small miracles

**Sorry, this is long, but I wanted to remember as much of this as I could.

October 24th was my 4th primary program as the primary chorister, but the first time that I had to lead in Portuguese.

Background: When we first came to Portugal I was excited to help in our ward here, but figured all I'd be able to do is play the piano because of the language barrier. We don't have a piano in the primary room, so they don't really need a pianist--oh well. When they asked me to be the chorister I was excited. I was very sad to leave that calling when we moved from our last ward, but I had to wonder how that would work in a different language. I think the primary president thought I knew at least SOME Portuguese, but no, not a bit--except for "ola" or "ciao." For the last month and a half I've been trying to teach the kids 5 songs in Portuguese, which was not easy. Not only could I not talk to the kids, and I struggled to sing the right sounds--not even able to read Portuguese, but they couldn't sing at all. I don't want to dwell on that, but let me just say--it was bad. With only a few weeks to teach them I figured I wouldn't worry too much about this program as it seemed to be a lost cause. So up until the day of the primary program, I knew it wouldn't go well, but I wasn't going to worry too much because really, there wasn't much I could do. (This is not like the states where you do dress rehearsals the day before, and every little thing is planned out where it's a huge production).

Fast forward--I arrived at church 20 minutes early on the 24th thinking "how bad could it be?" Well, let me just say that "horrible" is not a strong enough word for how bad that day started--but now, at least, I can laugh about it. So I get to church to find the primary room is locked. Strange--it's never been locked before, but I'll just wait for Irma Carolina to come unlock it. Well, she came, but she didn't have a key. The bishop didn't have a key. Not even the stake president had a key. Come to find out (through some broken English) the baptismal font next to the primary room was being redone, and so the maintenance people had just decided to lock the door. Slight problem: they were the only ones with keys. Well--all of our songbooks were in there, as well as all of the posters I had made to teach the kids the primary songs--and there was no way of opening the door. Irma Carolina asked me what they should do. I said we needed to hurry and make new posters, or else we should just forget singing any songs. Fortunately, our Sacrament meeting is during the last hour, or else, I don't know what we would have done. Well, neither of us had brought paper or markers, and everything was locked away in the primary closet. But then I remembered that a month ago we had cleaned out the primary closet and luckily had put some rolls of paper in another closet. I ran and found the paper--but the only markers we had were 2 dry erase markers. I now had one hour and a half to re-make all of the posters and get the kids all ready for the program. Panic. It had taken me at least 2 hours to make just one of the previous posters. How could I re-make all 5 in an hour? Again, this whole not-knowing-Portuguese thing was killing me. I couldn't just hurry and copy the songs, because I had to copy letter by letter--hardly knowing when one word ended and another began. But the presidency wanted me to do it because they felt I had good handwriting and to be fair, that is my calling. (NOT the time to worry about handwriting in my mind). So the three of them gather around me--holding different ends of the paper to keep it from rolling up while our 10 primary kids are running like maniacs and yelling throughout the church with no one watching them. I was shaking, ready to cry as I wrote the title of the first song. Right then Carlos walked in and immediately understanding the situation, reassured me that he would write the songs for me. I was doing my best to help him when the stake primary president walked in and with a very confused look (her eyes following all of the kids running everywhere) asked in Portuguese "where is the primary room?" I didn't know what she said, so I couldn't respond. Carlos was busy writing, so he didn't respond. And no one in the presidency responded either, right away.

I felt humiliated (and slightly useless), so I decided that I better go round up the kids, to at least keep them quiet. After a few minutes I had them gathered in the chapel, and was trying to explain to them where to stand/sit--but again, I don't speak Portuguese. I made at least 2 of them cry--and who could blame them--this lady they hardly knew speaking very quickly in a panicky voice and in a foreign language while physically moving them to different places on the stand. I would have cried too. Our ward pianist came in, but she didn't have a songbook. In fact, the only songbook we had was the one I almost forgot to bring that morning as I was running out the door to catch the bus. So at least she had that so she could play. She ran to make some copies of the music, then we tried to practice a song without any visuals for the kids--which didn't go well, at all. I went to check and see where we were at with the posters and realized that the stake primary president had jumped right in to help Carlos and was furiously writing out the words to our songs, making our new posters (and she had fabulous handwriting--so we were all happy). She had brought markers with her--I don't know why--she has an 18-month old (at the oldest), but I highly doubt you'd give an 18 month-old markers at church. Anyway, they were beautiful posters, with each verse and chorus in a different color so the kids could easily read them. As each one of the posters was finished, they would rush it out to me, and we'd run through the song a couple of times--trying just to go over the rhythm and the words. I wasn't even worried about singing in tune.

