of place. He sees thing my way more often than the other boys (not that that is what it's about). So there has been no change there.
The rest of the boys, especially some of the younger ones have really been side stepping me and giving me the cold shoulder. So I've been praying fervently and giving them space.
My biggest prayer for them has been for God to help them find peace in their hearts and let go, and not let anything get in the way of them doing work for the Lord: not lack of money, lack of talent, schisms involving some members (me). I don't want them to get in the habit of ever rejecting a call to minister with the Gospel; it could be an eternal life and death scenario.
I've solicited prayers from home too. I can feel them falling from above. Praying has become a wonderful thing for me. Something I very much enjoy and have been doing more often. It's becoming more and more of my first resort instead of my last.
We were a little worried about the all-boys practice this Thursday. Who would show up? Who would not? The performance was this weekend and we needed all the voices to be lifted up. Prayers were being sent up on all sides and the girls were trying their hardest to convince the boys to come.
That Thursday at all-boys practice, only a few boys showed up. Some of the other boys had been recruited to not sing. Even though it was sad, we continued to pray and were convinced that angels would sing with us on sabbath.
I continued to give space to the boys without letting them just do whatever they wanted. It was awkward at times but I knew that they would be unable to interact with me for awhile. I began to ask the other kids, who knew them longer, how long the tension and grudge would last. Some said it would last until I left. Others said it wouldn't last long. Still others said it would just depend on each boy specifically. I was nervous regardless.
"Could a 7-plus month good relationship with my boys seriously be ruined over a trivial sports game? After all the laughs, all the times we've been there for each other, I've taken care of you and you of me, all the meals we shared, all the games we played, all the deep talks and time we spent together? Is it over? Will I go home thinking my boys don't want anything to do with me?"
Lots of questions. Lots of loneliness. It's not like there are other boys staff here my age, so the boys are my social life and joy and love and everything else. I kept praying and waiting. What else was I to do?
Friday night after vespers, all those still faithful to the cause gathered for choir. Only four boys showed up initially. We began to practice our last time, thinking that it would just be us.
Wow how the devil has messed with the waters on this one. He was doing a great job. However, I knew our God would do a better job.
In the middle of practice, all of a sudden, two of the 3 boys who had actually quit choir, came walking in and sat down to sing. Alabanza! It was so much that all the girls began to cry during the next song and we had to stop and start over many a time. During the next song, during one of the choruses, I heard that deep base section that I hadn't heard in a couple of days and thought I would never hear again. It filled my heart with joy and my eyes did sweat a bit.
I knew it didn't mean that we were ok personally. But I knew the Lord would still be able to do work through them. And that was a bless moment. Cause it's all about Jesus.
We sang our hearts out and prayed a thanksgiving prayer. I'm sure the Joy was nil compared to the joy heaven receives when a soul comes back to Christ after going astray, after that sheep has been found.
Now we were just waiting for the morning. Not all of the normally faithful boys showed up for whatever reason. We weren't sure what the next day would hold. We gave it to Jesus.
The next morning there was excitement and nervousness in the air. The boys were getting up, but I wasn't sure for what. I just continued to say quick prayers of conviction upon the boys hearts that they would not let the devil win.
When it came time to go, only three of the boys got in the truck as it pulled out. I thought we had been defeated; but then I remembered that angels would sing. Even when others don't accept the call, the Lord will raise others up. I was just sad that the boys had allowed this issue to go this far. All over football.
But then I saw hope. We pulled down past the hostel where the boys normally hop on the truck at last minute. Then, slowly but surely, every single boy came down! Hallelu! It truly was a sight and it took everything in me to not grin past where my lips would anatomically go.
They came for Jesus. And I was thankful.
I was only slightly worried. This was not a field trip for any who simply wanted to go to the city. This was a ministry, and so I expected all attending to lift their voices and not just be enjoying in the pews. I wasn't sure how I would handle that kind of selfishness.
The ride to the church was long and rough with lots of vomiting and car sickness. But eventually made it.
We all got dressed and ready to sing. Well, all but one. This was the one boy who no one seems to understand. He's displayed a lot of selfishness and self-centeredness in the past and can be the hardest of my boys to love just because of his personality. When I asked him about wearing a white shirt and tie for the performance, he said he didn't need it. I was just thinking he was going to sing in his purple unbuttoned shirt. I wasn't going to argue because he was at least there. When we sat in our seats, ready to sing, he was in the other pews, watching us. It was then that I realized that he was not going to sing.
My blood began to boil. I was mad, upset, disappointed and just saddened that someone could make such a decision and be like, "whatever." However, I quickly prayed for forgiveness and asked the Lord to help me focus. I knew the devil was trying to distract me and have my mind back on myself and not on this mission.
In the end, even with all the struggle of trying to run the program smoothly, I think the Lord blessed. It was all pretty nice. The people were blessed, we were blessed, I was.
When we left that day, from our final choir performance, I remembered my boys. One of them actually approached me to help him tie his tie that he really likes. He didn't have to do that. Some of the others looked at me and one actually made a joke.
Maybe there was hope. Maybe I wouldn't be forever alone for the next month and a half. That would be miserable. My boys are much of why I'm here. I never had plans on leaving early, but they are the reason I don't want to ever leave. I think the wall in between us will slowly slowly come crashing down. Maybe not with all of them, but I'll take what I can. Even one more of my sons returning is worth a bunch of joy.
Some many Jesus parallels.
I'll be patient for now. And have hope.
Here's to hoping.
Bless. Alabanza. Praise.
Kameron Carter
All this drama has kept the wall up with my boys. They dug their own hole and then put a wall there, not allowing me or anyone to help them out. It's been a rough couple of days.
We've all been praying a lot. The girls especially have been trying to convince the 3 boys who quit choir practice to join so that we can have the whole group together and praise Jesus as a team. After their practice this Wednesday, they actually initiated a group prayer session where they all kneeled, held hands in a circle and prayed for each boy individually. There are about 15 girls so the boys were showered plenty. My heart was so filled with joy when I saw it happening. My kids believed in Jesus.
Even though it's been sticky for me and 7 of the 9 boys, I've been thankful to have two this whole time. My son Muthu has been the same; he always comes to check on me, asks me how his hair looks, talks to me about his love for the midwife students, and brings me all his medical problems. We still hang out and go places. He wasn't even phased by all the drama.
Suban is a very joyous easy going guy and also seemed fine with everything. Moreover, he doesn't think I did anything wrong or out of place. He sees thing my way more often than the other boys (not that that is what it's about). So there has been no change there.
The rest of the boys, especially some of the younger ones have really been side stepping me and giving me the cold shoulder. So I've been praying fervently and giving them space.
My biggest prayer for them has been for God to help them find peace in their hearts and let go, and not let anything get in the way of them doing work for the Lord: not lack of money, lack of talent, schisms involving some members (me). I don't want them to get in the habit of ever rejecting a call to minister with the Gospel; it could be an eternal life and death scenario.
I've solicited prayers from home too. I can feel them falling from above. Praying has become a wonderful thing for me. Something I very much enjoy and have been doing more often. It's becoming more and more of my first resort instead of my last.
We were a little worried about the all-boys practice this Thursday. Who would show up? Who would not? The performance was this weekend and we needed all the voices to be lifted up. Prayers were being sent up on all sides and the girls were trying their hardest to convince the boys to come.
That Thursday at all-boys practice, only a few boys showed up. Some of the other boys had been recruited to not sing. Even though it was sad, we continued to pray and were convinced that angels would sing with us on sabbath.
I continued to give space to the boys without letting them just do whatever they wanted. It was awkward at times but I knew that they would be unable to interact with me for awhile. I began to ask the other kids, who knew them longer, how long the tension and grudge would last. Some said it would last until I left. Others said it wouldn't last long. Still others said it would just depend on each boy specifically. I was nervous regardless.
"Could a 7-plus month good relationship with my boys seriously be ruined over a trivial sports game? After all the laughs, all the times we've been there for each other, I've taken care of you and you of me, all the meals we shared, all the games we played, all the deep talks and time we spent together? Is it over? Will I go home thinking my boys don't want anything to do with me?"
Lots of questions. Lots of loneliness. It's not like there are other boys staff here my age, so the boys are my social life and joy and love and everything else. I kept praying and waiting. What else was I to do?
Friday night after vespers, all those still faithful to the cause gathered for choir. Only four boys showed up initially. We began to practice our last time, thinking that it would just be us.
Wow how the devil has messed with the waters on this one. He was doing a great job. However, I knew our God would do a better job.
In the middle of practice, all of a sudden, two of the 3 boys who had actually quit choir, came walking in and sat down to sing. Alabanza! It was so much that all the girls began to cry during the next song and we had to stop and start over many a time. During the next song, during one of the choruses, I heard that deep base section that I hadn't heard in a couple of days and thought I would never hear again. It filled my heart with joy and my eyes did sweat a bit.
