Thanks, Harry

I’ve never really been the kind to have a “star crush”. Willie Aames was pretty cute and hung on the wall in my closet. Tom Selleck was definitely a fine-lookin’ older guy in Magnum, PI. And Johnny Cougar was a rebel, sang, and played guitar ~ a trifecta! But no one ever garnered my attention the way Harry did ~ and still does.

It was 1989 and Harry Met Sally. Although the movie was fantastic, for some of us, the prize was Harry. Harry Connick, Jr. was 21 years old and crashing into the music industry. His voice, his unique style, his ability to dance across the piano keys, and his wild and yet quiet good looks were enough to grab my full attention. I found myself sitting quietly and listening while imagining that his words were intended for me. It might seem silly or even ridiculous. But at points in my life when I didn’t have a sense of who I really was or that I had value, those words offered priceless moments of escape. In 1993, he released his first Christmas album and again I was captivated. It was as if he transported me to a different place anytime I listened. (And different places were better, safer, and happier.)

Over the years, I’ve continued to find joy in everything he writes and produces. Whether he’s sitting at the piano and rendering audiences speechless, smoothly singing those healing lyrics, or letting his band borrow the spotlight to feature a specific sound, I’ve come to believe that God uses Harry to get my attention. I’m not sure I can explain; just try to imagine.

When my friend, Shannon, asked if I wanted to see Harry in concert at the Palladium, I couldn’t type my reply fast enough! Count me in!

Monday evening, July 20, 2026, I had the opportunity of a lifetime. Shannon and I were set to arrive at the Palladium by 5 pm. Per the instructions, we entered through the security door closest to the backstage area. No one checked our bags or our passes ~ we were with Mike, and that was enough, apparently.

Stepping past the lighting board and onto the stage was enough to render me momentarily speechless. His Steinway piano is actually a piece of art with texture and color. Gorgeous. With permission, we slowly made our way for a closer look. We sat on the bench and even let our fingers ever so slightly rest on the keys. We seemed to be frozen in time.

We were escorted to the catering room where a lavish spread of options was displayed and available. Harry came in very casually, wearing khaki pants and a denim shirt and very much looking like a guy off the street. Flatbread, fresh fruit, and cheese were the selections he chose for his plate.

Simply being present and enjoying the whole experience was easy. Although I won’t deny his handsome features, it’s so much more than that. His presentation and interpretation of the music, his adaptability, changes, and nuance are all used to erase the chaos that can often be found in my heart and mind. For one hour and forty-five minutes, I wasn’t frantic while looking for my zip drive or anxious about a conversation or dreading what to fix for supper. I was just sitting there with Harry and God.

There were three especially profound moments for me: he performed “How Great Thou Art”, he spoke about his wife, and he lingered when introducing the symphony he wrote for his mom. I wanted those moments to last longer. They were from the depths of his soul and I felt them in mine. It was a bad day to forget to put my dad’s hanky back in my purse. I imagine I’ll be a bit preoccupied in September when that new symphony and the corresponding book are released.

Some may not believe this writing has any theological depth. That’s okay. You’re entitled to your opinion. But I can assure you that my evening with Harry was used by God to heal yet another corner of my heart. To reassure me that all of those years ago, while I was trying to hide the hurt, God sent Harry to me. And almost 40 years later, I have a greater appreciation for these profoundly simple moments. Thanks, Harry. It was a night I’ll never forget.