The Music of Angels

Home is the place where, when you go there, they have to take you in.

Robert Frost

Being an active member of a volunteer church can be a lot of work. And in my case, it was almost always “work” I didn’t have any idea how to accomplish. Like the time I was called as a Blazer leader when the LDS church was still connected to Boy Scouts of America. After two years of volunteering, I had learned to tie a sheepshank knot (which apparently has nothing to do with sheep), use a compass for orienteering, and teach 10 boys to play a Kazoo for a skit during Pack Meeting. Useful skills, I guess, but not very marketable.

I once was asked to stock the kitchens in two church buildings with “whatever they need”. I had a field day at Orson Gygi’s. Who knew how easy it was to spend $10,000 dollars on plates, cups, and silverware? Not surprisingly, the sales folks were thrilled to see me coming.

But there were some church assignments that scared me to death. When I my husband and I were part of a college married student ward, I had to conduct a regular meeting. I do not like being in charge, and I spent a half hour in my bathroom throwing up before every meeting. But, as they say in Monte Python, “I got better.”

When the Bishop asked me to be the ward music coordinator, I started a youth choir because, whereas most adults avoid participation in choirs, kids show up. For a couple of years, we had a choir of young people which was the envy of the stake. We specialized in simple music—largely because I couldn’t handle anything more complex, and we averaged 20 to 25 voices. I became very friendly with a couple of Day Murray Music employees who scoured their sheet music collections for me. Twenty-five years later, one of them has five kids and lives down the street.  

It wasn’t until my husband and I were Inner City missionaries in a Spanish Branch that it finally became obvious to me how all we volunteers managed to keep a half dozen organizations for adults and children spinning like the plates on sticks in a juggler’s act (wobbly sometimes, but still moving). The Branch President announced the date of our coming branch conference when all the dignitaries from the Stake organizations would show up in force. I was asked to be in charge of the Relief Society choir for the meeting because missionaries can do anything. Right?

I spoke to the Relief Society president (who was fluent in English, thank goodness); we choose a beautiful hymn arrangement for three parts in Spanish since at least 1/3 of our older sisters spoke no English. We decided our best option for participation was to take 10-15 minutes of practice in each Relief Society meeting for the four Sundays before the conference. It was a good plan, but there were seldom more than a dozen women in Relief Society, and the “dozen” were never not the same women twice in a row.

And I discovered another big obstacle which I had never before had to face. I had no trouble leading the music; I even had only a little trouble reading the Spanish text, but I lost my place instantly if I tried to translate from Spanish to English in my head. (I have since had infinitely more sympathy for any English as a second language speaker.) I kept getting lost between the music and the text. It was going to be a lot more challenging than I expected. The good news was, the sisters in the branch loved to sing. The bad news was I way out of my depth.

Finally, the pianist—another missionary and former member of the Tabernacle Choir—suggested we have one of the choir members in the front row subtlety beat the rhythm of the piece to prompt me should  I get lost—which happened EVERY time we practiced.

We had never had more than 15 women total rehearse with us, but a whole new problem arose during the conference when the Stake President announced the musical number. Virtually every woman in the audience rose from their seats and came to the join the choir on the stand–even teenagers and Primary girls. I panicked. It was bad enough the choir had to deal with my inexperience, but now we had at least 30 singers who had never even seen the music! I took a deep breath and signaled the piano to begin.

I was enormously relieved when the piano, the choir, and I all managed to end together. I remember fighting back tears of frustration because this “volunteer” job was clearly way beyond my ability, and I was stricken with guilt at having put women whom I had come to love in such a position. Then a very odd thing happened.

When the meeting was finished, the Stake President went out of his way to find me and tell me how exceptional the music number had been. The Branch President stood near the steps of the podium and told each sister how lovely the music was, and how much he appreciated their time and efforts. By the time I made my way out of the chapel, dozens of people had stopped me to comment of the beauty of the music. Blinking back my tears, I reminded myself it was very generous of them to overlook my lack of skill. Sensing my unease, the pianist came up behind me and linked her arm in mine. “Sister Voorhies,” she whispered. “If we’ve done all we can, the angels sing with us.” Oh. . .  Sometimes it’s easy to forget– when we’re volunteering in a Heavenly endeavor, no matter how small, we don’t have to labor alone.