I knew it didn't mean that we were ok personally. But I knew the Lord would still be able to do work through them. And that was a bless moment. Cause it's all about Jesus.
We sang our hearts out and prayed a thanksgiving prayer. I'm sure the Joy was nil compared to the joy heaven receives when a soul comes back to Christ after going astray, after that sheep has been found.
Now we were just waiting for the morning. Not all of the normally faithful boys showed up for whatever reason. We weren't sure what the next day would hold. We gave it to Jesus.
The next morning there was excitement and nervousness in the air. The boys were getting up, but I wasn't sure for what. I just continued to say quick prayers of conviction upon the boys hearts that they would not let the devil win.
When it came time to go, only three of the boys got in the truck as it pulled out. I thought we had been defeated; but then I remembered that angels would sing. Even when others don't accept the call, the Lord will raise others up. I was just sad that the boys had allowed this issue to go this far. All over football.
But then I saw hope. We pulled down past the hostel where the boys normally hop on the truck at last minute. Then, slowly but surely, every single boy came down! Hallelu! It truly was a sight and it took everything in me to not grin past where my lips would anatomically go.
They came for Jesus. And I was thankful.
I was only slightly worried. This was not a field trip for any who simply wanted to go to the city. This was a ministry, and so I expected all attending to lift their voices and not just be enjoying in the pews. I wasn't sure how I would handle that kind of selfishness.
The ride to the church was long and rough with lots of vomiting and car sickness. But eventually made it.
We all got dressed and ready to sing. Well, all but one. This was the one boy who no one seems to understand. He's displayed a lot of selfishness and self-centeredness in the past and can be the hardest of my boys to love just because of his personality. When I asked him about wearing a white shirt and tie for the performance, he said he didn't need it. I was just thinking he was going to sing in his purple unbuttoned shirt. I wasn't going to argue because he was at least there. When we sat in our seats, ready to sing, he was in the other pews, watching us. It was then that I realized that he was not going to sing.
My blood began to boil. I was mad, upset, disappointed and just saddened that someone could make such a decision and be like, "whatever." However, I quickly prayed for forgiveness and asked the Lord to help me focus. I knew the devil was trying to distract me and have my mind back on myself and not on this mission.
In the end, even with all the struggle of trying to run the program smoothly, I think the Lord blessed. It was all pretty nice. The people were blessed, we were blessed, I was.
When we left that day, from our final choir performance, I remembered my boys. One of them actually approached me to help him tie his tie that he really likes. He didn't have to do that. Some of the others looked at me and one actually made a joke.
Maybe there was hope. Maybe I wouldn't be forever alone for the next month and a half. That would be miserable. My boys are much of why I'm here. I never had plans on leaving early, but they are the reason I don't want to ever leave. I think the wall in between us will slowly slowly come crashing down. Maybe not with all of them, but I'll take what I can. Even one more of my sons returning is worth a bunch of joy.
Some many Jesus parallels.
I'll be patient for now. And have hope.
Here's to hoping.
Bless. Alabanza. Praise.
Kameron Carter
Sunday, October 4, 2015
The Spirit of Rebellion
"The act of rebellion is like falling on one's own sword. You stab yourself in the back and nothing good comes out of it."
That night at choir practice, 3 of the boys simply didn't come. This is right after we had our talk concerning their punishment in which I met much resistance. They had talked about not doing choir anymore, however I didn't think they would quit on the last week before our big last performance. I knew it was an act of rebellion and unfortunately, everyone suffered for it.
I thought I would talk to them in the morning.
I talked to my dad and my director both about the drama going on in the hostel. I was surprised when they thought that I handled the situation with wisdom, love, and a firm hand. They both told me to not let up on the consequence, especially since there was attitude concerning when I would tell them my decision and 3 of the boys didn't come to worship. So the decision was made. Don't back down.
The boys were up quite early that next morning; this was odd. I always had to drag the boys out of bed to get them anywhere. And now they were up... But they were conspiring. Little whispers rang clear through the wall.
"We should go play football now. He didn't say we couldn't play in the morning time."
This was indeed a true statement. I didn't mention anything about morning. That's because no one ever got up in the morning for it. They always slept. Still, would playing in the morning negate the punishment I initially gave?
I prayed about it all and decided to wait. I would only dig deeper into a decision if they decided to play.
I got up and walked around, as if I was just roaming and poked my head around. Some of the boys were exercising in the hostel. Others were at the far field in the distance, doing something. It was very unclear as to their activities. I didn't think I saw a football. I decided not to assume and think the best of my boys. They passed the morning test.
The rest of the day went well. It was a little awkward in class as there was still some anger and frustration. Then I went to work with the kids down at the river. We were collecting rocks. I did my share of work and had a great time with all my kids. Then I retired to my house for some other work.
Close to 4:30 pm the boys came up from work. They were excited, thinking they were finally up early enough to play football. When they asked about their punishment, I told them that everything was the same. Saddened and frustrated, they departed. I went back to my room for more work.
A little time past, and then I heard it again: the whispers of rebellion.
"We should go play football. This punishment is not fair and stupid. I won't follow. Come on guys lets go play" along with other things were said.
My heart began to weep at this moment. "Don't do it guys" I thought. Their decision would be completely reckless, selfish, and unwise. There was nothing good that could come out of this decision. I knew my boys better and truly didn't think they would go down this road.
It got quiet. Then I heard the moving of feet again. I looked outside and was completely in awe of what I saw. There they were, six of the boys walking down the hill with one of their balls. I had only taken one of the 3 balls they had in an effort to help them not be tempted to play. Yet it didn't work. My heart truly was heavy. "Why would they do this to themselves?! You're playing a game that you're not going to win. Let's not play this game!"
Some of my thoughts.
Just to be sure that all weren't guilty of this rebellious act, I walked through the hostel to see if any of the boys were there. There were two faithful. One was doing other non related work instead of exercising, while the other was exercising as I instructed. He also stopped as I instructed and went and took bath at the right time as well. I was very happy and I had a little bit of faith restored in my boys. However, my heart still hurt for the other 6, the ones who decided to choose sacrifice over obedience.
It made me think of me and Jesus. Very often I make the rebellious decision even though my heart and mind clearly know the way of the Lord. How their actions mirrored the life of a sinner and our loving God. Even though our God loves us from his bleeding forehead to his pierced feet, disobedience and sin have their consequence.
I went and informed my director about their behavior. I felt like a tattle-tell. He witnessed the rebellion as well with his own eyes. He wrote the names down of those who offended and told me he would deal with it.
When the boys returned at 5:35, I didn't say anything. Not only had they blatantly disobeyed my rules, they didn't even come up at the right time. They were 20 min late. A little late for my comfort. In the end they were on time for worship, but still my heart was heavy with the trouble that was about to come for them. I let them live in a state of ignorance for awhile. But I knew what was coming. I almost didn't want it to come.
The next morning after worship, our director called the boys together. My heart was thumping, for I felt something rough about to unfold.
I was called in about 20 min after the boys. When I walked in the room, I could feel and see the tension and anger in the boy's body language. I sat down. Then our director spoke
"The boys claim they are always on time."
I almost cursed out loud. But Jesus took the wheel. Seriously. I was not ready for that statement.
I gained my composure and spoke. I explained to Major that the boys's tardiness and inability to follow simple rules was the reason why we were having these issues. Therefore that was not even a good excuse or a valid one at all.
No one defended themselves, so Major Sir (our director) spoke. He told the boys that the problem wasn't about them playing games. It was about their attitude towards the games. The campus doesn't even support sports; however we have let the boys play for the time that we have. The games weren't necessarily a right but a gift.
"Why can't you play games for just one week. That's all we're asking. Can you guys do that?!" Major said.
"No, we can do it. We can not play if you tell us not to play." That was the voice of one of the youngest boys who happens to lack the most maturity and was the main voice who spoke out the past couple of days. However it was said with such attitude like "whatever, you won't take it away. We don't care. We're calling your bluff"
His response caught my attention. "Uh oh. Don't do that. One of the worst things you can do with authority when you're in trouble is to have attitude and be smart to the mouth. That will always end bad"
My thoughts
Major responded with a quick come back. "Then why aren't you following the rules? What do you want? Do you want us to take away all the games?! We can take away games completely. We can just say no more games from this point on. Do you want us to take away the games?!"
My eyes lit up as he said this. I knew very well that someone was going to respond with a wise crack comment and ruin it all. And as soon as this thought crossed my mind, it became reality.
That same boy, young, angry, and quick to speak, piped up with a, "Yea! Take away the games. We don't need to play at all. It's ok. Just get rid of them." All with the same attitude. But worse.
I ran my head into a wall in my imagination. "DUMB!!"
The other 5 boys were in shock and their eyes got wide. But no one said a thing.
