Christmas Crying

For Sunday we had our church's Christmas Program, where there is a lot of music and singing and all is joyful and bright. Somehow I was a part of the program.

I am in the ward choir. I am NOT musically inclined, and if you ask anyone who sits near me in choir, or any primary teacher that has to suffer through my singing with the children, they can attest to the fact that I do not have a great singing voice, nor can I stay on key nor beat. But because our choir numbers are low, and going to practice does allow me a 45 minute break from the kids, I joined the choir last year.

I can usually just settle in and no one notices me, besides when the choir director fell during the middle of our performance causing me and the silly Young Woman that was standing next to me to giggle, which we could not stop - ya, very immature but incredibly difficult to stop.

A couple of weeks ago I was asked to play my flute in accompaniment with a song we were singing in choir. Not too bad, except for the fact that I haven't played for a long time and of course the piece had 3 sharps - I'm definitely a flat girl.

The Primary children were also singing in the program, so of course I was needed to lead them.

With all that I was doing, I was most nervous about playing the flute, and it was last. I should have realized that playing my flute was going to be a relief in comparison of what occurred.

After the Sacrament portion of the meeting was over, all the Primary children were called up to the front. There was a little bit of confusion, and then the fatal mistake of not having the Primary Songbook available for the pianist came to light. Luckily a friend went to retrieve one, but meanwhile I was standing in front of the children, my back to the congregation, trying to get them to stay quiet and reverent. Children ages 3-11, quiet, still, reverent?......right. I had some of them move around so that the younger and shorter kids would be in the front. I made another fatal mistake, I moved Roger from the front row, right before the song was about to start.

Roger starts wailing and the music is starting. I attempt to give Roger the "better stop now!" look, but I was also trying to keep the rest of the kids' attention as I was conducting them. The children started singing and over their cute little voices came a screaming, "I can't see!"

There was nothing I could do. I had to lead the other children, give them their cues, but I was definitely distracted by Roger's cries. Had I an object to throw, I would have thrown it at Roger's forehead. I glanced back at Todd, who had William and Grant on his lap, rendering him useless.

Todd was trying to get the kids off his lap and go retrieve Roger when our dear Bishop grabbed Roger and (instead of the punch to the face that I desired) hoisted him up so that he could see me. His cries stopped at once.

Not the experience that I had hoped for.

The rest of the meeting I remained upset at Roger, could not believe that he would act so poorly. The rest of church I did have so many people talk to me about Roger...yep, they noticed too. One man, who likes to tease, suspected that I bribed Roger to cry so that I could be the center of attention. But most comments were of people thinking that it was hilarious...ya, real hilarious. But then, it is when it isn't your kid. One lady told me that I didn't find it funny because I am not a grandma.

The teasing and the sincere comments from people actually made me feel better. I realized that there wasn't anything I could do about it at the time, there wasn't anything I could do to change it afterward, and it is in the past. If we don't laugh about our past, we will start to cry. So, I cherished the fact that I have a young boy that is very high spirited and very determined.

Todd told me later that during priesthood the Mission President got choked up and said that it was the best Christmas meeting he has been to in a long time, that he was so touched by the thoughtfulness and awareness that our bishop has.

Glad we could provide you some laughs and spiritual experiences.