Chilled...

The past few days have gotten cold here in Central Texas. I've started wearing the leather jacket he gave me back in January, when Jen made him clean out his closet to get rid of stuff he no longer wore.

I'll never be half as cool as he was wearing that jacket.
I'll never be half as warm wearing anything else.

Everywhere...

Don't be fooled by what some people think they know about us. At UBC, we are Jesus People.

About once every few months Kyle would get emails from well meaning Defenders of the Faith who had traveled to see the church where David Crowder leads worship. (Usually their journey began in College Station, but that's neither here nor there.) They all had many words. They only needed six... "Where was Jesus in your service?"

Their laser-like mind walked into our building with one goal in sight, to hear the word "Jesus," and the accompanying pretty Jesus-words... "Blood", "salvation", "God's-fame", and the most necessary to our generation of Christian consumers, "God's Glory."

They left the building without being able to check the words off their list, so they carried out assumptions about us that they felt free to share with others as fact.

Yesterday we had our last Wednesday night service for the year at Truett's Great Hall. I walked in with Josh and Lindsay, who had me over to their apartment beforehand for dinner. I spoke with Tracey for a second, hugged Matt, sat down next to Amanda, and the service started. Ben made a few announcements about where we'd be for the next few meetings and about Thanksgiving Love feast. We sang some songs (about Jesus,) watched a Nooma video and listened to Ben talk about Ecclesiastes. We prayed (to God, in Jesus' name) then dismissed.

At the end of the service I realized that for the first time in two weeks the name "Kyle" was never mentioned. Not once.

If you were in the service and told me we have forgotten about Kyle because his name was never mentioned, I'd look you in the eye and call you a damn fool. Did you not feel it, thick as a sweater? Did you not see the tears? The laughter? When we looked into each others eyes did you not see what we were thinking, communicating to each other? When Thanksgiving Lovefeast was mentioned, was it not evident that hearts and souls were aching with the realization that this year, yes, this year is the first time we get together and tell God "thank you" for giving us a life that is no longer with us?

I can cheapen anyone's name by saying it over and over. Modern day Christian songsmiths make a fortune doing that.

I'd rather you know why we gather without even mentioning it. I'd rather you hear us sing "Every ocean, every sea, every river, every stream, every blade of grass will sing," and instinctively know Why we sing and from Where our song comes. If you need clarification, stick around a bit. Put your checklist away, eat some turkey with us, and you'll find out soon enough.

Today...

In the past I've heard people talk about the numbness. The disbelief. In the past I thought I knew what they were talking about, but I had no idea.

Before October 30 I assumed the numbness associated with grief was a sort of walking nothingness. An emptiness characterized by something being taken away. But it seems that the only thing taken away has been Kyle. And in his place is not nothing...It's something. It's like a dense chunk of metallic matter that cannot be removed from any of my moments. It's in my pockets. It's on my shoulder.

Emptiness is not nothing. It's something. It's something large and impenetrable.

And it makes me ask questions that there are no answers for.

How do I live in a world without Kyle?
When I'm really excited about something, who will I call?
What does Craig at 32...45...73, experiencing life, love, marriage, kids, changes, hilarious times, sad times... do without Kyle?
When is it ok to cry again? When will I stop feeling the something that is nothing?

Yeah, I feel the numbness alright. And it's a damn bitch if you ask me.

Good...

Yesterday was the first day I felt comfortable saying "Good" whenever anyone would ask the obligatory-in-Texas-greeting "How are you?" The first few days people didn't ask, because they saw my eyes. About a week later they asked hesitantly, and I would reply either "Ok" or "I'm hanging in there." But yesterday I said "Good" and meant it.

There is fear that comes with saying I am doing well. Because I am not, of course, doing totally well. I am injured. I am empty. But I do have Jason here with me. Christy will be here later today. Today is Sunday, so n a couple of hours I'll see all the people that make me smile and laugh and know that we will get through this.