Major broke the silence. "Alright. No more games at all. No more football, no more volleyball, no games, nothing! If that's what you want, then we'll give it to you. No more games from this point onward until further notice."
More silence as the boys seemed to take it all in. Then one of them finally said something. "Wait sir! Just take away football. We want volleyball and the other games. Just take football."
However, his words were unable to dig them out of the hole that my young son dug for them.
"It's too late" said Major. "Your friend has already spoken for you. We will give you what you want. No more games at all. You are dismissed"
The boys left with their heads down and anger in their faces and hearts. So sad and unfortunate to watch. Then three of the boys came to the table to talk to Major.
They asked if they could stop choir because they didn't like it anymore and weren't enjoying it. They didn't know if it was an option because I had told them it wasn't since we were doing it as our worship and they were so involved in it.
Major told them to talk to Alex, the choir director and then have her decide. So they left.
I was so mad. I didn't want them to be able to quit. I knew the only reason they wanted to quit is because they were getting back at me, and the choir was kinda the source of them getting in trouble. They dug and fell into their own hole and now they were trying to spitefully, with revenge and selfishness, take down everyone else with them too. Their decision was going to negatively affect everyone: the rest of the boys, the girls, our choir director, the church if we went to sing, and most importantly themselves. They were going to miss out on doing a service work for the Lord because of football. I understood they were upset but this behavior was beyond me to quite understand.
When we brought Alex into the office, she told us that the boys had just come and talked to her and she couldn't convince them otherwise. At first I was for them staying in the choir because it was going to severely affect everyone. However, in the end, we decided it wasn't smart to force them to sing, in case they had some plans to sabotage the songs or the event. Better to trust in God and have faith that angels would sing with us.
And so that's what we did. We let them have their way. We decided it better to pray and try and convince them to join then do anything by force.
Everything was sticky and sad. It was that moment that I felt a big wall divide the boys and I, and I wasn't sure how it was going to be knocked down, if it would be moved at all.
I'm not sure what's going to happen. I just know that I've just lost my boys and I'm not sure if I'll get them back.
Mercy.
Kameron Carter
That night at choir practice, 3 of the boys simply didn't come. This is right after we had our talk concerning their punishment in which I met much resistance. They had talked about not doing choir anymore, however I didn't think they would quit on the last week before our big last performance. I knew it was an act of rebellion and unfortunately, everyone suffered for it.
I thought I would talk to them in the morning.
I talked to my dad and my director both about the drama going on in the hostel. I was surprised when they thought that I handled the situation with wisdom, love, and a firm hand. They both told me to not let up on the consequence, especially since there was attitude concerning when I would tell them my decision and 3 of the boys didn't come to worship. So the decision was made. Don't back down.
The boys were up quite early that next morning; this was odd. I always had to drag the boys out of bed to get them anywhere. And now they were up... But they were conspiring. Little whispers rang clear through the wall.
"We should go play football now. He didn't say we couldn't play in the morning time."
This was indeed a true statement. I didn't mention anything about morning. That's because no one ever got up in the morning for it. They always slept. Still, would playing in the morning negate the punishment I initially gave?
I prayed about it all and decided to wait. I would only dig deeper into a decision if they decided to play.
I got up and walked around, as if I was just roaming and poked my head around. Some of the boys were exercising in the hostel. Others were at the far field in the distance, doing something. It was very unclear as to their activities. I didn't think I saw a football. I decided not to assume and think the best of my boys. They passed the morning test.
The rest of the day went well. It was a little awkward in class as there was still some anger and frustration. Then I went to work with the kids down at the river. We were collecting rocks. I did my share of work and had a great time with all my kids. Then I retired to my house for some other work.
Close to 4:30 pm the boys came up from work. They were excited, thinking they were finally up early enough to play football. When they asked about their punishment, I told them that everything was the same. Saddened and frustrated, they departed. I went back to my room for more work.
A little time past, and then I heard it again: the whispers of rebellion.
"We should go play football. This punishment is not fair and stupid. I won't follow. Come on guys lets go play" along with other things were said.
My heart began to weep at this moment. "Don't do it guys" I thought. Their decision would be completely reckless, selfish, and unwise. There was nothing good that could come out of this decision. I knew my boys better and truly didn't think they would go down this road.
It got quiet. Then I heard the moving of feet again. I looked outside and was completely in awe of what I saw. There they were, six of the boys walking down the hill with one of their balls. I had only taken one of the 3 balls they had in an effort to help them not be tempted to play. Yet it didn't work. My heart truly was heavy. "Why would they do this to themselves?! You're playing a game that you're not going to win. Let's not play this game!"
Some of my thoughts.
Just to be sure that all weren't guilty of this rebellious act, I walked through the hostel to see if any of the boys were there. There were two faithful. One was doing other non related work instead of exercising, while the other was exercising as I instructed. He also stopped as I instructed and went and took bath at the right time as well. I was very happy and I had a little bit of faith restored in my boys. However, my heart still hurt for the other 6, the ones who decided to choose sacrifice over obedience.
It made me think of me and Jesus. Very often I make the rebellious decision even though my heart and mind clearly know the way of the Lord. How their actions mirrored the life of a sinner and our loving God. Even though our God loves us from his bleeding forehead to his pierced feet, disobedience and sin have their consequence.
I went and informed my director about their behavior. I felt like a tattle-tell. He witnessed the rebellion as well with his own eyes. He wrote the names down of those who offended and told me he would deal with it.
When the boys returned at 5:35, I didn't say anything. Not only had they blatantly disobeyed my rules, they didn't even come up at the right time. They were 20 min late. A little late for my comfort. In the end they were on time for worship, but still my heart was heavy with the trouble that was about to come for them. I let them live in a state of ignorance for awhile. But I knew what was coming. I almost didn't want it to come.
The next morning after worship, our director called the boys together. My heart was thumping, for I felt something rough about to unfold.
I was called in about 20 min after the boys. When I walked in the room, I could feel and see the tension and anger in the boy's body language. I sat down. Then our director spoke
"The boys claim they are always on time."
I almost cursed out loud. But Jesus took the wheel. Seriously. I was not ready for that statement.
I gained my composure and spoke. I explained to Major that the boys's tardiness and inability to follow simple rules was the reason why we were having these issues. Therefore that was not even a good excuse or a valid one at all.
No one defended themselves, so Major Sir (our director) spoke. He told the boys that the problem wasn't about them playing games. It was about their attitude towards the games. The campus doesn't even support sports; however we have let the boys play for the time that we have. The games weren't necessarily a right but a gift.
"Why can't you play games for just one week. That's all we're asking. Can you guys do that?!" Major said.
"No, we can do it. We can not play if you tell us not to play." That was the voice of one of the youngest boys who happens to lack the most maturity and was the main voice who spoke out the past couple of days. However it was said with such attitude like "whatever, you won't take it away. We don't care. We're calling your bluff"
His response caught my attention. "Uh oh. Don't do that. One of the worst things you can do with authority when you're in trouble is to have attitude and be smart to the mouth. That will always end bad"
My thoughts
Major responded with a quick come back. "Then why aren't you following the rules? What do you want? Do you want us to take away all the games?! We can take away games completely. We can just say no more games from this point on. Do you want us to take away the games?!"
My eyes lit up as he said this. I knew very well that someone was going to respond with a wise crack comment and ruin it all. And as soon as this thought crossed my mind, it became reality.
That same boy, young, angry, and quick to speak, piped up with a, "Yea! Take away the games. We don't need to play at all. It's ok. Just get rid of them." All with the same attitude. But worse.
I ran my head into a wall in my imagination. "DUMB!!"
The other 5 boys were in shock and their eyes got wide. But no one said a thing.
Major broke the silence. "Alright. No more games at all. No more football, no more volleyball, no games, nothing! If that's what you want, then we'll give it to you. No more games from this point onward until further notice."
More silence as the boys seemed to take it all in. Then one of them finally said something. "Wait sir! Just take away football. We want volleyball and the other games. Just take football."
However, his words were unable to dig them out of the hole that my young son dug for them.
"It's too late" said Major. "Your friend has already spoken for you. We will give you what you want. No more games at all. You are dismissed"
The boys left with their heads down and anger in their faces and hearts. So sad and unfortunate to watch. Then three of the boys came to the table to talk to Major.
They asked if they could stop choir because they didn't like it anymore and weren't enjoying it. They didn't know if it was an option because I had told them it wasn't since we were doing it as our worship and they were so involved in it.
Major told them to talk to Alex, the choir director and then have her decide. So they left.
I was so mad. I didn't want them to be able to quit. I knew the only reason they wanted to quit is because they were getting back at me, and the choir was kinda the source of them getting in trouble. They dug and fell into their own hole and now they were trying to spitefully, with revenge and selfishness, take down everyone else with them too. Their decision was going to negatively affect everyone: the rest of the boys, the girls, our choir director, the church if we went to sing, and most importantly themselves. They were going to miss out on doing a service work for the Lord because of football. I understood they were upset but this behavior was beyond me to quite understand.
