We made it to church early, because Tony wanted a chance to prepare at the piano; but Tony is a bit of a French socialist, and not in the political sense. He just loves to mingle with the French Saints. Hence, there was no prelude music as Tony mingled.
After my "Bonjours," to the few people I'd met the previous week, I sat down, safe in my little space at the front of the church. I was ready to write in my journal or to read again the Relief Society discourse in French. I wanted to be as prepared as possible so my mind didn't float away when I understood so very little.
Two minutes before the meeting was supposed to start, Tony came to me with a very grave face. "The Bishop asked if you would give the closing prayer."
I started to cry. Really, I just teared up.
"He said you could say it in English; or just use French and English."
But I'd signed up for the real French experience; I wasn't going to make the French speaking congregation listen to a prayer in English. I was full in.
So, I started to fret and check the translation phone app for the correct grammar of my thoughts. Then it hit me. This prayer was not about me. No one cared what language I spoke or how it reflected on me. Prayer at the close of a meeting was only to thank God for the blessing of having been in his house of worship and to be among like-minded people who wished to learn of him, his son, and their will.
I put down my phone and determined to just let the prayer come from my heart.
As I stood before the congregation, I looked out among the people. From almost the back of the chapel was the smile of an American missionary who knew me, who knew what I was going through. His smile brought peace.
I bowed my head and talked to Heavenly Father. In French. In behalf of the congregation.
It was simple and all a prayer needed to be.
After my "Bonjours," to the few people I'd met the previous week, I sat down, safe in my little space at the front of the church. I was ready to write in my journal or to read again the Relief Society discourse in French. I wanted to be as prepared as possible so my mind didn't float away when I understood so very little.
Two minutes before the meeting was supposed to start, Tony came to me with a very grave face. "The Bishop asked if you would give the closing prayer."
I started to cry. Really, I just teared up.
"He said you could say it in English; or just use French and English."
But I'd signed up for the real French experience; I wasn't going to make the French speaking congregation listen to a prayer in English. I was full in.
So, I started to fret and check the translation phone app for the correct grammar of my thoughts. Then it hit me. This prayer was not about me. No one cared what language I spoke or how it reflected on me. Prayer at the close of a meeting was only to thank God for the blessing of having been in his house of worship and to be among like-minded people who wished to learn of him, his son, and their will.
I put down my phone and determined to just let the prayer come from my heart.
As I stood before the congregation, I looked out among the people. From almost the back of the chapel was the smile of an American missionary who knew me, who knew what I was going through. His smile brought peace.
I bowed my head and talked to Heavenly Father. In French. In behalf of the congregation.
It was simple and all a prayer needed to be.
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