The other night at our retreat we went through one of those cool ancient-postmodern-whatever labrynths. I was reminded of Jesus feeling forsaken. Of being hurt and left alone. I was reminded that my faith is in a God that allows us to feel hurt and left alone but who never hurts us or leaves us alone.

So, yeah, "good" is an appropriate word.

Friday Morning...

I hadn't cried in two days until I was reading through Kyle's emails for last nights posts. I then went to bed at 7:30 and cried until I fell asleep. Woke up 10 minutes ago-- at 7:00 a.m.

As I said, mornings aren't bad. Mornings give me hope.

What We Lose...

On Blake's recommendation, I started to read C.S. Lewis' "A Grief Observed" today. It's basically his journal of what it was like grieving over the death of his wife. Truth rings louder in the book than it would have two weeks ago.

Lewis stated that one of his greatest fears is of forgetting, and when I read that I gave a hearty "Amen." I've got pictures and memories and other people to remind me, but I'm terrified to death of forgetting Kyle's voice and laugh and facial expressions.

The people we made fun of the most were the people who most thought they had it together. We used to mimick those people.

I kept many of the emails he sent, and I'm glad. A couple of weeks ago I asked him to critique my preaching. In the midst of his reply he said...

"At this point in the conversation, I'd probably go into a long discourse on how that very difference lies at the heart of postmodernism but you probably wouldn't get it so I'll save that for my smarter friends."

While talking about an exercise of Scripture reading practiced by Ignatius, he wrote this...

"And yes, Ignatius was from the 16th century, not the 15th. You
were probably thinking 15th."

Those are some of the things I miss.

I started this post wanting to tell about Kyle's humor and how I'll miss it more than anything. In doing so I perused dozens of emails and realized there are things I will miss ten times more. They are the short emails. The one's that read, simply...

From : Kyle Lake
Sent : Wednesday, June 8, 2005 1:57 PM
To : "Craig Nash"
Subject : reading

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Hey--I've just now begun reading the David Sedaris book you got me about 8 years ago--Me Talk Pretty One Day. Let the reading begin!



And...

From : Kyle Lake
Sent : Tuesday, March 8, 2005 3:51 AM
To : "Craig Nash"

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hey dude--what's up?

down here in Houston doing Birkman training...I'm absolutely loving this stuff (so far)
I'll fill you in more when I get back. Very fascinating stuff.

Kyle



And the one I'll miss the most, that came almost every Monday morning...

From : Kyle Lake
Sent : Wednesday, August 25, 2004 3:17 AM
To : "Craig Nash"

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What's happening with ya this week?





______________________________________
That's what tears me up inside.

100 Feet Up...

(I don't really want to write anything. But anytime I experienced significant things in my life, Kyle would always tell me to write it down. So I'll try it a little at a time.)

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It seems like the back collar of my shirt was lifted up by God's gigantic hands that Sunday and I was placed a mile in the air, feet on a tightrope stretched before me, and told to walk.

I could fall to the left into my grief where there was pain and anguish that led to good thoughts of a life well lived. Or I could fall to the right into thoughts of a life well lived that eventually led to pain and anguish at what I have lost. Either way I fell I ended up there and then somewhere else.

On Sunday I tricked myself into thinking the hard part was over, and then Monday came. Monday morning was ok. In fact, all the mornings have seemed ok. I think it's because I generally worked in the mornings and Kyle always worked in the mornings and our friendship took a break during the A.M. (In fact, Kyle used to do sermon work at Barnes and Noble in the mornings and Common Grounds in the afternoons. He went full time at Common Grounds when I started working at BN, just so he could get work done.) Mornings my mind was on one thing, his on another, and we had very little contact.

Monday afternoon, though, the night came. A needed word on the phone from a friend sent me spiraling down, off the tightrope, into the dark. I got home, went to bed at 8:00 (aided by liquid sleep,) and didn't get up until 5:00 a.m. on Tuesday.

I have to remind myself that I am not the only one walking up here. There are others who grieve as much as me. I need to reach over and help them balance.

Or, perhaps, I need to remind them, as I have been reminded, that in this balancing act, a Net has been provided.