Drama Queens

I haven't written for a while, but even while "resting," life seems very full.  A flurry of guests, a badly sprained ankle, a little work on launching our Freedom Firm jewlery business, (Ruhamah),  and most of all the mad dash of Drama Week at Hebron at the end of last term keeps us all moving along at a steady clip.  

Every Year at Hebron School, standards (grades) 7, 9, 11 and 13 all stage plays during Drama Week. Its a big event, and the children spend the full six weeks of the first half term in a whirlwind of preparation, practice, props and late nights. Each play is performed twice in October, once for the students, and once for the parents. This year, all three of our girls were in the plays. Kavi, in standard 11, Rachael in standard. 9 and Abbi in standard 7.

Kavi played the role of Annie Besant in The Match Girls. An excellent play, it follows the historical account of 18^th century working conditions in a match factory in Industrial England. Annie Besant, a human rights activist, helps impoverished factory women to win a court case for better wages and conditions in the factory. While teachers and parents felt the play was about human rights, Kavi and her classmates describe the play as, " more about relationships and a close glimpse of the tragic lives of people in the factory." I giggled when Kavi marched around the stage flaunting Freedom Firm brochures. She played the character with all the flair, passion and compassion of the real Annie Besant. The play was highly acclaimed in the Hebron Awards ceremony, and Kavi received a "special mention.” One of Kavi's great delights is drama, and she was in her element.

Rachael was cast as “James” for James and the Giant Peach. With over 200 lines, Rachael remembered all of her lines, and all her classmate's too. I saw her mouthing lines for friends when they got stage fright.  Although she made an unusually pretty boy, she was apparently convincing in her role. With her long hair all tucked up into a newspaper boy's hat, and boyish clothes, she fooled a watching parent who wondered who the “new boy” was. The play was hilarious, enhanced by the giant caterpillar and the giant grasshopper, two notoriously humorous boys in the class. Rachael's performance received an “highly commended.”

Abbi's class performed Annie. Abbi was one of the orphan girls. She was initially very disappointed with the small part she landed. “Seven lines, mom,” she wailed. “Well,” I said, “you better make your seven lines count.” And boy did she ever. She sang, danced and shouted her lines across the stage with all the confidence in the world. A teacher at Hebron (who directed Kavi's play) thought Abbi was the third best actress in the play. She received a "director's commendation," during the awards. My guess is, she'll get a part with more lines when she gets to Standard 9!

Abbi's class won the "Best Play" award for Hebron, and was chosen to compete against several other schools in Ooty.  I heard the plays presented were all fantastic, and the age ranged all the way up to standard 12.  Unbelievably, Hebron won!  We were all surprised that such a young and inexperienced class could win against the older classes.  Abbi's best friend, Mikaela Parks won "Best Actress."  Abbi couldn't be more thrilled.  They make a great pair, and of course they apply their acting ability to many spheres of life, keeping their teachers and parents amused, delighted, and most definitely on the edge of their seats.

Greg and I love the dramas. There is nothing like the thrill of watching your child rise to the challenge of the stage, work hard at the practice and then enjoy every moment of acting. You see new dimensions in their personality that you never see revealed by any other facet of school life.   Its fascinating to watch year after year their growth in conveying  the emotions of their character, eliciting emotion in the audience,  becoming more subtle and learning to balance overly dramatic tendencies.  Then there is the close camaraderie with their fellow players, the team work and more than anything the joy and excitement of performance. Its all a huge rush, and as parents, we get to watch and marvel at their unadulterated FUN.

I can't remember school being fun. So Greg and I shake our heads in wonder and disbelief when we see our kids reveling in these events. How good is God, to give them (and us) such pure delight?

Shadow of Death and Sunrise

I bought Shadow 7 months ago, as a declaration of hope and faith that I had sufficiently recovered from the death of Caspian (a race horse) two years ago, to risk the investment, emotional and otherwise, in a horse again. I knew it was a big risk. I knew it was hard to keep horses alive in Ooty. (Explaining that comment would take another blog). I thought my heart had healed enough. I was ready to try again. I made sure Shadow was a super healthy, young horse, that didn't need rescuing as much as just a loving home. I wanted the risk to be as low as possible. But horses are impossible to predict.


On Sunday evening, September 27th, I could see the 3 ponies and Shadow playing in the field next to our house. Shadow and Orion were boxing and bucking, rearing and mock biting, just normal horsing around.

