Just Sayin'

I don't really have anything to write about. It's another case of "so much in my head that nothing is ready to be written."

But people keep asking me how I am, so I just want to check in with my blog readers to let you know that I'm doing well. And thank you for asking and for caring and for praying.

I'm doing really well. I have a peace that I haven't had in what feels like ages. I feel that people are praying, and that's a good place to be.

I am happy. Not just the "happy because today was a good day" kind of happy, but the "I have joy in my heart" kind of happy. Even when things are hard, which they have been in the last month.

God is good.

I haven't always felt that way, even though it's always been that way.

Anticipating V-Day

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. I feel like a traitor to my fellow singles, but I have to admit that I don't hate Valentine's Day as much as I think I'm supposed to.

Don't get me wrong... I wish I had a Valentine for tomorrow. But let's be honest, I also wish I had a Valentine for February 15 and 16 and 17 and March 14 and 15 and 16 and July 23 and August 18 and... well, every day really.

I like Valentine's Day partly because I like all holidays. But I also like that it's a whole day where people get mushy and sentimental. And as much as they whine about it, I like to think that couples appreciate the excuse to tell each other how much they love the other person. Yes, they should tell each other that all year round. But tomorrow? Everything around them will remind them to tell the person most important to them exactly that. No excuses now! I like that little kids give each other Valentine cards. I like that Alice's has all these "Valentine"-themed scones and cupcakes and Valentines hanging up on the walls and windows. I like that for one day the majority of people celebrate love instead of making snide and cynical remarks about it.

Maybe it'd be more accurate to say I have a love-hate relationship with Valentine's Day. Because I love it so much, I hate that I can't participate in it fully. And maybe, in reality, this is why my fellow singles also hate the day.

So to all those who will have a Valentine tomorrow, please enjoy it to its fullest extent on behalf of those of us who can't.

Please don't call it a Hallmark holiday. Please don't complain about having to take your significant other out for dinner or having to buy them a gift. Please don't skip buying flowers just because they're marked up a little since it's a certain day in February.

Embrace the day-- embrace the excuse to tell the person you love the most in the world all the reasons you love them, all the reasons they are worth the price-increase on those flowers. Embrace the person you love.

It's a pretty special day. And I'm not gonna lie, I'm pretty jealous of you right now.

In my weakness, Lord make me strong

"You doin' okay?" asked my friend Adam as we walked to the memorial/funeral fund-raiser event for Christofer last night.

I think so.... I mean, sort of. But I'm nervous-- I feel like I haven't dealt with it yet; I keep thinking it's a joke. And I'm scared it's going to hit me as soon as I'm standing in that room surrounded by all those other people.

"You're right. I think it'll hit you because it'll have hit all those other people; and we won't be able to deny it anymore."

Ugh. I'm not looking forward to this.

"Here, hold my hand."

And Adam reached out and took my hand and didn't let go until we'd walked through the front door and through the crowd of people that stood there unsure of whether to smile, hug, cry, or laugh (so we just did all of those things).

Conversations last night went kind of like this--
"Hey. How are you?"
"You know..."
"Yeah."
"How are you?"
"Yep."
"Yeah."
"Mmhmm."
And then the tears would start.

Eventually we worked our way upstairs. No small task. There were so many people. And it was so overwhelming. People gave tributes to him-- in front of the whole crowd, yes; but also in small groups just to each other. Framed pictures of him lined the tables around the restaurant. Christofer laughing. Christofer dancing. Christofer surrounded by friends. Just like Christofer always was.

It wasn't hard for him to be surrounded by friends all the time, because even if you started out strangers, he'd soon make sure you were friends. The first time I ever met him, he stuck out his hand and said "I'm Chris with an F; what's your name?" and then let out the laugh that made you smile despite yourself-- the laugh we all loved so much.

He trained me to be a barista a Chapter 2. He made sure that we tried all the drinks we made (it's the only Alice's location that has a full bar), and we joked and laughed our way through the shift until it was over-- what felt like twenty minutes later, though it'd really been several hours.

He trained me to be a server at Chapter 3. He danced, he sang, and he taught me how to make sure that everyone who walked through the door felt like they were visiting a friend's home-- because that's how he treated everyone, and that's the experience he always wanted Alice's customers to have.

He trained me to be part of the Alice's family. I didn't realize it at the time, but that's what he was doing by welcoming me into his life and wanting to be a part of mine. As I stood there last night, crammed so tightly with other people it was hard not to feel claustrophobic, all I could think was this is a guy who touched the lives of everyone he came into contact with. And that's what it means to be a part of a family. You don't just live next to them; you live life with them. You care deeply about them. You laugh with them; you cry with them. You dance with them; you work your butt off with them. You disagree about stuff, sure; but you also love them hard.

