Music plays a huge part in my life. In sixth grade I lost someone who meant a lot to me, Mr. Ed. I loved him like a second father; I grew up with him constantly, unconditionally there for me. He guided me on my walk with Christ. He taught me how to acolyte in church, to serve at the altar. Mr. Ed was an older guy, around his late fifties or early sixties, but he didn’t act like it, he was young at heart. He rode rides with me when my youth group took our annual trip to Wet 'n Wild. On one of the rides, The Black Hole, our water raft flipped over on one of the sharper turns and we had to slide out without the raft (we laughed the whole way down, it was much more fun that way). The April before he died, he’d had surgery and he was unable ride because of his stitches, I was bummed but I didn’t think much of it. I didn’t know it’d be his last time there.

I was at my church camp, Camp Wingmann, when it happened. The majority of the counselors at Camp Wingmann go to my church, so they knew Mr. Ed. I was pretty worried when one of them, Mallory, walked up to me crying right before canteen and told me she needed to tell me something after canteen was over. I was scared; I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was wrong. I cried most of canteen, and I didn’t even know what had happened. I waited a good thirty minutes, then finally, the counselors, including two of my older brothers, took my best friend and I to the deck of a cabin to talk to us. Mr. Ed had died. He’d had a heart attack. I don’t remember any sound, but apparently I made a noise somewhere between a scream and a sob. I held my best friend and we cried. I was devastated, to say the least. Mr. Ed was so exuberant, full of life, and now he was just…gone. We sat, we cried, and we reminisced. We talked about the acolyte trainings and about how on our first day serving, he’d direct us under his breath, and encourage us. We talked about the church picnics, and the time he got his face painted. We talked about his beautiful saxophone playing during the picnics. Soon the tears stopped flowing so quickly and smiles interrupted the tear tracks on our cheeks.

Later that evening in chapel, we were ending a song when Mallory got up to the microphone. She said that the next song, “There’s a Stirring” would be dedicated to Mr. Ed. I was still pretty shaken at the time, and as soon as they started singing I started crying. I sang quietly,
“There’s a stirring deep within me, could it be my time has come, when I’ll see my precious savior, face to face when all is done. Is that his voice I am hearing? Come away my precious one. Is he calling me, is he calling me? I will rise up, rise up, and bow down, and lay my crown, at his wounded feet.”

As the song went on, a warm, comforting, calming sensation spread over me. It started in my heart and spread out to the tips of my fingers and toes. In that moment, I came to terms with God and why He took Mr. Ed away. God spoke through the music that night. I knew then, Mr. Ed was needed in heaven, and it was part of God’s plan, and I was okay with that.

Music is perfect for every individual, and every situation. I read a quote once, “When you’re happy, you enjoy the music. When you’re sad, you understand the lyrics.” I think that is so true. Music brings me closer to everything and everyone I love, even if they’re not with me anymore.