When Angels Play

 I've already written in my autobiography about the time I prayed for an angel's voice for my solo, and after it was over, the bishop came to me in awe of my singing voice. "I knew you sang, but I didn't know you sang that well. It was the voice of an angel, " he said.

So, here I am at 70 years, and I play the organ in church, usually with slight mistakes (mostly pedals) and usually only I know, but it bothers me anyway. Because I am also the music chairman, I accompany many people on the piano, but the pieces are usually fairly easy. Occasionally it might sound perfect, but every once in awhile, I skip a note or two. One time I made it all the way through perfectly and on the last note, I played an obvious wrong chord. Well that broke the spirit real fast.

Three weeks before the temple-worker fireside, I received an unknown text telling me, she got my name as a pianist to accompany a soloist at the temple-worker fireside. She was the one who was supposed to be the accompanist, and now she couldn't. She had to leave the next day and asked if she could come and bring me the music. Well, I was going out of town for 2 weeks, so no time to rehearse...but she assured me that the soloist was a professional singer and the accompaniment was easy. Well, she didn't play the accompaniment, but the first page was simple, and what she played was simple, so I said, 'yes', and the soloist agreed we could get together when I came back from my vacation.

After coming back, I went to my temple shift on Wednesday and a worried temple matron came to me to ask how the piece was coming. I could see her anxious eyes when I told her we hadn't practiced, yet. (I had gotten back the Monday night before the Sunday fireside, and as the soloist and I went over my schedule and her schedule, there was no night we were both free before Sunday unless she drove an hour to the Fallbrook building during our English lessons on Thursday.) That didn't seem to calm the matron's troubled demeanor as she said they had asked this other lady and she now wasn't doing it, but I told her we were going to practice the next day.

So Thursday it was. The soloist drove all the way down to inner North Houston from New Caney. I did my best, which I must say was not perfect, but it was pretty OK. See, the first 2 pages were very easy, the next two were a little harder, then boom, the hard, speedy stuff hit. It was going from 16th notes to 8th notes, back and forth with a syncopated left hand as it rose in volume to her climax, and back down to soft again. 

The piece was called, Ancestor's Plea. It was a very moving piece (in more ways than one) with a person pleading from the Spirit World for us to do the work for them. I practiced and practiced, but never could make it perfect. The 9-page piece also needed Mike to shift it and pull the top sheet off as I played. 

We have over 1,300 temple workers. I knew they all wouldn't be there, but I knew about 700+ would be there. Enough to frighten an average accompanist, so that Sunday morning I prayed that I would play well at church, and specifically asked that angels would take my fingers to help them move so fast over the keys when I played for the fireside. Well, church came and went, and horror of horrors, I was playing the song all the way through because it was a new song, and the audience started singing 2 lines through, without the chorister. I kept playing and the chorister didn't know what to do, so halfway through, she just led and they found they were two stanzas behind, and quit singing until we started the 2nd verse. Couldn't have been worse. I kept thinking of how I had prayed for help on my temple piece and specifically asked for angels to play for me. Would it be a disaster, too?

We got there 45 min. early and the singer luckily did a mic check (I say luckily, because they had a separate mic for her and it had no batteries.) We decided that she would sing from the podium mic. and did a short few measures. (She didn't want to give the song away ahead, because at that time half the congregation was already in place. 

Because I had NEVER played it perfectly, even though I had gone over the rough places, and because we hadn't gone over the entire song, I was kind of worried...until the opening prayer was said. The person who gave the prayer, asked that angels would accompany the music. When I heard that in the prayer, I felt the spirit warm my heart. I knew they would be with me as I played.

When it was time to play the piece, I started, and the soloist sang. I made it through 7 and a half pages pretty well, then when the speed picked up, I noticed she was way ahead on the phrase. Did she miss the rhythm? Did she skip 2 measures? I somehow played that chord she was on, then she went to the next line and I don't know what happened, but it was the same thing. How could she be a whole two measures ahead? I don't know what I did, but I skipped ahead to the chord she was on and we finished the last page together.  

I was devastated. I felt I had let her down. It was the worst I had ever done. The notes didn't sound bad to me, but I had no idea what I played to catch up to where she was, because it for sure wasn't the notes written in the music; I was just hearing where she was in the music and making sure I made it there.

