Thanks, Lost.

It's Christmas time, so I'm in a mood. I also took two Excedrin this morning to curb a migraine, and I feel fantastic. And buzzed.

But, every year, I think back on Christmas' past, and the one I always seem to think about is the one Christmas I spent in France.

I normally hate mission stories, because I feel most of them are simply excuses for the raconteur to tell everyone how awesome they were, or how awesome their mission was, or whatever. No altruistic intent at all, just pure ego. But, this one isn't about any of that. It's just involves me doing something unusual, and being completely changed by it.

See, back in Christmas of '03 (yeah, 2003. See, I'm what you would refer to as old...), I was not only in France, but I was in Paris. It was everything I could have wanted, all coming together in one giant ball of "Um, hell yeah!" I was stoked beyond belief to be in the city for the holidays.

Christmas in the mish usually means a special Christmas Zone Conference, a gathering of all the missionaries in a certain region of the mission boundaries. It also meant we got to eat Pizza Hut, which was a really big deal, but that's whole other story. Our zones included all of Paris, and some of the surrounding suburbs and cities. It was quite a large group. Part of this conference involved a lot of music, sung or played by missionaries. Like most missions I'm sure, mine was crawling with musical talent. I was always floored to hear of one missionary or another's full-ride music scholarship, or their ability to improvise any pop song on the spot, or what have you. Tons and tons of talented people.

Anyway, the climax of this musical program involved a big emotional rendition of Le cantique de Noël, or as it's known here, O Holy Night. It was a huge part of the program, the trailer moment of the afternoon, if you will. It's a powerful song. I remember the Christmas prior hearing it sung at the MTC by a duet of some of the best male voices I'd ever heard. It's just an amazing song, and probably my favorite "carol." The song was to be sung in four-part harmony, a traditional quartet of soprano, alto, tenor and bass. Given the amount of musical prowess in the zone, I knew it would be handled flawlessly.

The big shock--and the reason for this long story--was that despite my belief that everyone outside of myself was incredibly musically inclined, and much worthier to participate, I was asked to sing in this quartet. Yeah. Me.

I love to sing. I always have. But, I've never fancied myself any good. I know I can carry a tune, and I know I can muster the necessary bits of breathing and cadence, but that's it. I'm not much more than a choir guy. I'd never sung in anything smaller than maybe a 10 person choir. It never even crossed my mind to want to sing in a quartet. But I accepted, because, why not? I'd already stepped out of my comfort zone a million times over as a missionary, saying and doing things I never dreamed myself capable of, so I figured this was just something else to do.

The people I sang with were some of the best voices in the mission (the best male voice had just left for Brest the transfer prior. You can hear that voice here.) One sister was in my MTC group, and she had some pipes, let me tell you. The other was the daughter of the guy who wrote the music for This Is The Christ, so you can imagine her musicality was spot on. My male counterpart (the bass to my straining tenor) was a previous companion of mine. He sang solos in high school, and was in a band. He and I often sang songs from the Buffy musical episode, as well as pieces from Les Miz while we were together (longest companion I had, too, at 15 weeks). We were theatre nerds, and proud of it. His voice was impressive. His range was much better than mine. I felt dwarfed.

Rehearsals were fine, but I always felt ridiculous singing with these people. I'm not a tenor. I can sing it, but it requires more falsetto than I like to do. I was nervous.

I don't remember much about the day of. It was all well and good. All I remember was, that despite my lack of comparable musical ability, I was unbelievably exhilarated while singing. I don't know how it sounded. I'll never know. I should have recorded it, but failed to even think about it. I don't think anyone did. I could have been just plain awful; the tune-less anchor weighing down the floating ship of musical perfection, on its way to the heavens above to perform for the Man Himself. But, honestly, I don't think that was the point, and it's certainly not what I take away from the experience.

What I take away was the feeling of doing something so completely out of my realm. I'd become so comfortable talking to strangers and imparting my beliefs on anyone who would listen (in a foreign tongue, no less), that it'd become daily, and stale. This performance re-invigorated me. It made me float for about four minutes, and I have yet to shake that feeling. It's one of the most pure Christmas memories I have, and I hope to keep it that way.

So, while Christmas is often centered around Christ and his birth, it should also be a time when we force ourselves to change. We ready ourselves this time of year for the New Year, for resolutions we tend to break in February. Our intent, however, is pure, and our willingness to do something different with our lives is abundant in December, and that should be celebrated, and remarked upon. Do something that scares you this Christmas, because this is time when good works and kind hearts aren't looked upon as needless grabs for attention or false modesty. Use the spirit of the season to surprise yourself, and maybe if you're lucky, surprise someone else as well.