My talents have been stymied in church for the last 4 years. I think bishops are leery of opinionated single women, and so give them callings like "Sunday School 5-minutes-left warning bell ringer," where they can't do much harm.
But for Christmas I talked the Primary into letting me come dressed as Elizabeth (John the Baptist's mother) and tell the Christmas story from her point of view.
I don't just talk when I tell stories. I leap around, wave my arms, use a multitude of voices, and contort my face into evil or angelic expressions. Children are mesmerized, because today's children have never heard a story TOLD! They get read to. They see TV. But they never see a live storyteller. I am more than flamboyant - which exactly suits my personality.
The cautious teacher or primary president invariably begins her introduction by urging the children to listen and be courteous, a totally unnecessary exercise for her. Once I get started, the kids are all eyes and gaping mouths. Who is this insane woman? they wonder. And what is she doing leaping around, making faces, and yelling in those crazy voices? I better keep an eye on her in case she explodes!
The teachers and presidency were astonished! The kids never moved a muscle while I mimicked "Harrod the Horrid" wringing his hands and planning his villiany on the wise men and Bethlehem babies. (Kids adore gore!)
So today I got my second shot. Our Stake President's wife has a bunch of six year old Cain-raisers in her Primary class. The lesson was supposed to tell what kind of little boy Joseph Smith was so the children could identify with him. An hour before the meeting she phoned me and asked if I would pretend to be Lucy Mack Smith and come to tell the story of how fun-loving little Joseph got his bone sawed into without anesthetic to save it from amputation.
Hot Dog!
Quick as a whip I cut a piece of muslin into a circa 1815 mob-cap with back ruffle, sewed it up, donned a black dress with pilgrim collar, grabbed a shawl, and brought along my long windshield ice-scraper as my old-age cane (none of the old people at church would loan me their canes, making lame excuses that they could not walk to class without theirs. Wimps!)(pun intended) . I was only 5 minutes late for church, in spite of it all!
As I stood outside the classroom door for my big entrance, I heard chaos within. A brief qualm assailed me. But the minute I entered and introduced myself as Lucy Mack Smith, on loan from the Spirit World to tell them a bloody story, there was quiet. In a crone's voice, leaning on my ice-scraper, I told them of Joseph almost getting his leg sawed off. I drew a picture on the board, illustrating how the tibia had to be carved out with a drill and a chisel, while blood and puss flowed all over. (Good medical background lends verisimilitude.) They LOVED it! Not a peep more until the end, when one of them asked me why I had a broom on the end of my cane. I explained it was handy to sweep the snow off my covered wagon during the winter. Vraiment!
I just had time to whip off my cap and shawl afterward, and race back to the RS room to lead the closing song. A fun Sunday!
4 comments:
The kids in my primary still talk about the story you told there last year :)
Hahaha....I can just picture it now. Yes, it's true. Your talents are never wasted when you're telling a story!
You are an amazing woman! And it's true that nobody can tell a story like you.
I didn't know you had a blog, but now I do so I will add you to my bookmarks.
Miss you,
Kim
I can hear that crone voice inside my head.
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