Rough Stone Rolling

This year I threw myself into the most unlikely of places for our ward’s Christmas celebration– the choir. Unlikely because I never took up an instrument (I like to say I play the stereo), can’t read music and only recently have been able to sing the melody without embarrassing myself. I decided to join this year because of the choir director’s impassioned plea for recruitment; it was reminiscent of a mother begging you to take her child onto the Huey as the Cong were closing in. I figured I could “blend” with the others around me, sort of add volume to the overall milieu. Ha!

First, it was determined that I was a tenor, marked to be forever segregated with other tenors. Five pieces were decided upon for the program. Three of them, mercifully, only asked that we sing the melody (although two of those were ambitious tunes with which I was unfamiliar). The other two hymns required we do “parts.” Now this is where you’re supposed to sing along with a familiar Christmas carol, all over the place BUT the melody. For me this is like the time I tried to take up salsa dancing.

The choir director thought he could hedge up his defense by having every other person be a strong singer with the weak singers in between. In theory this made sense; in reality, it was a root canal. I kept feeling like I was pissing off my strong neighbors with my creative harmonizing. They didn’t say anything… Well, actually, a missionary once brought up to the director that “some people” weren’t getting a particular part, and suggested just the tenors sing to see where the mistake was being made. I could have grabbed the little turd by the tie right then and there and beaten him up behind the nursery.

Well, the day of the program came and we passably sang our songs in between tearful stories of selfless love and reflections of the Nativity. I’m glad it’s over. Afterward during priesthood, I taught a lesson on the Trinity and “Are Mormons Christian,” based on Elder Jeffrey Holland’s conference talk, played devil’s advocate, got the brethren to banter & argue, and felt like I was in much friendlier waters (thanks, queue)– kind of like when you’re crossing back into San Diego from Tijuana.

I don’t think I’m going to volunteer for choir again. I have a feeling this is one talent the Lord doesn’t mind I bury. I’m sure He’d help if He could.

**12/27 Postscript:

Reading this over, I realize I completely passed over the most important part of the Christmas program. It wasn’t the singing or the “Magi-esque” stories. It was an impromptu testimony.

This year our sound system was having a problem. When the mike was turned on, it would hiss and crackle loudly, drowning out the speaker, so it had to be left off. This was a problem because a couple of our speakers had soft voices and a number of people in the back– particularly the seniors– couldn’t hear much. Heck I couldn’t hear it that well, and I was in the stand. One of the members to share a story was a young handicapped girl. She looks around 17 and I’ve been aware of her coming to the ward for about 7 years (she comes with another ward family). I’m not sure what her handicap is, but she’s dependent on a walker to get around, and only very slowly. But she always has a big, sunny smile on her face. Anyway, she rolled up to the stand and told her story– again, hard to follow– and when she was done, instead of wrapping it up with “…in the name of…” she starts bearing her testimony, and this I heard clearly. She’s not a member, but she loves the Church and is planning to get baptized soon (presumably when she turns 18). She loves all the members and how warm everyone is to her. She loves the Gospel. She went on and on, and I can’t recall it all, but there’s no forgetting the power and sweetness of her spirit. As far as I was concerned, the meeting– heck, the whole block– could have ended right then.