When we brought Alex into the office, she told us that the boys had just come and talked to her and she couldn't convince them otherwise. At first I was for them staying in the choir because it was going to severely affect everyone. However, in the end, we decided it wasn't smart to force them to sing, in case they had some plans to sabotage the songs or the event. Better to trust in God and have faith that angels would sing with us.
And so that's what we did. We let them have their way. We decided it better to pray and try and convince them to join then do anything by force.
Everything was sticky and sad. It was that moment that I felt a big wall divide the boys and I, and I wasn't sure how it was going to be knocked down, if it would be moved at all.
I'm not sure what's going to happen. I just know that I've just lost my boys and I'm not sure if I'll get them back.
Mercy.
Kameron Carter
Monday, September 28, 2015
Sir Kam 1, Enemy 1
"Parents and authority, take the time to listen to those underneath you. You may just find that you were even slightly wrong the whole time"
A shout out to parents for their difficult job of raising kids. A shout out to kids who have to bear it all when their parents make a mistake it raising them.
Being in authority is hard. Probably one of the hardest things I have ever done. Being a boys dean of kids who are pretty much your age is also very difficult. But how it has been such a growing experience.
Things have been a little more relaxed here on the compound and it has caused some problems for both the girls and the boys. As well I have passed the honeymoon stage with the kids, meaning that I no longer think they are perfect little angels, lacking flaws. We all have our flaws. They boys have been late to different functions recently, mainly evening worships. This would normally not be a problem; however we have been doing choir for about a month now and we have had limited time to practice every day (30 min) all that we know. Being late to this especially wastes our choir director's time and upsets her and prevent its from really doing anything productive.
One of the reasons of being late is because sometimes the boys play football late, and then they can't get ready in time for the worship. They have an hour to take a bath and eat and put on new clothes but sometimes they are unable to accomplish that in the time they are given. Sometimes however, work goes over time, and so they play over time, they don't get ready in time, they're late to our practice, they eat during study hall, they don't study, and it just continues.
So I've been getting on to them about being better stewards of their time. At first they were doing ok when the first punishment was given. Then they would fall off the wagon. Then they would get back on and then fall off again. Kinda up and down and our choir lady was getting fairly annoyed and upset.
So I began to threaten some of their free time with the intention that they would be more on time if football playing was on the line. It kinda worked. The whole time I felt like i was giving plenty grace and mercy.
But then they fell off the wagon again. And I saw defiance starting to arise
So this time I gave the full ultimatum: because they couldn't eat their food and get ready on time in that hour and balance their time, they wouldn't be able to play football for a week. Seems a little harsh.
Even though not all were fully guilty, the punishment was universal. I did this with the intention of having someone step up to the plate and lead the boys to get their stuff done because I don't want chaos to ensue when I leave.
Well as you can imagine, they didn't take it very well. After I finished talking, they let their opinions out about the nature of the situation, the punishment, other things, how they weren't going to obey and pretty much more plans of rebellion as a result of this punishment. I def don't agree with the last part
However, in it all their were some points made in it all: I couldn't punish them all because all weren't guilty, I didn't give them enough warning, I should have given them another chance, the punishment didn't fit the crime, they were late because sometimes they were late coming back from work which is why they played later and were thus late to everything else, etc.
Some points were valid. Others I didn't think so. In the end I still listened.
For I think it can be very easy to let power cloud judgment and skew a decision that is made. In other cases, sometimes, parents and authority are wrong and we make mistakes.
Even though I didn't believe in the spirit of rebellion as a result of the punishment, I did consider their last appeal.
One of my boys suggested that I didn't give them enough warning before giving a punishment and that I should allow them to prove themselves. So I would give them my watch and they would come up from playing on time, and everything else would work itself out.
I listened and told them I will consider their appeal as they very angrily left and griped and moaned concerning everything.
I'm thinking about it. I'm thinking about how Jesus give grace and mercy. And I'm wondering in what places have I made a mistake. In what places was I right. In what places were the kids being kids and in which cases were they being adults. It what place was I an adult and in what place was I a kid.
So many questions. I'm considering their proposition and even made a flow chart of the possible outcomes of this scenario.
I've been praying a lot.
Why is this all do hard!?
This story shall be continued. The outcome of it all shall be told.
May Jesus be in the center. And may God help us all.
Alabanza
* sorry I didn't spell check. I was in a rush *
Kameron Carter
A shout out to parents for their difficult job of raising kids. A shout out to kids who have to bear it all when their parents make a mistake it raising them.
Being in authority is hard. Probably one of the hardest things I have ever done. Being a boys dean of kids who are pretty much your age is also very difficult. But how it has been such a growing experience.
Things have been a little more relaxed here on the compound and it has caused some problems for both the girls and the boys. As well I have passed the honeymoon stage with the kids, meaning that I no longer think they are perfect little angels, lacking flaws. We all have our flaws. They boys have been late to different functions recently, mainly evening worships. This would normally not be a problem; however we have been doing choir for about a month now and we have had limited time to practice every day (30 min) all that we know. Being late to this especially wastes our choir director's time and upsets her and prevent its from really doing anything productive.
One of the reasons of being late is because sometimes the boys play football late, and then they can't get ready in time for the worship. They have an hour to take a bath and eat and put on new clothes but sometimes they are unable to accomplish that in the time they are given. Sometimes however, work goes over time, and so they play over time, they don't get ready in time, they're late to our practice, they eat during study hall, they don't study, and it just continues.
So I've been getting on to them about being better stewards of their time. At first they were doing ok when the first punishment was given. Then they would fall off the wagon. Then they would get back on and then fall off again. Kinda up and down and our choir lady was getting fairly annoyed and upset.
So I began to threaten some of their free time with the intention that they would be more on time if football playing was on the line. It kinda worked. The whole time I felt like i was giving plenty grace and mercy.
But then they fell off the wagon again. And I saw defiance starting to arise
So this time I gave the full ultimatum: because they couldn't eat their food and get ready on time in that hour and balance their time, they wouldn't be able to play football for a week. Seems a little harsh.
Even though not all were fully guilty, the punishment was universal. I did this with the intention of having someone step up to the plate and lead the boys to get their stuff done because I don't want chaos to ensue when I leave.
Well as you can imagine, they didn't take it very well. After I finished talking, they let their opinions out about the nature of the situation, the punishment, other things, how they weren't going to obey and pretty much more plans of rebellion as a result of this punishment. I def don't agree with the last part
However, in it all their were some points made in it all: I couldn't punish them all because all weren't guilty, I didn't give them enough warning, I should have given them another chance, the punishment didn't fit the crime, they were late because sometimes they were late coming back from work which is why they played later and were thus late to everything else, etc.
Some points were valid. Others I didn't think so. In the end I still listened.
For I think it can be very easy to let power cloud judgment and skew a decision that is made. In other cases, sometimes, parents and authority are wrong and we make mistakes.
Even though I didn't believe in the spirit of rebellion as a result of the punishment, I did consider their last appeal.
One of my boys suggested that I didn't give them enough warning before giving a punishment and that I should allow them to prove themselves. So I would give them my watch and they would come up from playing on time, and everything else would work itself out.
I listened and told them I will consider their appeal as they very angrily left and griped and moaned concerning everything.
I'm thinking about it. I'm thinking about how Jesus give grace and mercy. And I'm wondering in what places have I made a mistake. In what places was I right. In what places were the kids being kids and in which cases were they being adults. It what place was I an adult and in what place was I a kid.
So many questions. I'm considering their proposition and even made a flow chart of the possible outcomes of this scenario.
I've been praying a lot.
Why is this all do hard!?
This story shall be continued. The outcome of it all shall be told.
May Jesus be in the center. And may God help us all.
Alabanza
* sorry I didn't spell check. I was in a rush *
Kameron Carter
Thursday, September 10, 2015
Mosquito Nets
"How desperate are we for Jesus? Are we lying to ourselves by saying we're seeking him with all our hearts, but not even looking in His direction?"
I'm very thankful I have this pop-up mosquito net. It was probably the most useful thing I received before I came to India. It keeps the mosquitos away; and it does a good job about it too. I don't fear the diseased creatures breaking in during the middle of the night because there is a zipper door. I have enough space and its kinda homey. I feel safe.
I enjoy watching the mosquitos from the outside, trying very desperately to get inside and suck my blood. They fly right outside the mesh, injecting into air, for they can smell my blood, but are unable to get close enough to get the prize. It's kinda sad.
To watch them struggle. "Your desperation is serious" I think.
Then it came to me...
Are we trying very desperately to reach an unattainable God? This is more in a sense that we are trying and trying and flying around this net trying to get the prize. Trying to get to God. Trying to get His love, feel His warmth, receive His blessing trying to know Him. But we can't.