With darkness closing in, Rachael and Abbi rounded up the horses and took them down to the riding arena for grain and shelter. But Shadow wasn't interested in his bucket of bran and corn. Swinging his head around he looked at his stomach and then lay down and started rolling. Rachael and Abbi ran up to the house, besides themselves with worry. "Shadow isn't eating. He is sick." (my kids have seen too many sick horses not to panic at the first sign).

So began the next 12 hours of our anxious watchfulness, and Shadow's walk through the valley of death. At 8pm, while I constantly walked him in the drizzling rain and darkness, Greg drove half way to Coonoor (a town about 45 minutes from Ooty), and brought home three vets ( who happened to be visiting from England) to see what they could do. It was a severe case of colic. Many things were done; shots given, a tube pushed through his nose and water administered, but he did not respond.

A normal heart rate for a horse is 30-35 beats per minute. Shadow's was 60-65 beats per minute, twice what it should have been. I found out later vets call this a "death heart rate." Every few minutes

he would try to drop to the ground and we would stop him. By 12 pm, (after trying to intervene for four hours) the vets were shaking their heads saying they had done all they could for him. They believed he had a twisted intestine (possibly caused by the vigorous play on the hill side that evening.) There are documented cases of such unlikely occurrences, strange as it may sound.

They said, "Call us if he goes down and doesn't get back up, we will come up and euthanize him." With a lot more sympathy and warmth than that, of course. The vets helped us understand what was going on, and imparted a sense of calmness and professionalism to the scene. The painkillers they gave and the other drugs, certainly diminished the pain. Their authority steadied us, even though the prognosis was not hopeful at all.

Through it all, our friend Marc (taking a short break from his work in Afghanistan) was a constant, ministering angel bearing hot cups of steaming tea, taking turns around the yard prodding Shadow, and keeping us company. He and Greg kept the cold night vigil together. Its easier to bear up under the darkness with a friend. Friends sacrifice sleep. Husbands like Greg do too. If not for the horse's sake, then for his wife's.

Greg sent me to bed, and promised to watch over Shadow and keep him walking. I fell asleep much later, my heart almost paralysed with fear, praying for a miracle, and vowing to give up the horse therapy program if Shadow didn't make it. I found out later, that word had traveled and others around the world were praying with me.

But at 2am, Shadow finally lay down and refused to get up. He was completely peaceful and seemed asleep, so Greg didn't call the vets. He didn't seem to be in pain, but Greg was sure he was dying. Greg planned his burial site (one doesn't easily move a 800lb horse.)

Three hours later, at 5:30 am Shadow was still lying down and Greg needed a break badly. He left Shadow for five minutes. Upon returning, Greg couldn't believe his eyes. He raced into the bedroom to wake me up. "Mala get up and look out the window." My heart leapt at the sight. Instead of an agonized horse in tremendous pain, there was Shadow, calm and relaxed, grazing peacefully on the green lawn in the early morning sunrise. Isn't there a verse that says, "Hope comes in the morning"?

I saw all the vets again on Tuesday at the opening of the World Wide Veterinary Service, near Ooty. My good friend Ilona Otter is the director, and she is the one who sent her friends to help us out that rainy Sunday night. The vets all declared it was a miracle that Shadow was alive. They said that there was no medical explanation of how he had made it. Ilona said it was prayer.

Our hearts are full of gratefulness that God chose to spare Shadow and allow him to be a part of lives a while longer. The only bad thing? I am jealous since Shadow seems to like Greg more than me now.

Shadow and Mountain

After 10 years in India (5 in Mumbai and 5 in Ooty), starting Freedom Firm with Greg and the Parks, and launching an Aftercare home for girls rescued from prostitution, I find myself grinding to a halt. Its as if the accumulated vision of helping others has instead impaled me.

Perhaps it was too much too fast. A residential recovery home, a horse therapy program, a small school, a micro-enterprise, in-house counselling, and HIV medical care, all launched at the same time. Combine that with traumatized girls and inexperienced staff (and an inexperienced director -me), impossibly low budget, and understaffed, all in the pressure cooker of three chaotic years, and well, you experience amazing miracles, agonizing losses and a massive learning curve.

The home is going well now. Six girls have graduated and and some have moved away. Two are in the home currently. Three girls, who graduated from the program, live nearby and come every day to work for Ruhamah, our jewelry business.

The effort of establishing a home like this has been enormous. And, frankly, I am tired. Too tired to push forward any longer. Too tired to argue about the "right" way to do things. Almost too tired to care. Its the kind of exhaustion that doesn't go away with a good night's sleep, a week's vacation or even a sabbatical. Its the kind of exhaustion that seems to have no limits and no parameters of when I can hope to feel like myself again.

