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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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