Change Is A Gift From God

Recently, I had the privilege of writing the program for our ward’s Relief Society Christmas Dinner and Program. Our theme was “Women who knew the Christ Child.”

The sister in charge had found a program online and acquired it. However, upon reading through it, she discovered that it wasn’t quite what she wanted and asked me to edit it. After I started reading through it, I didn’t get very far before I decided the whole thing should be rewritten.

The woman who had written the original had done a fairly decent job but it was full of grammatical errors, loaded with redundancies and, overall, it just hadn’t been written by a writer. Props to the woman, though, for the idea and attempt. I know it was a noble effort and, when she used it, I’m sure the room was filled with the Spirit. I just couldn’t bring myself to use it.

So the work began.

I started by researching.

I’d heard the stories, probably, a thousand times but since I would be speculating and making most of it up, I wanted to be as historically accurate as possible and try to translate what the scriptures say into the script without misinterpreting the feelings too much. After all, this was an extremely important event in the history of the world.

The first part was written and sent to the sister in charge for approval. Creative differences might be a good term for what happened but she had envisioned something in particular and what I had written didn’t quite meet those expectations.

I will admit, I was a bit upset. It was difficult writing what I had, but I tried again. I still didn’t hit the mark. Finally, I let her know that I don’t visualize things, so I don’t have a certain way that I see it going. I told her that I gave up on trying to write what I plan to write because it never works out how I want it to so I just write what I’m inspired to write. I also reminded her that these would be read out loud by women in the ward and their voices and body language would convey a lot more emotion that any words I could ever write.

She took a step back and let me do my thing. It was difficult but, after additional extensive research, I completed the parts and emailed them off to her.

Then came the difficult rice, trying to find people to fill the roles. The other sister found some women to be some of the women and asked my opinion on who should read which part. As soon as I saw the names, I seemed to “see” who could best fill the role. Soon, we had all but one part filled, which she finally just asked me to read it. I was hesitant, of course, there’s a reason I’m a writer, not a public speaker.

With all the parts filled and costumes gathered, we were ready to go. The night of the program came and I was terrified. I would also be playing my flute in this program. My husband had asked me which one made me more nervous, playing my flute or read my part? Let’s see... play my flute or read the part that I wrote? I don’t know.

I practiced and practiced and practiced my song on the flute. I was sounding really great, probably the best I’d ever sounded. I practiced one more time before everyone showed up. The sisters who were reading the parts arrived and we all picked out our costumes. We would eat first, then do the program.

I was nervous. I wanted to back out and not read my part. It’s one thing to write something. It’s another to read it out loud to an audience that, for the most part, hasn’t read your writing before. Everyone ate dinner.

We were called to get into our costumes. I would be reading second then there would be a song and another part then I would be playing.

The sister in charge introduced the program.

The first part was read.

I sat there thinking, “I wrote this? I didn’t write this. Did I?”

I was amazed. The Spirit was so strong in that room.

It was almost as though Elisabeth, the mother of John the Baptist, was there herself, sharing her story.

I’m one of those people who cries when they feel the Spirit so my eyes started watering, my hands started shaking a little more than they already had been, and I felt weak. This wasn’t MY work.

The first song was sung. It was beautiful.

Then, it was my turn to read the part of the Innkeeper’s wife.

I tried to read with feeling and expression but I have no idea how well I did. I was just relying on the Lord to do the rest.

Before I sat down, I got my flute to start warming it up (you don’t want to play a cold flute, it sounds horrible).

The second song.

The Shepherd’s wife.

This time, I could feel my throat starting to get a tiny little lump. You know, the one that signals that you’re about to burst into tears?

The watery eyes were starting to turn into actual tears.

I wanted to run and hide.

I couldn’t play my flute like this.

Not one to run from a commitment, I got up to perform.

Everything I’d ever learned about playing the flute left my brain.

My embouchre was wrong.

I couldn’t play the right notes.

I just stopped trying through the first verse of the song. I had to pull myself together.

I was able to get my composure a bit through the second verse but my tone wasn’t the best.

By the time we got to the third verse, I was doing much better.

I made it through the rest of the song. Phew!

Relieved to have THAT over, embarrassed that it didn’t go very well and it was my first time playing in this ward, I sat back down with the other women that were reading.

Luckily, it wasn’t too difficult to bring my attention back to the program but the back of my mind was still critiquing my performance.

Joseph’s mother’s part was read.

I went back to being awed by what had been written.

Another beautiful song, one of my favorites.

Then, the woman I had chosen to read the part of Mary stood up.

She started reading the part.

That was it.

I KNEW I hadn’t written those words.

I had merely typed them out.

The woman who read Mary said it best. I had been an instrument in the Lord’s hands.

The last song was sung by a sister in the ward who is a voice teacher. She has a beautiful voice and the song was gorgeous, of course.

Many sisters that attended were impressed by the program.

One sister, who told me she also plays the flute, said I did a good job on my song. She said it would have been difficult to play the flute in that situation (reading out loud, being moved by the Spirit and close to tears).

The sister in charge, the one who didn’t think I’d captured her vision, said that I’d been right. The women who read conveyed so much more than anymore words could have. She said I was right to go with what I was inspired to write. It turned out better than she’d imagined.

Later that night, I lay in bed thinking about Mary. I’d read an Ensign article about her. I’d also read Luke 1 and Chapter 7 in Jesus the Christ to learn all I could about Mary.

After all that research, I discovered that I’m not that different than her.

No, I haven’t given birth to the Savior.

No, I haven’t gotten pregnant by immaculate conception.

No, I haven’t given birth in a stable and had to put my baby in a manger.

What makes us the same is we have both felt unworthy of God’s attention.

We’ve both felt unworthy of the gifts we’d been given (her, Christ, and me, the ability to write).

We’ve both felt surprised at the attention we’ve received from God.

We’ve both felt humbled by this attention.

We’ve both felt we’d been an instrument in His hands.

Three years ago, I was a different person.

I would not have been in a place to do what I did.

I would not have had the courage and confidence to stand up and say, “This WILL work.”

I would not have been able to write what I wrote.

I would not have done the research I did to learn what I needed to learn.

I would not have been humble enough to only write what I was inspired to write.

I would not have been able to be an instrument in God’s hands in this way.

Heavenly Father has given us each gifts and talents. He expects us to develop them. To strengthen them.

Then, He’ll help us use them to further His work and strengthen the lives of those who are touched by them.

As we use them for His work, HE will strengthen them, add to them, and develop them.

I know because He has done this for me.

He has used me to further His work.

For that, I am eternally grateful.