Tonight I watched youtube videos that Christofer and his roommates had made (they choreographed music videos for a couple songs), and I smiled and laughed-- until I cried. But not the laugh-til-you-cry kind of tears; it was the laugh-until-you-realize-he's-gone kind of tears. Not surprisingly, that kind's not as much fun.

A good friend wrote me an email letting me know of her love and prayers. But she also spoke into my Alice's family and the grief journey that we've all now embarked on together. She wrote,

If there is one thing that tragedy accomplishes it is this: through all this, an irrevocable, and incredible intimate bond has already been created between you all--- you have gone from co-workers to a suffering (and consoling!) family. You will never be the same. These will be friends for life... through this confusing and tragic and heart-wrenching circumstance, God is binding you all together in a way which would never have happened otherwise. So, love on each other. You need one another. And you, Anne, can be strong and weak all in one. Grieve and be confused, but also talk to God--- cry on His shoulder and ask him in the brokenness of the child that you are--- "God, I don't understand but I need you. I know that much. We need you. Love us. Let me know your love and consolation and let me in turn be your love and consolation to others."

I'm not gonna lie. I don't really want to be on this journey right now. I'm sad and confused and overwhelmed. And I am not alone. That's good and bad. My family is hurting, and that makes me hurt worse. I think we were all hoping Christofer would show up last night when his friends were gathered and let us in on this big joke he'd played. But it didn't happen. Instead, I heard someone say that she was one of the people that had to identify his body. There's no prank to be exposed. This is really happening.

So I'd better start dealing with it.

"God calls us to trust before we understand," my dad said to me tonight. It's a good thing I don't have to do both right now.

God, I don't understand but I need you. I know that much. We need you. Love us. Let me know your love and consolation and let me in turn be your love and consolation to others.

Still waiting....

I feel like I can't grieve because I'm still in that limbo state. Still waiting for my phone to ring and end this stupid joke. Who pretends that they're dead, anyway?

You may have played the most hilarious pranks, Christofer; but this one's not funny.

I don't believe he's gone. I don't believe this isn't another crazy adventure of his-- like when he got himself stuck in Cuba a couple weeks ago. I just want my phone to ring and for someone to tell me that the joke is over.

And then maybe I can begin to sort through all the emotions I'm feeling right now.

Phone, please ring.

I keep thinking my phone's gonna ring and the person on the other end will be laughing/crying so hard I'll barely be able to understand what they're saying. They'll be laughing out of relief that the whole thing was a joke, but crying because they're feeling such a confusing mixture of anger and relief that they don't know what to do with themselves. It'll be hard to understand what they're saying, but the gist of it will be this: Christofer, the ultimate prankster who loved to laugh more than anyone I've ever known, didn't really die; he just played the Best Prank on all of us.

I keep waiting for that phone call, but it's been a few days and it hasn't come yet.

I was at our winter retreat for Kids With A Promise this weekend when I got a text from one of my managers at Alice's. "If any of you need to talk," it read, "I'm here for you. I love you all."

That's sweet of her was my first reaction.
That's not a normal text was my second reaction.
Something's wrong was my third, and more panicked, reaction.

I texted Gretchen and asked if something was wrong at Alice's. She wrote back, "Yes, but I didn't want to worry you; I know you have a lot on your plate this weekend that you need to focus on."

Too late. I'm already worried. What's going on??? -- I texted back.

"Christofer fell out of a window and passed away at 5:30 this morning. That's all we know right now."

Passed away? Something's wrong here. That's not possible. I just saw him on Tuesday, and we were laughing and joking and he was dancing and making fun of me and entertaining everyone around us. No. Something's wrong. Maybe he fell, but he must have just broken something.

But it was there in the text-- "passed away at 5:30 this morning"-- like they knew for sure. Like it wasn't open for debate anymore. Like there's no chance that maybe he'll be okay and this'll just be one of those really close calls that make us so thankful we still have him.

It wasn't that sort of text at all.

So I'm back in the city now, and we're all trying to make sense of this together. "It's so silly and senseless; it just makes me so angry," one of my friends texted me. "I just want to understand why it happened, and it doesn't make sense," said another.

I want to tell you that I understand why it happened, but I don't know either.

I'm clinging to the fact that God is good, even when things don't make sense to us. And this, for sure, doesn't make sense to me.

It doesn't help that I haven't quite yet grasped that this is real. I'm still waiting for that phone call telling me that Christofer just played the most elaborate prank on us that he could think of.