All eyes on ME

In my church, each member helps out by taking on a responsibility or a job. We call them “callings.” These callings can be accepted or rejected and they usually change every couple of years or so depending on where the help is needed. Well, because we just moved to Utah, I received a new calling. I was pretty shocked about the calling because it wasn’t something I had experience in and I happen to consider this a job for an older lady but of course I accepted because they needed the help. Lets just say, though, that I wasn’t very excited about it.

My calling was the Sacrament Chorister. This calling requires me to;

a) be on time to church

b) stand in front of 150 souls

c) sing the words to they hymns

d) smile to those souls who might be looking at me

e) try to look my best

f) wave my arm to the beat of the music in 4/4, 2/4 or 3/4 time

g) pick out hymns that coordinate with the topics of the meeting

So overall I figure I can handle this, right? I’m just a little bit nervous. The hardest part is actually getting my family there on time. I find every Sunday morning I am running around the house like a crazy chicken and cursing at hubby and kids because we are late. The second hardest part is feeling like I look okay. My first Sunday leading the music I had to buy a new outfit. I wish that I had a new outfit every Sunday, Sigh!

I have been leading the music now for 1 1/2 months. I’ve been doing a decent job (I think) and besides no one watches me. Everyone either has their noses in the hymn book, they’re daydreaming, or fussing with their kids to keep them quiet.

So this Sunday I was feeling confident because I knew the songs we were singing and didn’t even think twice about it. I get up there and start swinging my arm. We are plunking along at pretty good tempo when my organist, who is a cute little old grandma, has a little mess up. Okay, this happens every now and then. This grabs peoples attention. We keep going. Opps, it happens again, we keep going, oh, again and again… I’m still waving my arm, she is still trying to get going again, trying to find her place, we are still singing. Plunk, plunk at the organ. Everyone is now looking up. We painfully finish the first verse.

Okay, the second verse is a good point to regain composure. The first line is a little bumpy but then blip, blop, flop… at this point the song is unrecognizable. My organist just stops. I’m still singing, waving my arm. The congregation has stopped. I look over at my organist… I’m still singing… a solo apparently. I hear my voice echo through the chapel. What am I to do? I stop singing. I’m sure my face is bright red, my heart is beating and I flash an awkward grin towards the crowd. I’m afraid to look back at the organist, who I’m sure is about to pass out herself from embarrassment. She takes a deep breathe, which I felt lasted for minutes. I, on the other hand, haven’t taken a breathe for quite some time. We start the second verse over again. Things improved but not by much. It seemed like she played every 4th note right. At times I could hear the congregation singing something different then me. Oh well, the goal was to get this darn song over with.

When it was finally over I sat down next to my organist and gave her a big hug. I thought maybe she’d burst into tears. I was super embarrassed for myself but felt awfully bad for her. She said that she had played the song perfectly at home but her arthritis wasn’t letting her fingers move. Oh, what a bummer. I told her I thought it was my fault because I was beating too fast. Whatever the reason, it was one embarrassing Sunday and we still had two songs left.

Lets just say we sang them much, much slower.