"Do you sing?"

A few nights ago -- or mornings, rather -- Jason Mraz met me in my subconscious again. Even as my husband spooned me in the stolen moments before the alarm went off, I couldn't help but savor the interactive screenplay in my head.

In my dream, I was at an outdoor concert, one where the parking lot was a field constrained by woods. It was nearing the end of a clear summer day. Near the woodline, I could feel the cool breath of evening, but still, the air was heavy with the heat and humidity of late July in Pennsylvania.

The concert was nearing an end, and Jason had just "disappeared" from the stage though the show continued; most of the crowd was still at the stage. I, however, was in the parking lot. I had missed the very end of Jason's set in hopes of catching up with him at the bus. Sure enough, as he sprinted to the bus, somehow without an entourage or gaggle of starstruck fans, I was able to catch him. He had a huge, black afro wig in hand, presumably to disguise himself as he made his great escape. (At this point, we could hear that the crowds were on their way.) I asked if he had a minute before he got on the bus. He obliged, stressing though, that it needed to be quick. I introduced myself as being a huge fan, and thanked him for his influence and inspiration.

He was sweet and thanked me. And then he asked:

"Do you sing?"

I started babbling, "No, I mean, I was in chorus in high school, but not because I was any good, just because they needed people for the ensemble."

As I did what I do in real life, talking myself in circles, he slipped the hilariously conspicuous "disguise" head piece onto his head.



And right about then, my alarm went off.

I hit snooze and tried to go back to dreamland. Alas, it was gone. All but that line:

"Do you sing?"

That's really stuck with me. Even as I babbled in my dream, I knew I wasn't answering the question my subconscious-posing-as-mraz asked.

***

As a kid at Sts. Peter & Paul Catholic school, Mrs. Zana, our music teacher once told the class, "When you sing, it's like praying twice." I didn't know then that she was paraphrasing, St. Augustine: "Qui cantat, bis orat" or"To sing once is to pray twice." Years and years later, Mraz raised the point again in his "1000 Mother******s."

The sentiment has stuck with me along with Psalm 100:1: "Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all ye lands." Take those along with the image of God as Loving Father, braid those three thoughts, and you have one of one of my deepest "faith roots." It makes me smile to hear someone at church singing loudly off-key. (Often I'm just hearing myself.) It makes me think of how much I love to hear my children (neither of whom could be mistaken for members of the Von Trapp family) sing with abandon. I think their songs are something like what we give to God, when we sing with our hearts.

But I noticed that I haven't really been singing lately. I mean, yes, I sing at church, along with the radio, and every word of "We Sing We Dance We Steal Things." But I haven't really been singing with intent, with my voice or otherwise. Really, my life has been a lot of humming lately.

I want to change that. I'm just not sure what song to sing.

So now, I ask you:

"Do you sing?"