Two things come to mind: are we even looking in the right direction? And has the door to Christ been open this whole time but we've placed this barrier that blinds us to the entrance, open so wide?
When we search for God, it can be so easy to start off searching in the wrong direction. Some may seek Him in things, or in feelings, or even in himself/herself. Beliefs have arisen that there is a little bit of God in each of us, as if we ourselves are God. And oh, how so dangerous.
And so, we search for God. We look under rocks, around mountains, behind Him, around Him. We're simply looking in the wrong direction. Instead we should be opening His word, or closing our eyes to pray, asking Him to reveal Himself. No I don't believe that He will reveal all of Who He is because then we'd die. But the word does say that we shall find Him if we seek him with all our heart. And I think that's more than praying to God once and waiting for something to happen for 5 min. It's more than reading the bible a couple of times and thinking, "well I got nothing from this book of hieroglyphics and confusion." I think it's more like taking a break from all your daily plans and sitting at home, alone, and waiting for God to whisper. Or begging him to please open up his mouth and speak, praying for real upon your knees until they blister. That's at least getting a good start.
Or are we searching God while at the same time putting up our walls or our nets, our webs and our screen doors. And the actual entrance to get to God is easily visible around the corner. And if we just take the time to look around the barrier we have put up or simply take it down, then the way to Jesus will just be there. Kinda like if I unzipped my mosquito net, leaving the entrance to blood paradise open for all mosquitos to enjoy. I think the mosquito would be able to find its way easily.
Are we finding our way? Can we simply get past the barriers and distractions. Can we place it all at Jesus's feet? Can we put it behind us? Can we take it, douse it with gasoline, and set it ablaze because it's just so in the way?
Can we let go and let God, so they say?
I'm not sure if I have. I think to my self as I lie here in my mosquito net. Have I been here in this life, in India, for this long and am still having trouble finding God.
Truth of the matter is that He's already found me but we know that even a drowning person in clear danger can resist help if they want to.
So my appeal to myself and to you is this: take the time to discover God. Don't just be one who knows about Him. Be someone who knows Him. Be the person that when asked about Jesus, you are readily able to say and explain with conviction that "Jesus is everything."
Take down the walls if they're there. Turn in the right direction if you're turned around. Finally, be like the mosquito and yearn earnestly for blood.
For Jesus blood, and everything else that come with it.
Bless.
I'm very thankful I have this pop-up mosquito net. It was probably the most useful thing I received before I came to India. It keeps the mosquitos away; and it does a good job about it too. I don't fear the diseased creatures breaking in during the middle of the night because there is a zipper door. I have enough space and its kinda homey. I feel safe.
I enjoy watching the mosquitos from the outside, trying very desperately to get inside and suck my blood. They fly right outside the mesh, injecting into air, for they can smell my blood, but are unable to get close enough to get the prize. It's kinda sad.
To watch them struggle. "Your desperation is serious" I think.
Then it came to me...
Are we trying very desperately to reach an unattainable God? This is more in a sense that we are trying and trying and flying around this net trying to get the prize. Trying to get to God. Trying to get His love, feel His warmth, receive His blessing trying to know Him. But we can't.
Two things come to mind: are we even looking in the right direction? And has the door to Christ been open this whole time but we've placed this barrier that blinds us to the entrance, open so wide?
When we search for God, it can be so easy to start off searching in the wrong direction. Some may seek Him in things, or in feelings, or even in himself/herself. Beliefs have arisen that there is a little bit of God in each of us, as if we ourselves are God. And oh, how so dangerous.
And so, we search for God. We look under rocks, around mountains, behind Him, around Him. We're simply looking in the wrong direction. Instead we should be opening His word, or closing our eyes to pray, asking Him to reveal Himself. No I don't believe that He will reveal all of Who He is because then we'd die. But the word does say that we shall find Him if we seek him with all our heart. And I think that's more than praying to God once and waiting for something to happen for 5 min. It's more than reading the bible a couple of times and thinking, "well I got nothing from this book of hieroglyphics and confusion." I think it's more like taking a break from all your daily plans and sitting at home, alone, and waiting for God to whisper. Or begging him to please open up his mouth and speak, praying for real upon your knees until they blister. That's at least getting a good start.
Or are we searching God while at the same time putting up our walls or our nets, our webs and our screen doors. And the actual entrance to get to God is easily visible around the corner. And if we just take the time to look around the barrier we have put up or simply take it down, then the way to Jesus will just be there. Kinda like if I unzipped my mosquito net, leaving the entrance to blood paradise open for all mosquitos to enjoy. I think the mosquito would be able to find its way easily.
Are we finding our way? Can we simply get past the barriers and distractions. Can we place it all at Jesus's feet? Can we put it behind us? Can we take it, douse it with gasoline, and set it ablaze because it's just so in the way?
Can we let go and let God, so they say?
I'm not sure if I have. I think to my self as I lie here in my mosquito net. Have I been here in this life, in India, for this long and am still having trouble finding God.
Truth of the matter is that He's already found me but we know that even a drowning person in clear danger can resist help if they want to.
So my appeal to myself and to you is this: take the time to discover God. Don't just be one who knows about Him. Be someone who knows Him. Be the person that when asked about Jesus, you are readily able to say and explain with conviction that "Jesus is everything."
Take down the walls if they're there. Turn in the right direction if you're turned around. Finally, be like the mosquito and yearn earnestly for blood.
For Jesus blood, and everything else that come with it.
Bless.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
The Countdown
"Spend more time focusing on the present rather than the future. It's not like you'll ever reach tomorrow. When you get there, it's called today."
They always say the coming is a lot faster than the going. You know, like coming home from a long trip or finishing the other half of a good milkshake or burrito. It starts off slow but then finishes fast.
That's what I feel is about to happen. Not that much of this experience has been slow. One day I get here and don't know anyone; the next day, I'm laughing with my kids, going to church and sabbath school, and eating with them like this is simply my life.
It feels like yesterday we had that storm that blew down half of the bamboo houses on the campus; and it has to have been last week when little obi was born or when I held Samuel months after he almost lost his life when his mother made a grave mistake.
My kids are actually my kids now and this is my home. No place is perfect. I still miss having a fridge to keep my food fresh and a couple days ago I found a colony of ants mating underneath my pillow; but that just comes with being in a jungle.
We almost flipped in the jeep off a cliff into a rice field a weekend ago. Fairly normal. It was crazy to see how calm we all were as the tire slid slowly slowly (casni casni) to the edge. We were singing "Jesus Take the Wheel" to commemorate that moment. But even times like that seem so distant and so close.
I'm sure these last 3 months are going to go sooo speed only. Don't tell!
I've had a countdown pretty much since I got here. Especially since I realized how hard it was going to be to come back. When I open the app and see the time trickling away, I cry a little inside.
Today one of my oldest kids suban and I were riding in the back of a truck on the way back home and he mentioned how beautiful the setting sun rays were in the trees. Like a forest on fire, dancing with such emotions.
"This is my home" I thought. A little jungle in the middle of a piece of India that most people don't know about.
It's this place where I've been able to talk with my boys late at night about nothing, tell them about my friends back home, make jokes; and you realize, man I've got some good kids. They really are the best
I know I pretty must only talk about my kids when I write, but they are where most of my memories are.
And I'm making some more during the last months, during the last nights in the jungle, during the last tiresome days visiting patients, the last times laughing like none other, the last times of living like this. It's quite something.
We'll make memories and so much more as we count back down.
5...4...3...2...1
Alabanza
Kameron Carter
They always say the coming is a lot faster than the going. You know, like coming home from a long trip or finishing the other half of a good milkshake or burrito. It starts off slow but then finishes fast.
That's what I feel is about to happen. Not that much of this experience has been slow. One day I get here and don't know anyone; the next day, I'm laughing with my kids, going to church and sabbath school, and eating with them like this is simply my life.
It feels like yesterday we had that storm that blew down half of the bamboo houses on the campus; and it has to have been last week when little obi was born or when I held Samuel months after he almost lost his life when his mother made a grave mistake.
My kids are actually my kids now and this is my home. No place is perfect. I still miss having a fridge to keep my food fresh and a couple days ago I found a colony of ants mating underneath my pillow; but that just comes with being in a jungle.
We almost flipped in the jeep off a cliff into a rice field a weekend ago. Fairly normal. It was crazy to see how calm we all were as the tire slid slowly slowly (casni casni) to the edge. We were singing "Jesus Take the Wheel" to commemorate that moment. But even times like that seem so distant and so close.
I'm sure these last 3 months are going to go sooo speed only. Don't tell!
I've had a countdown pretty much since I got here. Especially since I realized how hard it was going to be to come back. When I open the app and see the time trickling away, I cry a little inside.
Today one of my oldest kids suban and I were riding in the back of a truck on the way back home and he mentioned how beautiful the setting sun rays were in the trees. Like a forest on fire, dancing with such emotions.
