SINGING IN THE CHOIR My singing was always personal.   In the shower, alone in the car, or while embracing a guitar because someone no longer loved me.  The only time I sang for anyone were lullabies for my daughter.  She is ten now; it has been a long time since she thought that everything her mama did was wonderful.  I thought that my singing was over.  But then my friend persuaded me to join a choir. Although I play the piano fairly well, I have never thought I had a nice singing voice. And so I nervously showed up for the first rehearsal.  The choir director said that after a few weeks, new people would know whether or not they could keep up.  Indeed, there was a lot more to singing than I had thought.  The arrangements were all complex, half the songs were not in English and the others required strange pronunciations for ordinary words.  I had to know when to breathe and when not to and when I could breathe but only if I was sneaky about it.   I had to hold my part against the pull of other voices.  And most importantly of all, I had to stay on pitch.  If I see a note, I can sing it.  And if I hear a note, I can name it.  This is what some people call perfect pitch but I do not like to use that term because it implies a standard I can never meet.   However notes do have a fixed place in my mind, like colors for people.  Unfortunately, what should have worked to my advantage turned out to be a handicap.  For the beautiful old grand piano at which the accompanist sat was not tuned to what I thought were the notes.   I could read the music, but only if I remembered to transpose each note before I sang it.  Needless to say, there were many times when I opened my mouth but did not dare let any sound come out. The director is wise.  Every week she lets us sing a simpler song, to give us confidence in our ability and a glimpse of the promised land.  Because of that, I already know that the choir is amazing.   Sixty voices (sixty!) have a power that mine alone does not.   Yes we are louder, obviously (although we are not usually permitted to sing loudly).  But by singing with the other people, I know my voice sounds better.  My voice is no longer tentative and thin.  I sing with the voice of the entire choir.  The bass, the tenor, the thrilling soprano are all my voice.  Although we could sing in unison, that defeats the purpose.  We sound the best when we are diverse.   The all-important melody moves from part to part.  No one group is allowed to dominate.   We are all important.  Last week, we neared the end of a song.  Sopranos tenors bass formed the standard triad of the chord.  Only the altos were in a seemingly different key.  We held our note, pulling the whole construction in an opposite direction, before finally giving in to the rest, joining their triad and letting the song come home to its major chord to rest. We are not a church choir although we practice and perform in a church.  We sing religious songs because they are beautiful.  We sing all kinds.  Probably, although I don’t know and no one ever asks, we have a representative from every religious group in our midst.  We sing for the sake of the music.  No one takes offense at the words.  It does not matter whose god we are addressing.  Recently I was reading Secret Garden to my daughter.  (I am allowed to read to her, but not sing.)   I came upon the part where the boy who had been ill is certain he will live forever.  He sings the Doxology and they all join in.  And the wise country woman says, “The Magic listened.  It would have listened to anything they had sung.  It was the joy that mattered.  What’s names to the Joy Maker?” That is how I feel.  I doesn’t matter what words I sing or how well I sing.  It is the joy that matters.