16 N1403P46004HMusic. It can transport us to forgotten places or treat us to the opportunity to sit with someone who's long since left this world.

Can you remember the song that played the day you had your first real kiss or as you pulled in the driveway after your parents first let you take the car out on your own?

During a visit a few years back, my wife and I drove my parents to the mountains of western North Carolina to enjoy the colorful beauty of the fall.

In her latter years, my mother would often complain about music — mostly the volume, but I decided to try something.

As we were driving, I turned on the satellite radio to channel 4, which, at the time, played top hits and big band favorites from the 1940s.

To my surprise, my mother sat with a quiet smile on her face, and my step dad sang along with nearly every song that played.

From the melancholy sentiment of "You'll Never Know" from Vera Lynn, to lyrically twisted novelty classics like “Mairzy Doats,” the audience in the back seat seemed content to ride and reminisce.

Whether providing an escape or connecting us more intensely to someone we're holding close, music is powerful.

It's common as we honor a nation, celebrate a birthday, express adoration for someone we love or sing praises in worship to the very God who created us all.

One of the greatest joys we have in radio is finding songs to connect with people throughout any given day.

We owe much to the artists and writers who allow us the use of their deepest thoughts backed by melodies that stick in people's heads as they turn it up and sing along.

In the process of reviewing new music just before Thanksgiving, I was listening to a song called “Run to the Father” from Cory Asbury. With the Christmas holiday music season upon us, I knew the song would be a hit, but likely wouldn't start airing for another five or six weeks.

I paused as the lyrics reminded me that I wasn't alone and that I was never meant to carry the weight of the world and its problems by myself.

I was encouraged to take the burden of my heartache, my struggles and my pain to God, who created us all.

The song arrived the morning after the single most devastating event in the life of my family. Our oldest son, Chris, had been murdered the afternoon before.

I was reviewing music after a mostly sleepless night because I didn't know what else to do.

And every time I hear that song, I'm taken back to that moment, where a simple song from a barely known artist touched me in a way nothing else could.

I didn't want it to be 'my song', but it is.

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