"This is my home" I thought. A little jungle in the middle of a piece of India that most people don't know about.
It's this place where I've been able to talk with my boys late at night about nothing, tell them about my friends back home, make jokes; and you realize, man I've got some good kids. They really are the best
I know I pretty must only talk about my kids when I write, but they are where most of my memories are.
And I'm making some more during the last months, during the last nights in the jungle, during the last tiresome days visiting patients, the last times laughing like none other, the last times of living like this. It's quite something.
We'll make memories and so much more as we count back down.
5...4...3...2...1
Alabanza
Kameron Carter
Monday, August 31, 2015
No Bed to Eat Sleep Rice
"I'd rather be the poorest Jesus follower than the richest follower of anything else."
Two things ring true about the current state of my life: I'm so proud of my kids. Moreover, we're poor. In fact we're so poor that the boys' joke is that they have no blanket to sleep or "food to eat rice." It's literally said like that in a variety of ways.
I mean we really are poor. We have these rare things called chairs here that go missing like chameleons in a forest. It seems like we only have 10. In fact today I spent 10 min of class in search for chairs to sit on for me and my students. Earlier in the day, I didn't have a seat to sit on in my own room cause I loaned it to my kids for class. This is just one example of the daily struggle.
Considering this, it's wild that we recently started a choir. The kids are remarkably good to not know music or have ever been in a choir before. Like they are really good. We've been learning a song called Gentle Voice.
So nice.
We are actually good enough that we volunteered ourselves to sing in the city church for their conference they were having. Humility, I know. The kids are a little uneasy about the event but as the days are drawing nearer, they are actually getting excited.
Tonight we sung for vespers. Sounded Paká. And that's all it took. The kids seemed to be a little more ready. Ella made the comment that the boys should all wear belts, at least, for the performance we were having at church.
I laughed and said, "ha! We're so poor we don't have blanket to sleep. You think the boys have belts?!"
Truth being told, I had been asking the boys about belts since I got here. Then I discovered that they only had two underwear, which pretty much brought me to tears. In fact, as a whole, the boys don't have a whole lot. Most of the kids don't have much.
I kinda see the choir as one of those underdog movies waiting to be directed. You know, the one where some poor jungle kids get a choir director from America who believes in them. The kids are so poor all they eat is rice and potato for every meal. The don't have blankets to sleep or belts to wear or ties to look nice. They don't read music and have never sung in a choir before. They aren't really good at listening either. However, the determined director and the helping staff believe in them and they work and work and work and make their way to the top, facing many difficulties in the journey, like not being able to make it to a performance because it would have cost them their lives to drive the treacherous road; or meeting a bad guy who's sole purpose is to destroy the group. And at some point all hope would be lost and the movie would be terrible if they didn't come out on top and win the championship singing competition
As an Adventist Indian movie though, the actors and actresses would be very modest and there would be many allusions to Ellen white and maybe some really sketchy rhythmic movement that wouldn't be called dancing. All that jazz. As well, Doug Batchelor or Dwight Nelson would have to make a guest appearance.
Sigh...
However, even with all this, my kids are rich. They are rich in Jesus. Some of these kids are serious in their little minds about the work they want to do for Christ. As well, they reflect Christ in their actions, thoughts, and conduct. It's insightful and warming. Some of them help me want to be a better Christian just because of the way they reflect Christ: him increasing and then decreasing.
And so I think to myself, am I poor here or in the States? When I get to America I will come back to the land of expensive plenty. But even though I will come back dirt broke and probably be living in a box next to a chipotle and ice cream shop, will I be rich?
Will I be rich in Christ?
Are you/me/we rich in Jesus?
Does his mercy pour from our lips when dealing with those who don't deserve?
Is forgiveness given freely to those who have hurt us brutally?
Is godly Love (for God is love) being expressed to every blessed man, woman and child that we contact?
Are we slightly rich or just a little blessed with Jesus. If he's not our everything, well then we need to rethink where we are. Our time is short, so why waste it?
So no matter what, consider greatly who you're following (your riches and wealth) especially since being the richest Jesus follower is much better than being the richest man of anything else.
Anything more?
Not really?
Hallelu
Kameron Carter
Two things ring true about the current state of my life: I'm so proud of my kids. Moreover, we're poor. In fact we're so poor that the boys' joke is that they have no blanket to sleep or "food to eat rice." It's literally said like that in a variety of ways.
I mean we really are poor. We have these rare things called chairs here that go missing like chameleons in a forest. It seems like we only have 10. In fact today I spent 10 min of class in search for chairs to sit on for me and my students. Earlier in the day, I didn't have a seat to sit on in my own room cause I loaned it to my kids for class. This is just one example of the daily struggle.
Considering this, it's wild that we recently started a choir. The kids are remarkably good to not know music or have ever been in a choir before. Like they are really good. We've been learning a song called Gentle Voice.
So nice.
We are actually good enough that we volunteered ourselves to sing in the city church for their conference they were having. Humility, I know. The kids are a little uneasy about the event but as the days are drawing nearer, they are actually getting excited.
Tonight we sung for vespers. Sounded Paká. And that's all it took. The kids seemed to be a little more ready. Ella made the comment that the boys should all wear belts, at least, for the performance we were having at church.
I laughed and said, "ha! We're so poor we don't have blanket to sleep. You think the boys have belts?!"
Truth being told, I had been asking the boys about belts since I got here. Then I discovered that they only had two underwear, which pretty much brought me to tears. In fact, as a whole, the boys don't have a whole lot. Most of the kids don't have much.
I kinda see the choir as one of those underdog movies waiting to be directed. You know, the one where some poor jungle kids get a choir director from America who believes in them. The kids are so poor all they eat is rice and potato for every meal. The don't have blankets to sleep or belts to wear or ties to look nice. They don't read music and have never sung in a choir before. They aren't really good at listening either. However, the determined director and the helping staff believe in them and they work and work and work and make their way to the top, facing many difficulties in the journey, like not being able to make it to a performance because it would have cost them their lives to drive the treacherous road; or meeting a bad guy who's sole purpose is to destroy the group. And at some point all hope would be lost and the movie would be terrible if they didn't come out on top and win the championship singing competition
As an Adventist Indian movie though, the actors and actresses would be very modest and there would be many allusions to Ellen white and maybe some really sketchy rhythmic movement that wouldn't be called dancing. All that jazz. As well, Doug Batchelor or Dwight Nelson would have to make a guest appearance.
Sigh...
However, even with all this, my kids are rich. They are rich in Jesus. Some of these kids are serious in their little minds about the work they want to do for Christ. As well, they reflect Christ in their actions, thoughts, and conduct. It's insightful and warming. Some of them help me want to be a better Christian just because of the way they reflect Christ: him increasing and then decreasing.
And so I think to myself, am I poor here or in the States? When I get to America I will come back to the land of expensive plenty. But even though I will come back dirt broke and probably be living in a box next to a chipotle and ice cream shop, will I be rich?
Will I be rich in Christ?
Are you/me/we rich in Jesus?
Does his mercy pour from our lips when dealing with those who don't deserve?
Is forgiveness given freely to those who have hurt us brutally?
Is godly Love (for God is love) being expressed to every blessed man, woman and child that we contact?
Are we slightly rich or just a little blessed with Jesus. If he's not our everything, well then we need to rethink where we are. Our time is short, so why waste it?
So no matter what, consider greatly who you're following (your riches and wealth) especially since being the richest Jesus follower is much better than being the richest man of anything else.
Anything more?
Not really?
Hallelu
Kameron Carter
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Will I Make It?
"You never know what you truly had til it's gone" - adjusted from the words of my mother.
The kids are a lot. I mean a lot. I can't really explain it. They can just be so much of a joy and so much of a leech sucking all my energy away.
They make me laugh so hard, question who taught them their English, make me cry when I think about leaving them, make me frustrated to no end, and give me such joy that I can't explain.
My boys can be the most active at night right before bed. Getting them to bed is like fighting a hungry bear with a plastic spoon from Taco Bell, blind. Imagine 10, 15-22 year olds all trying to talk to you, all telling you jokes, all telling you stories, all talking over each other, yelling your name, pointing lights in your face, then getting mad when you're not listening. It's one of those culture things.
Just now, that happened. It was me trying to hear all the stories, and save my eyes from the lights, and pay full attention to all of them at once, and laugh, and make comments, all with them breathing down my neck.
It's often overwhelming. But somehow I get through. At times they tend to drive me up the wall and back.