It was the perfect song to sing before the temple matron spoke. She told of her experience with an ancestor coming to her aunt to get his work done...and how they looked and looked and couldn't find the person, until a divine 'coincidence' (call) came from a living person who had never called them before, and knew that the person they were looking for was called by a nickname, and the person not only told them the man's real name, but gave permission to do the work. Then she told of doing the work a week before it was planned, and called the aunt to tell her, but she already knew (because the man had come to her prior to the call, thanking her for having him baptized.) Then the matron read a statement from President Nelson, who said we should not say people are dead when they die, because they are very much alive. The Spirit was strong...so strong, I hoped no one would remember the horrible mistakes I had made.

After the meeting was over, I was a bit embarrassed to be talked to, because of what happened, but Mike turned to me and said that was the best he had ever heard me play, that 'it was flawless'. Huh? Then, one after another came up to me and said similar things. One lady said, 'it was as if you and she were one.' 'Your playing was totally in sync.' 'Her music she sang came out of the piano the way you were playing, you were so together.' 'You played that perfectly.' 'You had such a delicate, light touch, it brought the Spirit out as she sang.' 

Now I was totally embarrassed, because these were music people talking to me. How could they not know?  They were not hearing how I lost track of 2 entire stanzas of music. Had they heard someone else playing in my place? It was in the back of my mind...that I had asked for angels to play, and the temple matron had asked for that, too. How could I take the credit for what angels had done? When I mentioned what had happened to Mike (without telling him what I was thinking) he said, maybe there were angels playing on those quick stanzas. And, my sneaky suspicion was confirmed. The congregation had not heard me or my blunders, but they had heard the angels playing. And I knew it.

When Heavenly Father Trusts You to Give to Others

 

You will never believe what happened to me yesterday! I was in line at Walmart and a man was in front of me. I looked at him and he was dressed like he was poor. He only had 4 bananas and a package of toilet paper, but he didn’t have enough money. He was $1.78 short. He took out his wallet, but he didn’t have the money. He didn’t know what to do, because even if he put away the bananas, there wasn’t enough money for the toilet paper. 

I told the store clerk I would pay the $1.78 for that man. He accepted, and thanked me. As I stepped up to the clerk, the man behind me in line, came up and handed me a hundred-dollar bill. “This is for you,” he said.

“Oh, no, I can’t take your money,” I responded.

“I fix air conditioners and just got paid $5,000.00. I saw what you did. The spirit told me that if I gave you this hundred dollars, you were the kind of person who would pass it on if you don’t need it. You can use it for yourself, or you can give it away…but it is yours to do what you want. Take it.” 

I did take it. It is sitting in my wallet. I have been praying to have eyes to see and ears to hear who needs money. I felt so happy that Heavenly Father would tell that man that he could give me money and trust me to give it to someone who needs it more than I do.

Watch My Boy

 

Edit: While I yearned that this meant something. I've had many dreams recently where I was nursing babies, and when I saw the news about all the orphaned children from Gaza, I wanted to adopt. This dream means nothing spiritually, except my desire to care for children again.

Dream 4/24/25

I got on a plane. Immediately, I saw/felt there was tenseness. The plane had children on the plane with other adults, and one of the older girls had hurriedly written with marker a huge number with a dollar sign on a bin in the closet and shut the door to it. I knew it was the amount of money the bad people were stealing.

I looked around the plane and tried to recognize who was bad and who was not, by the communication across the aisles to each other. As I recognized who was bad, I knew they knew I knew. In that process, I noticed the man in front of me with his back to me was bad. I also recognized that I knew who he was, so whenever he turned around, I hid my face. Nevertheless, he found out I was there. 

At some point, the plane landed and 2 policemen entered, not knowing who was bad and had guns. At the same time, one of the bad men escaped out the back. I knew there was going to be a gun fight, so I pulled all the little children around me and we huddled on the floor, as I put my arms around them and was praying for our protection. The bad man I knew saw this.

The bad men finally got control of the plane because the man, who had escaped got back on the plane, entered and changed control. The man I knew was sitting up on a chair (as were all the bad men who had control of the plane) and I was still on the floor. He pointed to another a older child, also sitting up on a chair, and looking at me, said, “You forgot (______)," pointing to that child.

