I think if there was one single consistency, one thread of life that flows from experience to experience in my life, it would be music. What always astounds me is the effect a simple song on the radio can have on my day. Today I was driving through campus, returning from lunch with a friend, when an old Steven Curtis Chapman came on my iPod. Gotta love the shuffle songs feature. Within the first 15 seconds of a seemingly obscure song, I had tears welling up in my eyes. Immediately I had been transported back in time to the back seat of our mini van with my head phones on listening to my new Steven Curtis Chapman cd days before my 18th birthday. In high school (and honestly to this day) I loved anything SCC was apart of. His simple, meaningful lyrics with a strong melodic background never seemed to leave my discman. His cd Speechless has just been released and my dad, being the kind man he was, stopped at Gospel Supplies so I could buy it. This was way before the iPod, way before Napster. This was still during the time when you bought a cd and listened to it for the first time that day. It was an album not random songs. So as we drove across Tucson I listened in wonder to the album from beginning to end. No skipping. No repeats.

We had driven this road many times over the past 9 months. My Uncle Kyle and his family lived in Phoenix and we were driving up as often as possible to spend time with them. You see, Kyle’s cancer had returned. At 39 years-old my mom’s baby brother was dying. We were clinging to the hope that God would provide a miracle and cure him. We believed in the impossible and I guess somewhere deep down were in denial. So it was with a heavy heart we drove on and I struggled to find joy in a musical moment that 9 months prior would have left me giddy and full of glee. What I was not expecting was that God would speak to me in such a humbling and heart-wrenching way through that cd. Track 11 began like any other SCC ballad… a few simple guitar chords and notes on a piano but as soon as he began to sing, I felt like I had been punched in the gut. Never had I heard exactly what I was feeling and struggling to believe and say expressed in lyrics at exactly the moment I needed to say them. I can’t explain this feeling without sharing the lyrics with you.

This is not at all how
We thought it was supposed to be
We had so many plans for you
We had so many dreams
And now you’ve gone away
And left us with the memories of your smile
And nothing we can say
And nothing we can do
Can take away the pain
The pain of losing you, but …We can cry with hope
We can say goodbye with hope
‘Cause we know our goodbye is not the end, oh no
And we can grieve with hope
‘Cause we believe with hope
(There’s a place by God’s grace)
There’s a place where we’ll see your face again
We’ll see your face again

And never have I known
Anything so hard to understand
And never have I questioned more
The wisdom of God’s plan
But through the cloud of tears
I see the Father’s smile and say well done
And I imagine you
Where you wanted most to be
Seeing all your dreams come true
‘Cause now you’re home
And now you’re free, and …

We have this hope as an anchor
‘Cause we believe that everything
God promised us is true, so …

So we can cry with hope
And say goodbye with hope

We wait with hope
And we ache with hope
We hold on with hope
We let go with hope

I sat in the back seat of the van and sobbed. We hadn’t lost Kyle yet but it was going to happen. I hadn’t even considered how we’d survive as a family. How his kids would survive without their dad. How my grandparents would survive without their baby. How my mom would survive without her brother. We hadn’t thought about it… we couldn’t. We couldn’t give up that hope. But in a four minute song, I was reminded of a hope that would keep us after we lost him. The hope that despite it all, Kyle was a believer, and our time with him was not over… just paused. That weekend with Kyle was the last time I saw him. He was tired and frail and ready to go home to his Savior, the Great Physician, and I was on my way to Washington D.C. for eight days. I’m not sure he was even lucid enough to remember me saying goodbye to him, but I remember the change in my heart when I said goodbye, with hope. Kyle died while I was in D.C. My mom told me as soon as I got home; she didn’t wanna ruin my trip. I spent my 18th birthday at his funeral and the one song that kept running through my head was this song. I shared it with family members but no one seemed to find the solace in it that I did. No one seemed to cling to that hope. We all knew we had it there but I needed to be reminded.

Its been eight years since we lost Kyle. My family has never recovered. His three boys were taken away as soon as the funeral was over and removed from our lives. Christmas gifts and birthday cards were returned. My aunt and baby cousin faced life without him. Family photos and reunions haven’t felt the same. My cousins and I have grown so much closer partially as a result of the reminder that family is of the greatest importance but also life is short and should be cherished. While my grandparents have never healed, life has moved on, and they celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. My cousin Kyle became the first of the cousins to get married, and this spring the boys returned to my aunt’s doorstep beginning the journey to rejoin the Alexander clan. We’ve even begun to speak of Kyle without tears choking back our voices. Not because we miss him any less, but because we see him in so much of what is around us and believe that we will see him again. We have learned to live with hope.

“With Hope” doesn’t get a lot of playtime on my iPod anymore. It’s not that I don’t need the reassurance of its promises but I’ve been trying to move on. To not dwell on how much I miss my uncle Kyle. To not remind my mom her baby brother isn’t here or tell Zac that one of his heroes doesn’t walk beside us anymore. So it should come as no surprise how such a simple song could reduce me to tears on McConnell Drive. But today I took four minutes, not to grieve, but to remember him and find comfort in the fact that.. “There’s a place where we’ll see your face again”.