Sing, Sing a Song

When I was ten I was asked to sing a solo in Sacrament Meeting. At that age I didn't have a sweet little-girl voice. I had a really loud lower-register. When I went to the pulpit to sing We'll Bring the World His Truth from the Children's Songbook I pushed the microphone all the way back, as I had done in practice the day before. I didn't want to deafen anyone. A member of the Bishopric quickly jumped up and moved the mic back in front of my mouth. I turned to look at him as I again moved it to it's farthest position. And then I sang. I think it was decent for a ten-year-old. I know it was loud. One little girl in my Primary class, who delighted in tormenting me, had one comment about the piece when she saw me later, "It certainly was loud, wasn't it?"

I decided as a youth that I would always say yes when I was asked to speak or sing in church. Sometimes this meant getting a phone call on Saturday night with a request to sing the next day. Thanks to an amazingly gifted pianist in the ward, we could usually pull something off. These days most of my vocal numbers are performed for the select audience of those living in my house.

Two weeks ago I got a call from a member of the Bishopric in our ward, telling me about a special Sacrament Meeting we would be having on October 11. He said it would be all about church music and would have several musical numbers. Then he asked if I would be the last musical number on the program, singing a hymn of my choice. I said that I had been sick, but I thought I would be better in two weeks and would love to sing.

And then I got sicker. And sicker...

And then I lost my voice.

Something funny about my voice: whenever I would lose it as a teenager, it would come back slightly different than it was before. I remember once getting my voice back after being sick and suddenly having lots more vibrato to keep in check. I was worried that 1) I wouldn't get my voice back in time to sing; and 2) if I did get it back, it would be something new that I wouldn't be sure how to handle.

The Bishopric member called back the following Friday to see if I'd picked a hymn and to tell me who my accompanist would be. After explaining why I sounded like a chain-smoker on the phone I told him that I had picked a song, I Believe in Christ, but that he might have to find someone else to sing it. He asked me to give it a few more days. If I still had no voice on Sunday, a week out, then he would find someone to replace me on the program. I agreed. Although I was sad at the prospect of not getting to sing, I didn't want to torture anyone with my croaking.

I was shocked during the Sunday afternoon session of General Conference when I realized that I was singing the congregational hymn and I didn't sound like someone driving over gravel. Maybe I would have a voice by the next Sunday.

All week I practiced the song. Using my limited piano skills, I plunked out the accompaniment at home with Peter on one side changing the settings on my keyboard and Cooper on the other pounding away at the keys in the bass clef. I'm not sure how productive those rehearsals were.

Yesterday I got to church early to practice one last time with my accompanist. I had warmed-up, but my cold had started trying to make a comeback the night before and I was feeling it again as I went through the number. My voice broke a few times and a cough overtook me at one point. I had been praying since I started practicing the song earlier in the week that I would have a voice and that the message of the song would be heard and felt by those listening. After that final practice I prayed harder. I turned my brain to the two choir numbers I would be singing and hoped that they would be enough to clear my voice.

The program was lovely. There were five musical numbers in all, including a men's choir that sang a beautiful arrangement of Ye Elder's of Israel. The Ward Music Chair spoke just before I sang. He talked about the power of music. Then he said that there was something he would never be brave enough to do: sing a solo. He said he was so excited for the soloist that would come next and asked that the congregation listen closely to the words the soloist would sing.

No pressure.

Actually, I was glad that he asked the congregation to focus on the words. It's my job as a singer to convey the message of the song, to do my best to make the words as clear as possible. If I sound lousy, then it's hard to focus on what I'm singing, just on how badly I'm doing it. On the flip side, if I'm preoccupied with how awesome I sound and on soaring notes and trills, the words get lost. I have to be good enough not to distract, but not so fancy with embellishments that I detract from what the Spirit is trying to teach. I prayed that I would have a voice and that I would be calm.

And then I sang.

I have a strong testimony that the Holy Ghost is a fabulous singer, because I have had help on many occasions. I am at my best when I remember that it's not about me, it's about how the music helps people feel the Spirit. That's how yesterday was. I hit the notes, my voice was clear, but more than that, people heard the sweet testimony of the Savior contained in the words of that song. I'm thankful for the chance I had to pull that particular talent out of it's box, dust it off, and use it for good.