I called the child’s name and motioned to him to come to me. There was fear in his eyes, as he looked at me and the man in the chair next to me that had told me about him, but I kept calling. I motioned for him to get down, and he crawled over to me, and I included him in my circle of protection.

Later, I asked the boy who his father was, and to my shock, he said it was the bad man I knew, the same man who had pointed him out. The bad men finally left the plane with whatever they were trying to smuggle, and I told the boy, he had to go with his dad.

The danger was over…but suddenly a window on the plane opened and the boy I had rescued, yelled, “Watch out. They are going to shoot you.” 

We all hit the floor, and the boy’s father snarled, “You belong with her,” as he broke the window and threw him in the plane towards me. The boy immediately scrambled to me, as we waited for the gunfire. But there was none. Either the men had been captured, or it had been a ruse.

BUT I knew one thing. I was to keep the boy. The father, who was bad, obviously loved his son, because he had twice asked me to watch his boy. Then the dream ended.

BE WARNED: My MRI Experience

[Note, this is transcribed from a Blog in my past (August 3, 2012)...before I was on Facebook].

 I remember a girl telling me about running away during her MRI because she was claustrophobic. It was hysterically funny to me at the time, but when I was faced with having to experience the same, I started to worry. What would I do? I talked to many people, hoping technology had improved. "Oh, yes," they said. "It's different, now." And so it was that I walked into the imaging center with relative calmness...and filled out paper after paper giving up my right to sue for any adverse effects.

I'm really starting to feel calm now.(Sarcastic remark) Then I filled out a paper about them injecting me with some dye or something. No one said word one about that! I started to sweat. My left shoulder tensed up to a knot. "Breathe. Breathe," I kept telling myself while I massaged my shoulder. "Do you need some water?" the nurse at the desk asked.

"No," I answered and looked at the clock. (I guess my face was too telling.) 

Finally, it was my turn. I locked up my belongings and glasses, walked into the room, and lo and behold there was that same ancient tube the claustrophobic girl had described. I didn't even think I could fit in that thing, but since I was only MRI-ing my head, I was sure I wouldn't have to go all the way in. I lay down according to her instructions and listened to the spiel about not moving...(as in, "if you move your arm or hand, [they] "would have to start the pictures over."

Oh, I was sure that would NOT happen. I could certainly stay still for five to 10 minutes. But I couldn't relax my arms--there was no room for them on that narrow conveyer belt thingy. They kept falling straight down to the floor, so I clasp them on my stomach...but the nurse assured me that I could set them on the side when I got in.

Got in? They were going to make me go in? Breathe in. Breathe out.

She gave me ear plugs. Ear plugs! What would I need them for? Apparently, it was to be very loud. Next this helmet/cage thing was snapped around my head....like they really thought I would move my head. Really? Was I going to retake a picture? I think not. But oh, yes, they did it. They started packing that cage mask thing with foam pillows around my head. I felt like a newborn baby being prepped for a ride in a baby carrier.

Right before it started, she handed me an air bulb and said, "Squeeze this if you need to stop." Stop? I was not about to stop and have to do this over. Then the machine ride began...and the table moved into the tube a little way as I previously suspected, and a piercing red light shown in my eyes (mind you, I had had them dilated at the eye doctor this morning, so I wisely decided I would keep my eyes closed during this MRI).

As soon as I closed them the machine pulled me in...and kept pulling me in...and kept pulling me...all the way in. Where was the arm room she said there would be to relax on the sides? The sides were so tight on my arms they had no place to go but be on top of me and I squinched them in so as not to get a scraped arm. Obviously the red light was not the MRI.

My hands were laying on my stomach as I breathed deep breaths to relax. Up and down. Up and down went my diaphragm. Yikes! That meant my arms were moving. I couldn't have them move...so I held my hands up about a half inch above my stomach. The machine started clunking, rattling, and vibrating with loud, jarring sounds that were akin to a jackhammer. It didn't seem to end. I continued to hold my hands above my stomach, eyes closed, and slowly tried to relax. I could do this.

Finally, the noise stopped. Whew, it was over. I had done it! The machine started to pull me out. About ONE INCH! It stopped, and the process started all over again. What? Had the machine malfunctioned? I continued to try to relax and kept my hands poised above my stomach. Finally, it ended. 

