I am not a singer, but I wish I was.
And even though I don’t have a voice that can stay on key, I sing anyway.
Often, my singing takes place while hiking on an isolated Northwoods road. With no one around, I like to belt out old camp songs, favorite hymns, or stuff I make up. Thinking I was alone on a recent snowy hike, I was singing away to the forest when to my surprise I discovered two people walking not far behind me.
“Oh, hello!” I said, extremely embarrassed. “Did you hear me singing?”
“Yes, we did,” they laughed.
We discovered we were distant neighbors who had only met a few times before. It was a lovely re-introduction, and just another example of the connective power of singing that has recently touched my heart.
Foremost are the thousands of Minnesotans singing hope to their neighbors day after day. Equally compelling were America’s Winter Olympics gold medalists singing our national anthem, tears in their eyes, hands on their hearts.
Closer to home are the strong voices of faith raised in song at my church each Sunday. And nothing bears witness to the unifying power of song then hearing over 50 voice-changing middle school adolescents connecting their hearts and souls in a recent musical production.
Walt Whitman’s 1860 poem, “I hear America Singing,” reminds us that the diversity of our songs is what binds us together. For behind the messiness, the chaos, and conflicts of our nation, it is the songs of kindness, compassion, and joy that echo the loudest.
Even if it’s off key, listen for it. It may just be the harmony we all seek.
I'm Marnie O. Mamminga and that's my Perspective.