But then I think, who is going to do this to me in Dec? Who will play the boys their bedtime stories because lets face it, we all like bedtime stories no matter how old we are. Who will work out with them, remind them that we have high standards as men of God, that they can't do the honeymoon before marriage, that I won't allow them to marry just any Babylonian woman or Jezebel, as we say here-- in the words of Sir Kam, "she better love The Lord, read her bible, Ellen white, and work with you to get this final message to the world." Who will put his foot in their throats when they step out of line because I don't believe in blatant foolishness. What will happen when I don't have Muthu constantly walking in and out of my room yelling my name, normally just to see what I'm doing, check on me, or ask me if he looks cool/pretty? What will happen when Timrei doesn't give me his normal good morning head nod and salute, or ask me if I have any chips? Will it be the same without Mama being so cunning, or Blessingson yelling my name and smiling from ear to ear when he sees me only one hour after previously seeing me? What about Roben always working out and talking about his muscles or Silas acting with his "I do what I want" personality? What about Robert and his Justin Beiber hair styles and comments like "I don't work out" when he's the fittest guy here? Who will translate all the boys' Indian English like Cornel. More like, who will talk Indian English only?
If the girls aren't around, who will consistently be sooo bad and act like the girls from Mean Girls, but not actually mean it? Or what about the 3 friends (Indian version) Juba, Tumpa, and Bimola? The ones who have the most distinctive laughs and always are together. They also cause the most trouble. But they love me to eat with them. Who will do that? Who will be the Eunice and find the joy out of talking all the time and simply being obnoxious? With no Elina, Kristina, Ruth, and Rumila, who will be my quiet gentle souls?
And most importantly, who is going to consistently be rude and call my name louder and louder until I acknowledge them although I'm CLEARLY talking to someone else? They ALL do that. It's a culture thing.
This is my life. And has been for the past 6 months today. Wow, 6 months... It doesn't feel like that at all. I remember much of life before India as if it was yesterday. I can kinda follow in my head my journey here. From the awkwardness of the first day and the swarm of languages to the simple sporadic electricity and cold water bucket baths outside (I have come to really enjoy the simplicity, freedom, and money saving principles of the cold water bucket shower. It shall be continued in later life)
Before it was foreign, but now, as Timrei says, "this is lifestyle."
Will I be able to make it when this lifestyle is over and return to the one in America where as a whole, people seem a little colder in personality, a little more about self and less about Jesus. Where the problems involve not being able to connect to the wifi at a store and the Starbucks running out of someone's favorite drink, and being frustrated because one can't figure out which of their 60 pairs of shoes will match this outfit perfectly.
Versus the boys not having time in the day to wash all their clothes by hand and therefore running out of their 3 underwear, one of which I bought simply because I. Just. Couldn't... Or trying to survive on a balanced diet that includes white rice and potatoes for at least two meals of every day, lacking real veggies and fruit. Or running out of drinking water and washing water on the daily and hoping and praying the pipe isn't broken again.
That's the lifestyle that will soon be over that I'm not sure I can give up. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited to eat some of the food I haven't had in awhile like Nutella and chipotle and ice cream. Besides that, I'm doing fine. Some small things may be falling apart at home, but I pray on the daily that God will take care of them. I think he is.
This is my lifestyle. And how will I make it without eating with my hands in a place that is completely acceptable. What about the villagers? What about their health that I question on the daily.
What about my kids? That's the real question. My now 26 kids.
My kids.
My kids.
Not ready to leave them, potentially for the first and the last time...
If we could but turn back the time
And still...
Bless
Kameron Carter
The kids are a lot. I mean a lot. I can't really explain it. They can just be so much of a joy and so much of a leech sucking all my energy away.
They make me laugh so hard, question who taught them their English, make me cry when I think about leaving them, make me frustrated to no end, and give me such joy that I can't explain.
My boys can be the most active at night right before bed. Getting them to bed is like fighting a hungry bear with a plastic spoon from Taco Bell, blind. Imagine 10, 15-22 year olds all trying to talk to you, all telling you jokes, all telling you stories, all talking over each other, yelling your name, pointing lights in your face, then getting mad when you're not listening. It's one of those culture things.
Just now, that happened. It was me trying to hear all the stories, and save my eyes from the lights, and pay full attention to all of them at once, and laugh, and make comments, all with them breathing down my neck.
It's often overwhelming. But somehow I get through. At times they tend to drive me up the wall and back.
But then I think, who is going to do this to me in Dec? Who will play the boys their bedtime stories because lets face it, we all like bedtime stories no matter how old we are. Who will work out with them, remind them that we have high standards as men of God, that they can't do the honeymoon before marriage, that I won't allow them to marry just any Babylonian woman or Jezebel, as we say here-- in the words of Sir Kam, "she better love The Lord, read her bible, Ellen white, and work with you to get this final message to the world." Who will put his foot in their throats when they step out of line because I don't believe in blatant foolishness. What will happen when I don't have Muthu constantly walking in and out of my room yelling my name, normally just to see what I'm doing, check on me, or ask me if he looks cool/pretty? What will happen when Timrei doesn't give me his normal good morning head nod and salute, or ask me if I have any chips? Will it be the same without Mama being so cunning, or Blessingson yelling my name and smiling from ear to ear when he sees me only one hour after previously seeing me? What about Roben always working out and talking about his muscles or Silas acting with his "I do what I want" personality? What about Robert and his Justin Beiber hair styles and comments like "I don't work out" when he's the fittest guy here? Who will translate all the boys' Indian English like Cornel. More like, who will talk Indian English only?
If the girls aren't around, who will consistently be sooo bad and act like the girls from Mean Girls, but not actually mean it? Or what about the 3 friends (Indian version) Juba, Tumpa, and Bimola? The ones who have the most distinctive laughs and always are together. They also cause the most trouble. But they love me to eat with them. Who will do that? Who will be the Eunice and find the joy out of talking all the time and simply being obnoxious? With no Elina, Kristina, Ruth, and Rumila, who will be my quiet gentle souls?
And most importantly, who is going to consistently be rude and call my name louder and louder until I acknowledge them although I'm CLEARLY talking to someone else? They ALL do that. It's a culture thing.
This is my life. And has been for the past 6 months today. Wow, 6 months... It doesn't feel like that at all. I remember much of life before India as if it was yesterday. I can kinda follow in my head my journey here. From the awkwardness of the first day and the swarm of languages to the simple sporadic electricity and cold water bucket baths outside (I have come to really enjoy the simplicity, freedom, and money saving principles of the cold water bucket shower. It shall be continued in later life)
Before it was foreign, but now, as Timrei says, "this is lifestyle."
Will I be able to make it when this lifestyle is over and return to the one in America where as a whole, people seem a little colder in personality, a little more about self and less about Jesus. Where the problems involve not being able to connect to the wifi at a store and the Starbucks running out of someone's favorite drink, and being frustrated because one can't figure out which of their 60 pairs of shoes will match this outfit perfectly.
Versus the boys not having time in the day to wash all their clothes by hand and therefore running out of their 3 underwear, one of which I bought simply because I. Just. Couldn't... Or trying to survive on a balanced diet that includes white rice and potatoes for at least two meals of every day, lacking real veggies and fruit. Or running out of drinking water and washing water on the daily and hoping and praying the pipe isn't broken again.
That's the lifestyle that will soon be over that I'm not sure I can give up. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited to eat some of the food I haven't had in awhile like Nutella and chipotle and ice cream. Besides that, I'm doing fine. Some small things may be falling apart at home, but I pray on the daily that God will take care of them. I think he is.
This is my lifestyle. And how will I make it without eating with my hands in a place that is completely acceptable. What about the villagers? What about their health that I question on the daily.
What about my kids? That's the real question. My now 26 kids.
My kids.
My kids.
Not ready to leave them, potentially for the first and the last time...
If we could but turn back the time
And still...
Bless
Kameron Carter
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
Mistaken for Jesus
"I want you to really consider this question and answer in your heart of hearts. How often are you mistaken for Jesus?" - Ella Tenold
It's very easy to get caught up in the day by day activities and responsibilities here on the Springs of Love campus. Teach some classes, help some patients, make meals, grade papers, be the official unofficial boys dean, spending time with my kids, all the things.
We can get so caught up in it all that we forget what was our appearance in it all. What did we say? How did we carry ourselves? Did we reflect Jesus?
When I go to the villages, I try to make an effort, if I remember, to pray with all of my patients. To be quite honest, I have learned to not have faith in the medicines I give or the things I tell the patients to do and so on. I'm simply just a 22 year old AS level graduate nurse who decided to practice nursing right outside of college in an Indian jungle instead of getting experience at an American hospital.
And it's times when I realize and remember this that I am reminded how much I need to rely on God for everything nursing wise (and life). God is the one who heals the patients when their hospital medicines aren't working and the patients have lost hope. He is the one who gives me instruction on what to give the patient when I have no idea what disease has befallen him. He is the one who gives them total healing and helps them get about their daily lives.
And I wonder in it all, do they see Jesus as this 6 foot tall black man walks out of their terribly small house?
Do they see a sacrifice even remotely similar to His sacrifice for you and me?
Do they see selflessness in my actions and kindness in my words and mercy in my body language?
