Scott Render, 59 | Louisville, Kentucky

Getting a hip replacement at 29 sucks. When I was 9, I was diagnosed with Legg-Calve-Perthes disease, so I knew that someday I’d need surgery. It’s a rare disease with blood flow not going to the hip properly. After the surgery, I woke up at 4 in the morning really depressed. I’d had all these nightmares from the medications. I put on “These Are Days.” The lyrics talk about: “These are the days you’ll remember. Never before and never since. I promise. You are blessed and lucky. You are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you.” My perspective changed. I knew I was going to be OK. To this day, when I hear that song, those lyrics take me back. It was a good moment to get through.

Jeremy Miller, 52 | Fisherville, Kentucky

During my wife Shelly’s pregnancy, I thought, If the baby is a girl, this would be my song for her. The song is sort of mystical—carefree and full of wonder. It’s the lyrics “Well, she’s walking through the clouds.” I relate it to everything that’s sweet and wonderful that life brings. My daughter, Ella Blu, is 13 now. She may know that it’s one of my favorite songs, but I’ve never specifically said, “This makes me think of you.” I wonder what she’ll have to say about that.

Unnita Chambers, 61 | Macedonia, Ohio

After recovering from a long, rough stretch of being unhoused around 1994, I found myself in another horrible position. I was living in Atlanta, struggling financially, and my relationship fell apart. I already suffered from clinical depression, and all I could do was sit on the edge of my bed and stare out my window and cry. I would shower and sleep, but barely ate. I didn’t answer the phone or have company. I was a prisoner of my own mind. One night, this song came on the 24-hour worship channel. The first line said: “Out of the fire, into the flames of another trial / When you feel that your heart has had all it can take / and there is nothing left to break ...” It spoke to my spirit, which was processing years of hurt and anger and frustration. By the time the song was over, I had cried so much, I switched from napkins to paper towels to a bedsheet.

I then started writing poetry, and later met Babbie. She gave me the artist name Neo Souljah, which was so empowering. I moved back home to Ohio. I got a job in corporate America and have had success with my artistic endeavors. That song was the turning point. It literally saved me.

Karrie Thomson, 51 | Spokane, Washington

In 2016, my only child, Monte Jr., was killed in a car accident at age 17. We did everything together and had just gone camping with family the day before his death. When we had to choose songs for the funeral, one of them was “Humble and Kind,” which perfectly described him. In addition to taking high school and college classes simultaneously, Monte had a part-time job and regularly volunteered. He was such a giving kid; he’d drop anything for anybody. When he died, it broke me. I didn’t leave the house for months. I couldn’t work for two and a half years. But that song would always lift me when I was at my lowest. When I couldn’t get up, when I didn’t know if I could make it through the day or endure the pain, it would suddenly come on, and I’d be like, All right, kid, I’ve got this. Seven years later, I am much better. But that song still inspires me to persevere through the dark days and make Monte proud.

Judy Faulkner, 71 | Kihei, Hawai‘i

After my husband, Jeff, and I first met, he said, “Oh, I heard this song on the radio today. It just reminded me of us.” There were lines that caught his ear, like: “And the wonder of it all is that you just don’t realize how much I love you.” The song was kind of sweet—about us and the fact that we didn’t know each other long, and then all of a sudden he’s waiting for me to put my makeup on and go out. Now, when Jeff texts me, “Wonderful Tonight” plays on my phone.

Bill Bentley, 73 | Studio City, California

I got arrested for possession of marijuana in my freshman year of college in Georgetown, Texas, and my world caved in. I had to look inside myself to see where I was going. I latched on to this song because I saw it as a higher consciousness. It talks about permanence, about moving your spirit higher, about keeping your spirit alive.

Later in life, I became an alcoholic, but in 1987, I decided to get sober. I went to St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York, being a lapsed Catholic, and it was amazing; that song’s lyrics came to me, and it was an overwhelming feeling I got. I knew that day in church I would never drink again. I’ll listen to that song now, and it brings me back to the place I was when I first heard it. That’s redemption.

Michael Bailey, 57 | Leonia, New Jersey

I’m an only child, so the world revolved around me. My wife and I don’t have children, so having my brother-in-law move in with us before the pandemic was challenging. There were idiosyncrasies, such as just getting him to turn off the lights. I know it sounds trivial, but he would leave every light on in the house. There were also idiosyncrasies to his schedule. He’s very much a night owl. There was tension. I was sitting in my kitchen, this song came on, and I started crying. What the song was saying was: “Learn to live again; learn to love again.” Every day we get these challenges. How do we respond to them? You can be mean, or you can change yourself. Introducing somebody into your household full-time with no expiration date was difficult for me to accept. My wife is generous, loving and caring. It’s not about me trying to change him. It’s not about me trying to change her. It’s about me challenging myself to accept where we need to be as a family.