During our practice I had several people in the ward missing Relief Society/Elders' Quorum and Sunday School so that they could help. One parent made me a stick so I could point out the words on the posters. Two sweet sisters were holding up the posters for me and keeping them from rolling up while I pointed to the words and directed the kids (they were big posters). A member of the bishopric was on the ground in his suit cutting up cardboard boxes so that each poster could have something firm to lean on so they wouldn't roll, and taping it together so that the kids would be able to see all of the words (no idea where the cardboard boxes came from). The sweet pianist was going over the words and notes with the kids--telling them to be reverent, not shout, or sing louder (everything I wished I could, but couldn't say). The primary presidency was doing everything they could as well. One sister was trying to help Carlos write out a poster who was probably barely literate herself. It was amazing. You had all of these people coming together, offering what they could to help and make sure our program went well. I was on the edge of tears the whole time--sometimes because I was panicking and sometimes because I was overwhelmed with gratitude.

Well, at this point the word got out that we were going to have a reporter coming that day to do a story on our kids and our program. Great. Panic again. Poor Irma Carolina was speechless. I don't think I heard her say a word for the next 20 minutes. I was worried she was going to have a heart attack. (this was her first primary program--and first time in primary, ever). Oh, and on top of that, the stake president and his counselor were also coming to see our program. Fabulous. Even if we were able to get all of the posters done--that didn't change the fact that the kids still didn't know the songs, and they were out of control rowdy that day. Great publicity! Well, Carlos and the stake primary president (who literally saved me that day) finished writing out all of our new posters and it ended up that we had exactly the right amount of paper. It was a small miracle. The posters were taped to our cardboard backing, and I had them in order ready to go. I couldn't believe they had pulled it off. We were all so nervous--how would it go? We all kept hugging each other and trying to reassure each other--all of them speaking to me in Portuguese, and me speaking, of course, in English.

I was still shaking when the meeting began. After I said several prayers to myself, we began to sing the opening song, "I Know That My Redeemer Lives" and I felt completely at peace. Throughout the Sacrament there was such a sacred feeling, and I think everyone felt it because the kids (and the adults) were more reverent than I've ever seen them. When it came time for the program I had Carlos hold the posters--he was sitting in the front row directly in front of the kids, and I knelt on the floor next to the poster so I could point to the words of the songs. Each of the kids got up and did their parts beautifully. I loved the simplicity of it. Some recited scriptures, or read them, a few bore their testimonies, and a couple gave short talks that they had prepared. Each of the primary presidency also gave short talks. The kids were completely reverent up on the stand--another miracle. The songs went great. They sang loud--louder than the 40 kids in our last ward, but they were still reverent. For the most part they sang in tune and with the rhythm--and they could follow the words. It was the best I've ever heard them sing. It was incredible. Even the little girl who had never come to primary before (her mom was just baptized a couple weeks ago) we had her up there singing with the kids, and she did great. After the program we sang the theme song again ("I Know That My Savior Loves Me") as people filed out of the chapel. We, I mean, they talked with the reporter and a photographer took some pictures. We celebrated one of the kids' birthdays with some birthday cake and more singing. The kids were so proud of themselves--and I was very proud of them too. I think this was the best primary program yet.

It wasn't until after we got home that Carlos told me the bishopric was about to break down the door to the primary room so I could get the posters. They even had the "okay" from the stake president--"If the primary needs the posters, take it down." I guess Carlos had to talk them out of it, which wasn't easy to do. They were all ready to do it, but he convinced them that he could finish re-making the posters in time. That is too funny because I would never have thought of that, or at least thought that it would even be considered--I guess there's more than one way to solve a problem. :) In the end, I'm glad we saved the door, and some money. I wonder if the maintenance person has any idea of the uproar caused by simply locking one door--of all the days to do it on, too!

In the grand scheme of things, a primary program really isn't that important, but somehow Heavenly Father provided everything we needed so that we could be successful. We had just the right amount of paper, materials, people, talent, and the right spirit to pull off a small miracle. I think my sister-in-law was right when she said that there's a whole category of miracles under the label of "primary programs." Somehow, year after year, it all works out. This was a testimony to me that Heavenly Father really does care about the details in our lives, and has already provided a way out for us before we get ourselves stuck in these situations. I love this gospel, and I'm so grateful to be a part of this great work.

One other funny note--the entire primary presidency, pianist, and myself all wore matching outfits on accident--button-up white shirts with black/gray knee-length skirts.

Oh, and I'd love to read the article, but I don't know what paper it's in, so we'll have to see if we can find it.