Yes! I could come out. But the machine pushed me back in another inch and started some different funky grinding sound. This was not going to do. I decided that if the noise started again, I was going to have to rest my hand on my stomach, but what if that moved me? Each break between the bouts of rumbling, I would move one finger down on my stomach, so my hands were eventually resting on my stomach. I took shallower breaths so they would not move up and down. (Now, I was worried about hyperventilation.)

Then I felt it. An itch on the back of my left leg. I could do nothing about it. It got worse. I couldn't even jiggle my leg. What if it were a bug? What if it crawled up farther?Should I squeeze the bulb?

Then the vibration stopped. The conveyer table moved another inch, and the horrible noise began again, but this time my elbow was hurting from the side of the tube. I wondered if I had bruised it going back and forth. I certainly couldn't pull it in any farther to stop it. Yikes. (I moved my arm). Hopefully it was OK. This was not fun. How long had I been in there? Had the technician walked out of the room? I mean, the noise was so loud it was making my ears ring even with ear plugs. If someone wasn't hard of hearing going into this machine, they sure would be coming out. Was it too loud for the nurse? Was she out of the room till the noise was over and the 'broken' machine was just going back and forth because I was stuck and she didn't know it?

I started really praying. Please bless the nurse to come back. Please bless me to get out of this machine. It just kept going.

Finally, when I thought I couldn't take any more, the machine started pulling me out. Yes! It was over. Uh oh. It stopped. The technician took hold of my arm and said, "Now I have to inject you with this liquid and then we only have four more pictures". I imagined what she was doing as I felt each part of the familiar process: the elastic tightly tied around my upper arm, the alcohol swipe, the stick of the needle, the press of the cotton ball, and the tape. The only thing I couldn't feel was if the needle was still in me because she bent my arm back over my stomach the way it used to be and the machine immediately pulled me in again.

I felt the familiar squeeze on my right elbow as the table moved back into the machine and wondered again if my elbow was bruised. Oh, no. What if my bent, squeezed arm would prevent whatever was injected from flowing through my body? Would I have to do this over again? Uh-oh, I just thinking about it and it moved again. Ever so slightly. Hopefully that did not mess the picture up.

By now, I figured out that one picture was not just a flash in time, but an eternity of deafening noise. I started counting seconds to see how long each picture was, but soon quit as I was worried that my mental calculations would mess up the MRI since I was not doing that in the previous pictures, but I estimated each picture about 5 minutes, so I just tried to relax for the last 20 minutes.

That is when I felt something pushing the back of my head. The more I thought about it, the more it hurt. I wanted to rip whatever pressure I felt from under my hair. Twenty minutes of feeling that? It felt like I was getting a dent in my head. I held that bulb tighter and prayed. To counter the hurt on the back of my head, I decided to see if I could figure out why it was taking so long to take the pictures, so I tried to feel...(imagined feel) what shred, or slice of my head was being imaged. (Not a good idea for a hypochondriac.) I imagined pain in my eyes, forehead, ears. Oh, I didn't know how long this could go on.

Finally, it was done. I couldn't get off that table fast enough, but I was a little wobbly getting my balance. I felt the back of my head (in case there was a dent). I examined where my head had been resting. Nothing. Smooth as a baby's bottom. I looked at my right elbow (in case there was a bruise). Nothing. Then, I glanced at the clock. I HAD BEEN SUBJECTED TO THAT INSIDIOUS TORTURE FOR AN ENTIRE HOUR! Was it too much to inform me of the length of time I would be in there? I think not!

Be warned. Should you have to have an MRI, it WILL be long. It WILL be in a tube...and if you don't want to literally feel like the stuffing in a Polish sausage, you should not be over weight.

Sacrifice and an answer to my prayer.

 I've consecrated things to the Lord. I've covenanted with the Lord at His request and had so many miracles I can't begin to count. But this morning I wept again, as I have so many nights recently. I prayed for the Ukrainians who our country has taken away support in a war. I prayed for the immigrants who were deported to a foreign prison, and accused of being gang members...without any due process of law to prove their innocence. I prayed for the people who have lost their jobs for no reason. I prayed for the poorer countries that had the aid from our richest country taken away from them. I prayed for those honest people who did their jobs as lawyers, judges, and congressional committee members, which included investigating the January 6th uprising, making legal decisions that allowed Trump to be prosecuted for his crimes. They are now targets and the president has vowed to have them removed from their positions and put in jail. I prayed for Congress and judges who have voted against his measures, and had Trump threaten them with jail and/or removal for opposing him. I prayed for our country, as usual. 

