On Daniel Helton.

When you've got a ticket to Paradise, you don't dig your heels in and fight to stay put. You just say, "Just tell me when." And that's the way Daniel Helton lived his life: as though his ticket was bought and paid for, purchased by the blood of Christ.

Carefree and one of the kindest men I've ever known, the only thing Daniel worried about was whether or not everyone else was having a great time. He was always the first one to wander up to the new person in the crowd and make sure they felt welcome; at least, that's how I met Daniel Helton.

Freshman year of college is tumultuous in a lot of ways, not the least of which is finding your new niche of people. I met Daniel when mutual friends brought me to his birthday party just before Christmas break Freshman year. From that night on, Daniel's presence colored my college career. Back home over Christmas break, we took turns gathering in my parents' basement or his parents' living room. There was always a guitar involved, and there was always, always lots of laughter.

He was the kind of person that would rather talk about you than himself. He'd reference things from your last conversation that you wouldn't even remember telling him. He'd call you just because. He'd get so lost in a song on his guitar that he wouldn't hear the room around him. He'd make fun of himself, or high five you if you got to it first. He downplayed his own illness so much that we were all shocked when he went Home this weekend-- he'd rather we not worry about him, so he didn't really mention it.

As I looked through pictures of Daniel yesterday, the word that came to mind over and over again was 'alive.' Every photo captured Daniel in a moment of joy: always ready with a laugh and a pose.

And so, as hundreds of people from Nashville to Auburn, and beyond,  mourn Daniel, I try to focus on Daniel's smile, his quick wit, and his warm nature. He was always ready for an adventure, and I picture him on his greatest adventure of all: exploring Heaven with the other saints, finding answers to life's mysteries (subject of many a late night talk in the basement). And most of all, worshipping. Worshipping at the feet of the Creator he so loved to serve.

Cheers to Daniel, for the life that taught us all so much, that helped each of us along the way somewhere, that spread joy no matter what.

Game nights. Panini Thursdays. Lunch on the quad. Auburn game days. Any instrument with strings. Hats. Ginger jokes. Deep conversation. Adventures. Rolling tumors when he finished chemo the first time. No such thing as a bad mood. Athlete, scholar, friend, musician. Midas touch. Hanging on your every word. Asking the hard questions, just for the sake of conversation. Always up for a challenge. Fiercely loyal. Kind.

We'll all remember different things about Daniel in the coming days and weeks; we'll all relive our favorite memories with our favorite ginger. These are the things I'll remember.

Stealing my camera.

Another night in the basement.

Dinner at Loco's

Considering a brown wig during chemo.

Road trip to ATL

Rain soaked and still War Eagling.

Game night and Breakfeast.

Rolling Toomer's Corner after finishing the last round of chemo.

Posh and Beckham at the annual Halloween party.

Summer nights at the lake house.

Dancing machine.

Always ready for a photo shoot.

I'm so glad you've found healing and peace, Daniel. Really, I'm jealous that you're walking streets of gold while we trod through this barren land. Can't wait to see you again.