il giorno del ringraziamento.

This Thanksgiving was the weirdest, most unique, most stressful and most beautiful of my life.

Let me tell you about it.

Last year was my first Thanksgiving away from family, but I spent it with my "family away from family" in Rome. This year, I journeyed to Bologna to revisit some people I met during my first trip to the city and at a retreat with my friend's church up there. Last year (and every other year of my life) I celebrated this excuse to eat an unreasonable amount of food with only Americans. This year, I was the only American there.

Let's start at the very beginning (it's a very good place to start, after all).

Knowing that I would be in Bologna on Thanksgiving day, my fabulous friend (who is Colombian but lived her preteen through college years in Miami and just married an Italian in October) planned a party with two small groups from her church that consisted of all Italians except for a Scottish guy, her and me. Which would mean that I would be the only full-blooded American (U.S.A., U.S.A., U.S....Ok I'm stopping) there. Which I was really excited about!

Upon my arrival, my friend informed me that we would be making the turkey. That's right. My very first time making a turkey! It was also my friend's very first time making a turkey... (Are you seeing why "most stressful" might have been included in that opening sentence?). 

So on Thanksgiving morning, my friend and I took a 45-minute bus ride into the city center to pick up "Lola" (We were about to get very intimate. She needed a name). We wheeled our little rolling shopping cart thing (the one all the old ladies take to the grocery store around here) along the cobblestoned streets to the meat shop. We passed by the pancetta and chicken (as well as the pig's feet and goat's head) and asked for the turkey she had ordered. Then out come two fresh, ready-to-be-cooked turkeys. We weighed our options (literally...two Italian men held the bodies like babies and hosted them each onto the scale. We went with the big one). After making our decision, the "macellaio" wrapped up our bird (twice, because her legs busted right out of the first bag), and we put her 17-pound (8 kg) body in our "carrello" and wheeled her to the bus stop. Of course, we had to make a pitstop to get some fresh pumpkin ravioli and pumpkin gnocchi to make for lunch and then went to the main piazza to take a few quick pictures, all with Lola in tow. 

When we got back to my friend's apartment, we ate our pasta (SO. GOOD.) and took a good look at the recipe for the turkey. We started by plucking off some feathers that had been left behind. Then we rinsed her off a bit. Then we rubbed her with the butter/sage/rosemary/pancetta concoction the recipe called for (all while taking deep breaths amidst high-pitched squeals of "Eww"). Then we stuffed a stick of butter and fresh rosemary and sage up her butt (or "inside the main cavity," in turkey-recipe jargon). Then we stuffed her in the oven (quite forcibly, because she very nearly didn't fit).

And then we started to get paranoid. We didn't have a meat thermometer. What if it didn't cook all the way and we gave everybody Salmonella? Was three hours really enough time? Tent with foil? What does that mean?? Were we supposed to do that at the beginning or end? Was the skin supposed to kind of bubble up like that?

So we ended up taking the turkey in and out, in and out, tenting her with foil then taking it off, rotating her in the oven, checking to see if she was done by basically lacerating her in several places. 

But alas. Four hours passed. And she wasn't done. 

That's when my friend's husband came home and told us we had the oven on the wrong setting and she hadn't been cooking properly/efficiently/whatever. So back in the oven she went, dooming us to a delayed departure. But fortunately the two casserole dishes of mashed potatoes, pan of cornbread and tray of pumpkin muffins were all ready to go.

Then, finally, she seemed to reach a state of golden, not-too-dry-and-definitely-not-raw perfection. But the gravy! We hurried to whip up this essential condiment. But my ill-timed addition of extra flavor left it nothing short of chunky. So, in a state of near-panic, my friend Facetimed her mom (in Spanish), who told us to try putting it in the blender. It seemed relatively cohesive and "abbastanza" gravy-like after that.

So everything was finally ready! All we had to do was juggle the decorations, the potatoes, the cornbread, the muffins, the pitcher of gravy and the ginormous turkey between the three of us and get it all situated in the car.

But we finally made it to the party! An hour later than expected, but we still weren't the last ones there.

And what a beautiful Thanksgiving party it was! Not only was Lola a hit, but it was such a blessing to see people again and meet some new people as well. 

And this group of Italians taught this American girl the true meaning of Thanksgiving.

Seriously. There was so much more intentionality to it all. Typically my family just eats. I mean, of course we enjoy being together and say a prayer before the meal to thank God for blessing us throughout the year. But at this party, not only did we do that, but after we had eaten, one of the guys basically just shared the gospel (using a clip from the Big Bang Theory. Genius.) and then a few people shared what they were thankful for.

Some things were pretty typical (one couple was having a baby, some said they were thankful for that community of friends, one guy said he was thankful to live in a country with more freedom and safety than many others). 

But one guy said it was good to also reflect on the truly difficult times. The trials. The pain. The dry seasons. 

Because during the struggle, in our desperation, we get the joy of seeing God's provision. Because when we reach the end of ourselves and we realize how much we truly need Him, we cry out for help and we are more thankful when He does meet our needs, because it is inescapably clear that it is His hand...that He -- The Lord -- has done it (Psalm 109:26-27).

It's easy to take things for granted if we feel okay...fine...full...satisfied (enough). Kind of like the way maybe I don't appreciate my Nanny's amazing cooking as much as I would if I had gone without food for a few days...As it is, I just feel so absolutely stuffed from lunch at my Grammy's house that it's hard to truly appreciate the extravagant, wonderful meal set before me at dinner (yes, back in the U.S. I am spoiled rotten by two amazing meals on Thanksgiving).

