Music was in my family’s blood: I was a piano player and Mom was a violinist. But no one in my family loved–or even seemed to know about–soul music. The Beatles were more popular in upstate New York, where I grew up.

I remember practicing “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” in the living room, and adding a bluesy riff. “You shouldn’t try to jazz it up,” Mom warned from the couch.

“It’s not jazz, Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It’s soul music.”

I was an adult when I first heard Aretha Franklin on the radio. I felt giddy, like when I discovered Motown as a teenager. Her Amazing Grace gospel album came out in 1972 and I spent every evening after work learning the piano parts.

“I’ve never been much on that kind of music,” my fiancé said as I practiced. How I wish someone in my life understood my love of soul music!

Years into our marriage we moved to Utah. Exploring my new neighborhood, I met an African-American couple. “We’re starting a church,” the woman said. “Would you like to join?”

Walking over that Sunday I heard music wafting all the way out into the street. Soul music! Soon after I joined the congregation, the piano player left. God had led me to just the right church. And he’d brought the church just the right piano player.

Author