I wanted to open Creative Voices with a story that simply makes you feel good — one that reminds us how deeply music can touch our lives. Sometimes it comforts, sometimes it heals, and sometimes it gives us the strength to walk through moments we never thought we could.
Music has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. My first real memory of singing was at Memorial Baptist Church in Evansville, Indiana, when I was five years old. My best friend Susan and I would stand at the front of the church, little legs shaking, while her dad — the song leader — would say with a proud grin, “Susan and Denise, come up here and sing that song we all love.” And off we’d go, singing Now I Belong to Jesus. I don’t remember the sound of our voices, but I remember the feeling — the kindness in people’s faces afterward as they told us how it made them feel good. Looking back, I think that was the first time I understood that music isn’t just something you do — it’s something you share.
Through the years, I played every instrument I could find — flute at nine, piano at ten, guitar at twelve, and the organ by fourteen. I eventually became the church organist, a role that felt like both a responsibility and a gift. But, as it does for so many of us, life happened — marriage, children, work, school, divorce, and all the beautifully chaotic chapters in between. Music took a quiet step back while I focused on raising my family and building a life.
Then came a moment that changed everything. In March 2017, my mother was nearing the end of her life. My family gathered at the Hospice home in Evansville, waiting for her arrival. It was one of those long, heavy days — the kind where time stands still and emotions blur together. And then, gently, music found its way back to me.
A man named Michael appeared in the hallway — guitar in hand, music stand at his side. He smiled kindly and began to play. The sound drifted through the house like sunlight through a window. I had my ukulele with me — Mom always loved when I played — and when Michael invited me to join him, I did.
So there we were: two strangers sitting in a quiet hallway, surrounded by families and nurses and the hum of life and loss. Together, we played old songs that carried memories and meaning far beyond words. The music filled the space with peace. It softened the ache. It reminded me that even in grief, beauty still exists. When my heart felt too heavy to speak, the music spoke for me.
Before I left, Michael handed me a flash drive — a small gift containing his library of songs he played for hospice patients. When I returned home and saved it to my computer, I titled the file Angel Songs. Somehow that felt right. He had brought music — and peace — into one of the hardest days of my life.
When I came back to Durango, I reached out to Mercy Hospice and began volunteering to play for patients and families walking the same tender road I had just traveled. I never knew if the songs made a difference, but I hoped they did — even if only for a moment of comfort, a soft smile, or a peaceful sigh.
That experience reminded me of what music truly is: not performance, not perfection — but presence. Music meets us where words cannot. It holds us when we need holding. It reminds us that we are not alone.
So as you read this and watch the short video of Michael and me strumming in that quiet hallway, I hope it reminds you to make space for music in your life. Let it calm you, lift you, connect you — in joy or in sorrow. Because sometimes, music really is the sound of angels.
Creative Voices celebrates stories of art, music, and inspiration from across the Four Corners and beyond.
Have a story to share about how creativity changed your life? Write to dleslie@artsperspectivemag.com — we’d love to feature your voice.
About the Author:
Denise Leslie is a musician, educator, and publisher based in Bayfield, Colorado. She is the founder of Hideaway Ukulele Studio and the publisher of Arts Perspective magazine, dedicated to amplifying the creative heartbeat of Southwest Colorado.
