Doing a Better Job

"Thanks for coming over," Sister Cluff greeted me, giving me a one armed hug as I walked into her living room.  "I should have gone over to your house, but all the stuff is here so it makes it easier for me to have you come to mine."


"All what stuff?" I wondered as I followed her into her kitchen.  Her counter was covered with butcher paper, marking pens, scissors, and Popsicle sticks.


"You're doing a great job leading the singing in Primary," she assured me as she picked up some ready made visual aids, "but I thought I could give you some of the ideas I used when I was a chorister."


"You're kidding me," I thought in frustration.  "You've invited me over to tell me I'm not doing my job good enough?" 


Of course, I didn't say this out loud.  Instead I smiled brightly and watched her display all the cute teaching aids she had made over the years.  But inside I was fuming.  Where did she get off telling me how to be a chorister?


I started leading the singing in Junior Sunday School when I was 16 years old.   Before that I had accompanied on the piano for two years, so I knew what choristers did.  I was also young enough to remember mom using reverence finger-plays and other gimmicks to catch our attention and calm us down when she was our leader, so it came naturally to do the same things.  In those days we sang the same songs that our parents and their parents before them sang, so there wasn't a lot of teaching involved.  Mostly my job was to keep the kids involved, reverent, but still sing loudly, and everyone told me I did a great job.


When I was in my early twenties I was called to be the Primary Chorister in our ward.  I've got to admit that the I was glad to get this calling because it meant I didn't have to do as much preparation as my previous calling teaching the youth.  After all, I still had most of my visual aids, so all I had to do to get ready for Sunday was choose the songs and occasionally make a poster or two to help.  I was busy all week keeping house and caring for my three lively children and the little girl I babysat, so although I knew I wasn't putting in as much time as I should have, I still thought I was a pretty good Primary Chorister.  What right did Sister Cluff have to tell me how to do my job better?  Just because she was the Primary President didn't mean she knew everything there was to know about leading the singing.


I spent an hour at her house that day, cross and grumpy inside, but I was impressed with some of the ideas she showed me.  Making lots of cute flannel board cutouts and other visual aids could get really expensive, but she showed me how she took butcher paper (she got it  free behind the newspaper office where they threw out the cast off rolls) drew whatever pictures she wanted, cut them out, then stuck clear contact paper over them to make them durable.  It was so easy, but the results were amazing. 


When we were done Sister Cluff thanked me again for what a good job I was already doing, and for coming over to visit with her.  I told her "no problem," and thanked her for inviting me, but all the way home I grumbled to myself. 

"I'm a great chorister," I mumbled as I walked.  "The kids love me, and they sing good for me.  Why does she think I should spend all my time making stuff to teach them new songs?  They're learning my way, aren't they?"

It really hurt my feelings to think she thought I wasn't doing a good job. There were some new songs I was supposed to be teaching the kids, and although writing the words on a poster was one way to teach them, it really was the cleverest or most effective way to help them learn.  Most of all, I just felt guilty.  I knew I wasn't doing my best or spending enough time on my calling.

I couldn't help remembering the day I was kicked out of seminary. (I wrote about that experience back in August if you're interested in reading it.)  I learned then that I tend to get mad when someone tells me I've done something wrong.  Instead I should figure out how to do better.  But that's hard! 

It took me a couple of days to get the sick feeling out of my stomach and determine I was going to be a better chorister.  Then I had all kinds of fun using the new ideas, and I really was glad for the motivation.  But you know what?  I still can remember the hurt, frustration, and anger I felt that day when I thought, because Sister Cluff never actually criticize anything I was doing, that I was getting chewed out for not doing my job right.  It changed me.  First, I've tried harder to fulfill all of my callings, but second, I've tried really hard not to let anyone I'm responsible for think I am telling them they are doing a bad job.  I hope I haven't.