Only this morning, I told Heavenly Father, I would sacrifice something that meant much to me. I am giving it up so I can get something better. The better I asked for was to see his hand in my life and in the world. The better I prayed for was to draw nearer to Him so that I could be his hands and voice in Gathering Israel and doing His will. At the close of my prayer, I felt the Spirit say that I needed to write down the results of my sacrifice when I saw and felt the Lord close to me.

It wasn't long before I saw the first thing I needed to write about. I was reading the article in the Liahona about the ministry of the apostles. I was interested in their qualifications. I already knew they were special witnesses of the Savior, so I skimmed that. But, then I saw Ambassadors to the World. I read time after time where the apostles met with leaders of other countries and offered monetary aid to build shelters for the Ukrainian refugees, to cloth and feed the hungry nations, to fund a hospital to heal the sick. I was overcome with emotion. I felt the Lord say to my spirit, "Your nation may have abandoned them, but I have not." What an answer to my prayer! What I testimony that the prophet and apostles knew ahead to save money to take up the slack in ministering to the needy throughout the world. I am so happy to belong to Christ's Church. I am so happy to be able to testify of His goodness.

Watched Over--Another Miracle

 I have always had a fear of driving on a highway, especially several narrow lanes where the cars are going at least 70 mph. I've had many miracles upon changing lanes or entering a freeway--that there is an open space for me to easily enter, and I attribute that to the fact that I pray before, during, and after such excursions. Nevertheless, I prefer my husband to drive, and I try not to look because he is an impulsive jerky speedster upon occasions. And many times I have been saved from death miraculously when he was driving. During such times, I have anxiety attacks. I raise my level of oxygen, lean the seat back, take an aspirin that is in the car for such cases.

Last Thursday, I had to drive down to Fallbrook by myself. I'd done it before, but it was frightening to me. Before I left, I sat in the car and pled with Heavenly Father to watch over me, and specifically asked for an angel to help me, and  that I would travel safely. As soon as I turned around the corner from our house, I heard 3 distinct beeps from my portable oxygen concentrator. I wondered why it was beeping, and turned to find it wasn't in the car next to me. Hmm, maybe I left it in the back of the car, so I turned around and went home to look in the back of the car. It wasn't there. I checked the engine to see if anything was wrong. No. 

So I knocked on our door and asked Mike if my concentrator was in the chair by our bedroom. YES! It was. I was overcome with emotion that I would hear the exact sound of my concentrator, so I could have oxygen when I was driving. How blest I felt.

(The next day, I even drove with Mike in the car and asked him to take off his seat belt to make sure the beeps had not come from the seat belt. I heard 'ding, ding, ding' but no 'beeping' like my oxygen concentrator.) It just verified the blessing I had been given.

Some of my previous discontinued Blog Transcriptions

April 2010

 Today was a student's last day in my class. Yesterday, when we were on 'silence' (waiting for the last straggling finishers of Math TAKS in our hallway) my class was finished. To keep my class quiet, I let them draw at their own, separated desks. Unbeknownst to my departing student, I had whispered to every student (but him) that the drawing paper was to write him a letter, make a card, or just draw something for him...but that it was a secret surprise. Some students immediately put up their partitions to hide their work, while others meandered over to the boy and asked him his favorite color. The students were so excited I don't know how they kept it a surprise, but after today's Reading TAKS was over...my students were told they had to just read. Then, I handed the soon-to-be-departing student the packet of cards/letters from his classmates. When he opened the packet and realized what they were, he grinned from ear to ear. All eyes were on him as he pulled every student's card out one at a time to examine and read. It was just a joy to watch his face, but even more heartwarming was to watch the face of each particular student whose handiwork he was holding. They'd just beam and turn to everyone else to mouth or motion that he was looking at their card. I just loved watching how much joy they got out of what they had done. I have missed so many opportunities in the hurry and scurry of test prep to just let the children be children, to let them practice serving and doing for each other...to feel joy in doing good. It seems that would be the more important lesson in life.