Mahatma Gumby

I'm up in the air at 30,000 feet, or whatever altitude we are, and I've just finished watching "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel," a new release about a group of seniors who head to India to retire without any idea of what they're getting in for.  Although funny, it was painfully familiar, having just left a few hours ago for summer break.

The "narrator" character, played by Judi Dench, blogged every day about her experiences.  She had some profound things to say about India and life that have left me feeling wistful that I haven't yet reached her state of humble enlightenment.  

She said life in India is like a huge ocean wave--fight it and you'll be crushed; jump in, swim with it and you'll come out the other side in one piece.  It's so the truth; I have fought with so many different situations and people there that at times I've felt exhausted.  It's literally only when I breathe and, in some situations, realize...something--how good I've got it, how temporary the situation is, how I'm not ultimately in control, that I'm able to have peace.  

I liken her wave analogy to other things I've experienced, the most visceral of which was as a young teen getting my braces off.  For those of you who have not had the privilege of braces, let me just say that orthodontics deviates only slightly from medieval torture.  The only difference is the size of the rack.  Anyway, at the end of your three-to-five-year turning of the screw, you give what are called "impressions"--no, these are not a record of your thoughts and feelings for posterity's sake.  They are clay moulds of your newly-fitted teeth to fit you for yet another humiliating stint with headgear and mouth retainers.  

To create these impressions, they fill two tooth guard-sized moulds with wet clay and shove it in your mouth all the way to the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex.  They tell you, "Just breathe" as you dry heave with wild eyes, unable to speak.  After more attempts at retching, you finally realize your nose still functions and you can, indeed, breathe.  

This is how I liken my experience of India at this stage of my progress.  No, it's not nearly as pretty as Judi Dench's ocean wave, but just as true.  I have realized that, like it at times and hate it at others, I can, indeed, thrive in a country that often goes against my natural instincts of self-preservation.  

This week I had another chance to relearn this profound truth in another context.  I was the head makeup coordinator/artist for our school play, Willy Wonka Jr.  Mind you, I am a planner-I get that from my retired army officer dad and my detail-oriented mom. I planned-- I sent out a multitude of emails, I recruited volunteers, I fought for essential makeup supplies, I planned two involved instruction/practice sessions since many volunteers had never applied makeup, and assigned volunteers all over the school.  On paper, it was seamless.

What actually happened was this: 

 My practice session times and locations were moved with a half hour's notice, causing me to sprint around posting signs on the old locations.  When the teacher who was supposed to bring the makeup for the first session didn't have it there when the class was due to start, I had a slight tantrum and begged another teacher I happened to tag to bring me her makeup.  Teachers and volunteers who had at least two weeks' notice didn't come all at once but in odd shifts, causing me to teach the same demo about five times.  

Opening night the snack time for the kids involved was set to happen right in the middle of makeup application times.  I had fought to get it before makeup application for the obvious reason of not having kindergarteners smearing and eating off their makeup.  The powers that be didn't see it my way and snack time stood.  Actually, it took one huge step to the right and, due to pure incompetence, was delayed 45 minutes.  This meant that teachers, who couldn't imagine not feeding their children on-site food at scheduled times, delayed makeup application a whole hour to accommodate this.  On top of which, the classroom I was slotted to help in was empty--guess where the kids were?--In the pool!  Yep, that's right--the teacher had seen fit to let them work out their energy by getting soaking wet when they were supposed to be in costumes lifting up their cherubic little faces for lipstick.  On top of which, the teacher didn't tell me they were going to apply makeup in another classroom.  On top of which, when I finally found the class, two teachers were dyeing their hair blue!  They simply took it on themselves to buck the system and make their lone class be "special".  All this aside, I had two volunteers cancel last-minute (thankfully God gave me two more to replace them, also last-minute!)

Closing night, having reached a point of near exhaustion, I simply surrendered. The scripture came to mind--"Whoever wants to be great in My kingdom must be the servant of all.”  I realized some of my irritations really resulted from not being flexible and worrying more about my own inconvenience than how I could minister and help.  I told the Lord I would be a servant and just help where I was needed.  

It went so smoothly!  It was like nothing could faze me anymore.  Another volunteer canceled last-minute because she was "too depressed" that hour to put makeup on kids, or so I heard.  I simply shifted someone else to her spot and God gave me another last-minute "chance" volunteer!  While I was applying wrinkles to an "old man" one of my students came and literally knelt in front of me strongly urging me to please, see if I could find her another grade point somewhere so she could bump to the next grade bracket, even though grades were already completed and she'd had her score for a week.  I said, "Sure" and went and found her another legitimate point while the play was in session.  Why not?   Surprisingly, there was just enough time to review her essays and clean up a huge makeup mess before the play was done and busses left.  Whew.

My dad sent me a wry pseudo-scripture right before I left for India.  It said, "Blessed are the flexible for they shall not be broken." Oh, how true that is! So for now, just call me "Gumby"--in training.