Do they see a smile glistening from my face and my presence?
Do they say, "Have you met that Jesus man who walks around the village, healing and praying with people?" to others as they pass by?
The word says in John 3:30 that "I must decrease and He must increase." I sometimes wonder if that means that people will mistake us Christ loving, people loving individuals as little Jesus' more and more.
More and more.
Think about it. Pray about it.
I am.
And finally, "think, when was the last time you were mistaken for Jesus?" -Ella Tenold.
Albza
It's very easy to get caught up in the day by day activities and responsibilities here on the Springs of Love campus. Teach some classes, help some patients, make meals, grade papers, be the official unofficial boys dean, spending time with my kids, all the things.
We can get so caught up in it all that we forget what was our appearance in it all. What did we say? How did we carry ourselves? Did we reflect Jesus?
When I go to the villages, I try to make an effort, if I remember, to pray with all of my patients. To be quite honest, I have learned to not have faith in the medicines I give or the things I tell the patients to do and so on. I'm simply just a 22 year old AS level graduate nurse who decided to practice nursing right outside of college in an Indian jungle instead of getting experience at an American hospital.
And it's times when I realize and remember this that I am reminded how much I need to rely on God for everything nursing wise (and life). God is the one who heals the patients when their hospital medicines aren't working and the patients have lost hope. He is the one who gives me instruction on what to give the patient when I have no idea what disease has befallen him. He is the one who gives them total healing and helps them get about their daily lives.
And I wonder in it all, do they see Jesus as this 6 foot tall black man walks out of their terribly small house?
Do they see a sacrifice even remotely similar to His sacrifice for you and me?
Do they see selflessness in my actions and kindness in my words and mercy in my body language?
Do they see a smile glistening from my face and my presence?
Do they say, "Have you met that Jesus man who walks around the village, healing and praying with people?" to others as they pass by?
The word says in John 3:30 that "I must decrease and He must increase." I sometimes wonder if that means that people will mistake us Christ loving, people loving individuals as little Jesus' more and more.
More and more.
Think about it. Pray about it.
I am.
And finally, "think, when was the last time you were mistaken for Jesus?" -Ella Tenold.
Albza
Thursday, August 6, 2015
When the Cows Come Home
"Parents get pretty excited about their kids coming home after a long time; now imagine how happy God will be when His children finally make it Home."
I've counted, and I officially have 24 children here in India. I think I'll take the time to list them all for you:
Cornel, Roben, Mithun, Sunita, Juba, Asana, Tumpa, Bimola, Themyaophy, Eunice, Chandramoni, Kristina, Ruth, Rumila, Webuilui, Elina, Blessingson, Timrei, Hasina, Grace, Muthu, Silas, Robert, and Suban.
They come and go sometimes, to travel, to take care of business, to change schools, and the like. We haven't all been together for awhile and my heart yearned for that reunion for months. And then it came.
Robert returned after a 3+ month hiatus away from the school to try out a different school. He kinda just left and never came back (or so we thought). That happens. Hasina returned from Kolkata and didn't get married like I told her not to. That also happens often. And my oldest, Suban, who I love so much came back from his work. He's pretty much the boss.
My heart was filled with joy to see them all here. Even though hugs aren't very acceptable in this culture, I've earned enough trust and respect with the guys to hug them. At first it was awkward; but now I just go for it. They don't seem to mind anymore.
And so we're back together.
For another 3 months and 21 days. Or at least that's the approximate time frame.
I'm not sure how this latter "almost" four months will lass. I'm not sure how many more times I'll get upset about having to leave. I don't know how many times I will threaten to never return to my family. I don't know how much more I will procrastinate in taking this class at my college and risk failing the class all together. I'm not sure how many more times my kids will make me upset, or happy, or make me laugh. I'm not sure how many more memories will be made, how much garo will be learned, or how many villagers will try and marry me off.
All this gets me to thinking about God's children, His redeemed, those who choose Him. A quote by Ellen White states that "Christ is waiting with longing desire for the manifestation or himself in his church. When the character of Christ shall be perfectly reproduced in His people, then He will come to claim them as His own."
Christ wants us home pretty bad. Really bad. I don't think we can even imagine. This is more than just a longing that that one boy had for Shadow to come home in Homeward Bound. This isn't even the same longing that a wife has for her husband in military service who has been gone the duration of her pregnancy (and he will soon meet his child for the first time).
This is something so much greater. Jesus wants us now. He wants His saved. He wants His children. He wants the cows to come home. To stop feeding in the yellow pasture and come feed in the green one that's unlike any other.
Yet His mercy and love is shown in the waiting. He's giving out everyone's ticket over and over again, hoping they will take it and get on His train, that will take them to heaven. And even when we say "not now" or "no" or thousands of other things, He continues to offer the ticket to the greatest place on earth.
The way that a mother wants all 4 of her kids home for the holiday, Jesus wants all of His kids home for the Reunion. For that great day. If you didn't know, it's going to be pretty much out of this world.
We actually are leaving this world.
Alabanza.
I indeed can't wait. But I know Jesus can't wait either. Even more. He's probably antsy in His pants (does Jesus wear pants??)
I hope I'm antsy to see Him, like I was antsy for my kids to return. Hopefully more.
It must be our choice to want to go home. The way is clear, and the Guide is waiting. We just have to chose. Everyday.
Cause sometimes we chose Jesus one day, but chose the world another. Or self, or success, or our desires, or even service for the Lord that He really doesn't want us to do. In everything, especially for Him, it must be what He wants.
And so people, friends, family... It's time now.
Like right now.
No hesitation can be there. Choosing Jesus every second of your life will be worth it. For I said it before and I'll say it again, "JESUS IS EVERYTHING"
So join these weird bunch of cows who praise a risen Lord who wants to claim us, the messed up and filthy, as His own.
It's going to be a pretty good journey. And the destination is quite Paká!
The Farmer is waiting.
"Get a 'moo' on!"
Praise be.
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
The Bus
"What happens on the bus, stays on the bus. But I'll tell you what happened"
Our trip to Nepal was quite an experience. Juts getting there and back was enough adventure to write a book. Instead I will chronicle some of the things in this blog.
If you travel by bus to Nepal, many things could happen.
You could first off chase down the bus 12 miles down the road via taxi like in need for speed, except the star is a super cool cool Nepali man.
You could travel about 10 miles on the bus and then stop, and a man gets on the bus with a goat. The goat could sit in the front of the bus for the remainder of the 15 hour trip and poop everywhere.
You could be stopped by cops and then let go. 5 min later, you could be have a large strange vehicle pull up beside you. Then 3 men could mysteriously begin throwing bags and bags of something into the back of the bus. You could think they're drugs and then think you're about to be a part of one of those heists that you hear about 3 months after the crooks get caught. But chances are, they are just bags and bags of bananas. About 30 large duffle bag size bags of bananas.
You could experience a lot of creepy night stops on the way there and back, featuring many creepy men who you secretly fear may jump you. But then you remember you're a tall black man with facial hair and you've been practicing your scowl.
You could witness a really intense verbal fight between an old and a young Nepali woman discussing a bag, or at least thats all you can understand cause you don't know 50 languages like everyone else.
Then you might lose your nice jacket to a big open window. Along with the jacket, you could lose you phone charger, your aux cable, your head lamp, a phone, and an Internet stick, which both contain phone sims that are harder to get than cable signal from an antenna back in the 90s.
You could befriend all the creepy Nepali men by peeing with them on the side of the road, in the middle of the night, still thinking they may push you into a ditch and leave you to star in the movie Rambo 8 or something featuring 70 year old Sylvester Stallone and a black man, me.
You could witness a lot of spitting which only furthers your dislike of the act.
You could witness a mass exodus of goats in the road going somewhere with their owner at 330 am. (I'm sorry but where could you possibly have to go?)
You might watch a bunch of strange Nepali music videos (84 to be exact, that are all on someone's thumb drive. Who wants to watch 84 of these things??) that involve men grabbing women forcefully by the hips and pulling them close. The woman will rightfully pull away. Then the man will gracefully grab her hand and she will have a change of heart and suddenly fall in love with him. Then they will dance with perfect choreography as if they practiced somewhere or something and fall in love. They will kiss at the end and probably have children. That last part is implied. And this will be for EVERY SINGLE VIDEO.
After going 5 months without any African American interactions, you could meet an African woman who for a second you thought was from America as well. But she might be from Mozambique...
You could watch a cute movie in Hindi and not understand a single word but enjoy it nonetheless because there is nothing else to do on a bus at 10 pm at night except watch a bootleg copy of a movie where someone's head is in the shot for 50 percent of the time.
And finally you could suffer from lack of space on the bus because the person next to you sleeps like she's sprawled out in a king size bed and is in your spot and hers.
And this could all happen on a bus. In the middle of Nepal.
Wow.
#experience #nepal #bus #alabanza
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