Strings from Heaven

At the age of nineteen, Kenneth Null, the boy next door in  Bells, Tennessee,  showed great promise as a concert violinist. Then tragedy struck. Ken was  involved in an  automobile   accident  that cost  him the use  of his  right arm. Everything possible was done for him.

Doctor after doctor was consulted, but always it was the same story; he never would play again. Friends and relatives tried  to interest him  in another career, but he wouldn’t  listen.

He insisted   he would play again. “I will play again,” he told me  one night when we were  alone. “If I didn’t  believe that. I wouldn’t want  to live.”

Suddenly I, too, believed. I told  myself I was being foolish, but it didn’t keep me  from sharing  his hope.  A few  weeks  later,  on June  5,  1948, I heard the violin at  midnight. ken was playing again.

The music was heavenly.  “Wake up,” I called to my sister, Lydia. “Ken is playing his  violin, and he’s  home alone. He will need someone to  share his triumph.”

We raced  across the lawn, putting on our housecoats as  we ran. The front  door was  unlocked, so we  stepped  inside  and stood listening. Ken was  playing in the den.  Never  had  we heard more  beautiful music.

Then the  music  stopped. We burst through the  door  with tears and shouts of joy, but Ken didn’t  answer. He lay  motionless on the couch with his beloved violin  pressed  against  his heart.

The doctor later told us that when we found him he had  been dead at least two hours from a  cerebral hemorrhage. My sister and I didn’t  argue.

Dead or alive, ken had played  again,  for himself and for the  two people who still had  shared his hope and faith.

M.L. Lovett

Gastonia, North Carolina

December 1964

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