OK, You Were Right

Last night there was a baptism at our church.  I was happily and comfortably seated next to Braeden when the ward mission leader asked me if I play the piano.  I do play the piano but as a Jane Austen character would say, I play the piano very ill indeed.

"Is there anyone else?" I asked.

(Well, obviously there wasn't if they were asking me.)

I said, "I'll do it but if ANYONE else comes that can play, have them do it."

I sat down at the piano and played a tentative prelude while the Relief Society room filled up.  My eyes darted up from the piano every time someone entered the room.  There are plenty of women (and men) in our ward that can play the piano infinitely better than I can.

But none of them were there.

I had never accompanied singing before (except for a few times at home but that's Different).  During the opening song my hands were shaking and I was praying that I didn't wreck the baptism with awful music.  I made it through the song but I couldn't tell you how it sounded.

Between my pounding heart and my mother's voice in my ear telling me "you'll be sorry if you don't practice," I couldn't hear the music.

Towards the end of the opening song, Janet and Eric's boys walked in.  David!  He can play the socks off the piano!  David would rescue me from the closing song!

They sat down.

On the other side of the room.

I sent telepathic messages to David through the entire meeting.  I would have nudged him on the shoulder but that would have meant climbing over the laps of about 30 people.

And that action had a certain "no" about it.

So, soul quaking, I made it through the closing song as well.

My mom was right.  I regret not practicing.  (But did you have to keep reminding me over and over in my ear while I was trying to play?)

I did learn a lesson though:  telepathy doesn't work.

Now I think I'll go practice the piano.