Showers at the YMCA are not a place of privacy; they are, after all, in a locker room. Yet, today, there was a man at this intersection of dirty and clean using his time to wash as also a time to sing.
As warm water pitter-pattered onto my head, my ears soaked-in this man's song. Culturally, it sounded Native American; its words and melody were prayer-like. It wasn't too loud or too soft and he wasn't singing it to anyone else around him.
Yet it felt like he was sharing his music with someone: his God, a friend lost, a spouse, a parent, a memory.
He had a song to sing and he was brave enough to sing it.