Oh, That Was Just Beautiful!

I sing. Some say I sing very well. Sometimes I think I sing very well. Sometimes I think I sound horrible. Some who have heard me sing might be surprised at this. But it's not because I always sing so beautifully, but rather because when they have heard me sing, I have practiced and practiced and my voice is warmed up and I am ready to actually perform the song, therefore my voice sounds good.

When I haven't sung for some time, however, I can hear how my breath is shorter than usual (meaning I can't hold the note as long as I can when my voice is more elastic and warmed up), how the note isn't quite on fully, especially in faster movements of the song, or how I just can't quite get that high note, and the notes themselves sometimes just don't have the purity of sound they have when my voice is warmer. And each time I get in that place, I have a little bit of panic inside. "Oh, no, what if this is all I can ever do from now on?" The anxious conversations begin to get activated inside. Beautiful? Not even close.

Then I practice and it begins to sound better. Whew.

Most times I sing, I sing at churches. Most recently, Francisco and I had been attending a Unity church in Hollywood, Florida, and for a little while, I sang somewhat frequently (about once every couple of months). Then it stretched to six months. Not enough for me. A singer needs someone to sing to, doncha know.

Odd, it seemed to me, that I wasn't doing more. Except that I understood the concept that diverse music is being offered to the church. I'm not terribly diverse; I have my style, my loves of form and method of singing, and I like to stick to it. I'm not a jazz singer, nor am I a gospel singer. I like slower, gentle, loving songs - songs with feeling and quiet, sacred heart. Songs like "The Lord's Prayer," and "Here I Am, Lord," and "You'll Never Walk Alone." And that can sound like one-note-Johnny after a while. I understand.

Before moving to Florida, Francisco and I lived in Charlottesville, Virginia. We were attending a lovely Presbyterian church, and both of us sang in the choir. I sang lots of solos there. People always were saying how wonderful it was; how beautifully I sang. (Sometimes I would wonder if they were just being nice, especially if I had heard some notes go flat or sharp.) Nonetheless, I love to sing and people kept encouraging me, so I kept singing.

Since moving here, we've been searching for a church. Like I said, for a while, we attended the Unity church. And it was lovely. The people are delightful. But we've been a little split between the Unity church and another lovely Presbyterian church we discovered, and so we are now connecting to the First Presbyterian Church in Hollywood.

It's nice to connect in different places.

This brings me back to singing. The Presbyterian church has more of the kinds of songs I like to sing. I love singing from a hymnal, and I love the types of solos I have heard. "Pie Jesu" was just beautiful, as was "He Shall Feed His Flock" from the Messiah at Christmas. The choir is lovely and active and sings beautiful classical songs. This gives me hope that I can sing frequently again and offer my voice, my heart, my soul. Musically, it feels like a fit.

And this brings me back to the other night. I was fixing dinner and decided to sing. It's one of my favorite times to sing, when I'm working in the kitchen. I was singing along with "Memories," from the Broadway play, "Cats," and as I finished the song, I could hear the ducks outside quacking.

Let me fill you in. We live on a lake. It is small and man-made, but it is a lake nonetheless. And at this lake live numerous fishing birds and ducks and turtles. Francisco and I delight in watching and feeding the ducks and the birds (not the fishing birds, other birds like Blue Jays, and the wonderful noisy Parrots) every day. Last year, one of the ducks had 10 ducklings, all of whom survived. As they grew, they got used to my voice, because I talk to them when I feed them. And they talk to me. So, imagine my surprise when I heard them quacking as I finished singing. (It's January, so my windows are open, wide open!)

I felt like St. Francis who gave his sermons to the birds!

It was the most delightful experience. I could almost hear them saying, "Oh, that was beautiful, do more!"

This makes me think that even though I didn't think it soundeds so great, maybe they heard something else. Maybe they heard the heart behind the song, the love and the passion. Maybe they heard me.

And maybe that's what people hear when I sing: my truth, my heart, my love, my connection to God. And maybe that's what they're talking about when they say "Oh, that was just beautiful!"