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TobyMac and Wife Announce Foundation to Honor Late Son Truett

TobyMac
Chris Pizzello/Invision/AP/Shutterstock

TobyMac attends The 58th GRAMMY Awards at Staples Center on Feb. 15, 2016 in Los Angeles.

TobyMac and wife Amanda Levy McKeehan have set up a foundation in honor of son Truett Foster McKeehan, who died suddenly at 21 earlier this month. According to the site for the Truett Foster Foundation, it will raise funds to help kids seeking a career in music. "Truett Foster McKeehan had an untamable grand personality and dreams to match," reads the statement from the couple.    

"Since the age of 12, he knew he wanted to make music. Dreams are so important to kids growing-up. Too many children do not have the financial ability to pursue their dreams.  We want to use this fund to help kids do just that: to get an education – to pursue music – to get the chance to chase their dreams. Truett would love that."

Mckeehan was found dead in Nashville, Tennessee, last week of undetermined causes.   

"Truett Foster Mckeehan had joy that took the room when he entered. He was a magnetic son and brother and friend," the Christeian rapper (born Kevin Michael McKeehan) wrote in an emotional In Memoriam post. "If you met him, you knew him, you remembered him. His smile, his laugh, the encouragement he offered with words or even without. He had an untamable grand personality and dreams to match. And he hated being put in a box."   

A representative for TobyMac said Mckeenhan, the rapper's oldest son, died sometime “Tuesday night or Wednesday morning” and a cause of death has not been determined, according to the Associated Press. TobyMac has won seven Grammys, both as a solo artist and as a member of the Christian rap/rock group DC Talk.

Check out TobyMac's tributes to Truett below.  

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Truett Foster Mckeehan had joy that took the room when he entered. He was a magnetic son and brother and friend. If you met him, you knew him, you remembered him. His smile, his laugh, the encouragement he offered with words or even without. He had an untamable grand personality and dreams to match. And he hated being put in a box. He expressed himself through the music he made. And by made I mean, written, recorded, produced, mixed, and designed the art. All of it. A true artist. His first show was a week ago, and it was nothing short of electric. Everyone felt it, everyone knew it. He could’ve easily taken the easy route and put music out when he was 12, 14, 16, even 18, but he always said he wanted to live some life and have something to say before he did it. He didn’t want to be a child star, he wanted to be a man with scars and a story to tell. I always admired, respected and encouraged that stand. Truett always had a soft spot for God. The Bible moved him. His heart was warm to the things of his King. He was by no means a cookie cutter Christian but give me a believer who fights to keep believing. Give me a broken man who recognizes his need for a Savior every time. That’s who Truett was and how he should be remembered. My last moment with Truett in person was at his first show this past Thursday at the Factory in Franklin, Tennessee. I had to leave the next morning very early to fly and start our Canadian tour. As I stood in the audience and watched my son bring joy to a room, I was as proud as a “pop” (as tru called me) could be. It was the culminating moment of a dream that he had since he was 12. It couldn’t have been sweeter. Our music, and what we say lyrically couldn’t be more different, but the outcome was much the same… offering a room full of people a few minutes of joy in a crazy world. Our last text exchange is shared above (swipe). My wife and I would want the world to know this... We don’t follow God because we have some sort of under-the-table deal with Him, like, we’ll follow you if you bless us. We follow God because we love Him. It’s our honor. He is the God of the hills and the valleys. And He is beautiful above all things.

A post shared by TobyMac (@tobymac) on

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

My heart.

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