She Mended My Heart
Singing is a way of life for me, and I enjoy it tremendously. I have been singing since I was a young girl, and I have never stopped. Hardly a moment passes that a song is not in my head or on my lips.
Every so often, while someone is talking to me, he or she will say a phrase that reminds me of a song, and I will start singing it. My head holds so many tunes that I sometimes think it is why I forget things. My brain has no room left because of all the melodies floating around.
Random songs often pop into my head, making me wonder why a particular one vies for attention. For example, what caused “Monday, Monday,” a hit by the folk-rock group The Mamas & the Papas, to assail my cerebrum last Wednesday while I was heading to my car after a dental appointment? Wouldn’t Louis Armstrong’s “When You’re Smiling” have been more appropriate?
Once at the county courthouse, while I was waiting for a clerk to call me for jury duty, I had to force myself not to hum aloud the chorus from a Carole King hit: “You just call out my name, and you know wherever I am, I’ll come runnin’…” At least that song was relevant. In a few years, I will have no more use for the Beatles’ lyrics to “When I’m Sixty-Four” so I ought to be grateful this one makes frequent appearances.
One thing that disappoints me is hearing some folks say, “I can’t sing,” because this is so not true. Everyone can sing, it is just that not everyone can sing well. I do not care how fine or poorly you carry a tune, you need to sing anyway!
Tigger says, “Life is not about how fast you run, or how high you climb, but how well you bounce.” I say, “Life is not about how long you hold a note, or how far your range reaches, but how often you sing.” Singing is therapy and can elevate your energy or soothe your soul.
When it comes to singing in public, I am not shy, especially when I am in a crowd, and we should all be using our voices. Singing aloud can be contagious, so I am especially pleased when I am in church and hear various vocals chanting God’s praise. Whether the hymns are exalting, meditational, or sung with or without a choir, singing in church is a spiritual exercise, a holy symphony.
While at church this past Sunday, I noticed a voice I had never heard before, one that stood out stronger than my own. Discreetly, I scanned those around me and eventually, I discovered that the notes came from a young girl who I recognized had an intellectual disability. God gave her a remarkable gift, and the sweetest part about it was that she was unaware of her effect on me.
Back home, I drafted a mini poem and dedicated it to that angelic virtuosa . . .
