The Music I Needed
One major thing with having a large family is that all that love brings loss at some point. After one of my aunts passed, I was introduced to a new genre of music at her home going.
The timing mattered. I was trying to console my family as best I could while still healing from my own losses. I wanted to be present for the people I loved, even though I was carrying pain of my own.
Then I heard music that felt different.
It was not only the sound that reached me. It was the tone, the meaning, the focus on Christ, and finally the words. Some songs felt as if they had come directly from thoughts I had never spoken aloud.
I needed this.
Music has a way of entering places that ordinary conversation cannot always reach. It can give shape to emotions we do not yet know how to name. It can remind us that someone else has felt fear, grief, hope, doubt, or faith in a way that resembles our own experience.
This music became part of my healing. It also became part of the atmosphere surrounding The Kodiak.
When I later returned to what I had written, I saw a connection. The mood of the story matched the tone of the music and the emotional place I had been living in. The darkness was present, but so was the search for guidance. Pain remained real, but it was not without purpose or hope.
Music did not write the story for me. It helped me hear the story that was already forming.
It reminded me that even when people appear composed on the outside, there may be an entire world moving beneath the surface. Sometimes a song reaches that hidden world—and gives us the strength to bring it into the light.
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