And so I sit, now, with time on my hands (for the first time in 10 years). And because I am too tired for action, perhaps I can paint some pictures for you with words. Because deep inside I still do care. Care about the girls, and the big picture of justice. But for now, those who love me tell me I must rest.

I toy with the thought of leaving this vast and beautiful country, in favor of an easier life. I am teetering on the edge of a great abyss. Not that India is the "safe ground" and the Western world the abyss. But I am speaking of the abyss of cynicism, disillusionment and disbelief, where, if once I fall, I know I will keep on falling, because there is no bottom without hope.

But, lest you think this is a philosophic, misanthropic journal entry, let me move on. So I am writing you looking out of my second story window, where the staggered valleys lie beneath me shrouded in a white mist, so opaque that I can only see the red tiled cottages on the hillside nearest me, not the outline of the great ridge opposite my window. That ridge is where I rode my white horse. (Oh yes, you must lay aside your assumptions of a suffering missionary, or a sacrificial human rights activist). Some of us have gifts, but drive ourselves so hard we feel guilty enjoying them.

Yes, I have a white horse named Shadow. I am tempted here to try to justify his existence in my life. I could tell you that I have horse therapy for the girls and disabled children on our property, and Shadow, along with three other ponies are used to bring others healing. But I would be telling you that so you wouldn't judge me. For having something so decadent as a horse. But the truth is, I have always ridden horses, and when I was ten, and had lost, for a time, the ability to make friends, after my family moved from an ocean-going ship to America, I found comfort in horses.

Shadow was my step of faith that I would enjoy riding once again. I bought him in February. I have been too busy to ride for 7 months, but now, the doctor's orders are: REST. So, I ride. What I meant as a gentle two hour ride, turned into a four hour adventure. The story of my life.

Old logging trails lead from a major old trail head called Mynala. Ooty was established in the days of colonialism as a British "hill station," an escape from the blistering heat of the plains. Trails were cut all through these mountains and valleys, but now, most are clogged with new growth, fallen trees and are all but impassable. The land is kept protected by the Indian Government. Hiking and use by tourists are discouraged (or possibly prohibited). Still, the uncharted miles of potential, navigable trails, lure me.

Several promising logging roads ended in impasse. I tried to go under and around the logs, but soon Shadow balked at the difficulty. We were bushwhacking. So we backed up and soon found a faint thread of a trail, leading steeply upward along the the ridge. It was the one opposite my house. So I could see our white house, and unfinished garage, whose tin roof gleamed in the sunshine across the valley .

The woods were fairly open, with Eucalyptus, Wattle and Pine and Rhododendron, ("gifts" from the British) and we wound our way easily through them. Following a rocky outcrop that fell away to sharp cliffs below us, we climbed along the summit of the ridge, that ended at a white temple. It was deserted, and a trail led down away from it, down the mountain. We came upon a valley with water trickling out of the hillside that formed shallow rock pools. Shadow drank deeply and the dogs, Ranger and Oscar chased a wild boar, watering in the stream.

For me, that's part of the insatiable draw of this kind of wilderness riding. The wildlife is awesome. We startled deer, and everywhere the woods are thick with wild bison. I hear, on occasion the lone males can charge, but I have not experienced that yet. Usually they look at me, breathing heavily and crash heavily into the undergrowth. Most stand 6 ft at the shoulder.

I was tempted to go on down the winding mountain path. I could see the town of Thumanatty far below me nestled in the valley. But it would take the rest of the day, and I was hungry. Anyway, it left me with more to explore for another day. I returned home to find Greg had surprised me by coming up for lunch (a good 20 min drive from his office in Ooty) and bringing me a chocolate doughnut. At 2:30, I was too late for lunch, but he stayed a bit longer for a cup of tea. These days he stays late at the office anyway, waiting for our kids to get out of drama practice. Abbi didn't' get home till 9pm last night. But my three girls live for drama, so that's alright. It means Greg can have a long lunch, once in a while.

So, these are my forays into the world of REST, with which I am not well acquainted. The ride was staggeringly beautiful. Did you think India could be so wild, so untamed, so unpeopled, so unpolluted? You have to leave the town of Ooty to find it. You have to hike (or ride a white horse) to find it. But its worth finding. The wilderness reminds me that life is beautiful. It does not "turn on an axis of suffering.... but of pure joy."