I like these lyrics from "Great Things (Worth It All)" by Elevation Worship:

Thank You for the wilderness
Where I learned to thirst for Your presence
If I'd never known that place
How could I have known You are better?

We avoid hard times like the plague, but maybe we should embrace them. Even if the situation is painful and exhausting and heartbreaking...it can bring us (almost paradoxically) to a place of true joy...of understanding what it means to be truly thankful...and to be truly thankful for the only Thing that is constant and wholly good. Only then -- when all the "gifts" are stripped away -- are we able to be thankful for the Gift-giver Himself. We are able to love and enjoy Him for Him, and not just for what He gives us.

Something to chew on.

So that was my Thanksgiving Day this year. Then I went up to Turin to celebrate (again) with two American families up there and hug them all goodbye for the last time in who knows how long. (As my friend said, very profoundly and accurately, "Goodbyes suck.")

These were some of the first real, final (for now, anyway) goodbyes. Yup. These last few weeks are going to be rough. Okay, I can't. I'll save the emotion for another blog post when I'm blubbering through my final days here and/or reverse culture shock. For now, here are some pictures of my (two) Thanksgiving(s):

Love from Rome,

Elizabeth 

Il mio mestiere è creare.

"I must create a system or be enslaved by another man's; I will not reason or compare: my business is to create."

I've always loved that quote by William Blake.

Okay, "always" is an overstatement. I've really liked that quote since I first heard it in P.S. I Love You. (I wish I could say I first encountered it when I was actually reading William Blake in college, but alas...a tearjerker chick flick beat Brit Lit II to the punch.)

Anyway, yeah..."My business is to create." As an Art major, I really liked that idea. It was encouraging to think that whatever I ended up "doing with my life," creativity in some capacity would be involved. (And like Holly says in P.S. I Love You, "it doesn't matter if it's a work of art or a taco or a pair of socks...just create something...")

[As a side note, that movie is actually a very interesting and in-depth look at the grieving process, and oddly enough I happened to have been watching it (in Italian...language practice...merely language practice...) the day before I got the news about Kyra. I watched it again soon after and now I can relate to it in a different way. As a friend said recently about losing someone, you just don't fully understand until you're punched in the face by the personal experience of it. Then you're like "Oh. That's what it feels like. Crap."]

As those of you who have been keeping up with me throughout this entire journey already know, my original job description when I came to Italy involved working in a non-profit art gallery. And if you've been reading this blog for the past two years, you also know that it closed shortly after I arrived in Rome due to lack of funding and personnel changes. So, through this "loss" and many other discrepancies between expectation and reality, God has been teaching me about submission and flexibility and trusting His will even when I don't understand it. 

[Other examples have included being delayed three months because of visa issues, my supervisor telling me he was leaving in three weeks as he was rolling one of my suitcases into my apartment complex for the first time, and our original landlord deciding to sell the apartment we were renting just after I had finally unpacked and started to settle in.]  

None of that was what I expected. But I think my experience here has been just as good (if not better!) in spite of (or because of!) each of those changes. So, my new supervisor and his family became like family to me, I felt at home in our new apartment, and I happily settled into my new role that focused more on teaching English and being more involved in my Italian church. At that point, I had just more or less set my passion for art aside, assuming I wouldn't really have an opportunity to create while I was over here.

But plot twist! 

My pastor came to another lady in my church and me with an idea. We were in the middle of a series of discussions on Tim Keller's The Reason for God. Each month, we met in a coffee shop and discussed a chapter, working through questions like "Can there really be just one true religion?" and "How could a good God allow suffering?" and "Has science disproved Christianity?" So, he had this idea of using art to talk about one of these chapters. The chapter he had in mind is called "The Clues of God."

I loved the idea, and immediately the proverbial wheels started turning. How does God demonstrate Himself to us in the world? It's a theme I've enjoyed exploring in the months since Leo suggested doing this art show.

The act of creating is a joy and privilege. Having this art show to work towards was an even greater blessing after losing Kyra. Much of the subject matter of the show changed after her death, inspiring three new paintings and changing my perspective on all the others. 

[Sometimes I think about what she would say if she knew there are two paintings hanging in a coffee shop right now that are meant to depict her...her life, her faith and her love for others. She would probably think it was ridiculous. But these paintings about her helped me process my grief over losing her. Working on them helped me say goodbye to her in a way. And hopefully they will help many people remember how beautifully she radiated Christ's love...that God demonstrated Himself to us in the world through her life.]

So here are some of the paintings. And below is my artist's statement. And Courtney took photos and is going to make a little video too, so hopefully I can share that with you soon as well.

I am many things.

American. Artist. Traveller. Writer. Teacher. Daughter. Sister. Friend.

But above all these things, my true identity is in Christ. I am a Christian. And this affects all the other things about me.

He is my Hope. My Anchor. My Compass. My Captain.

He is also the lens through which I see the world. My faith affects my perspective on everything. I believe God reveals himself to us in the world, if we would only have eyes to see and ears to hear.

He leaves traces. Hints. Clues.

I see Him in the vastness of the Earth and the beautiful diversity of cultures and individual people, because I believe He created the largest planet in the solar system and the smallest atom in the tiniest microorganism. I see Him in a husband’s love for his wife, because I believe the church is the bride of Christ. I see Him in a father cradling and delighting in his child, because God is my Heavenly Father. I even see Him in the brokenness in the world, because it reminds me that only He can heal and satisfy and that this world is not really our home.

I also see Him in other people whose identity is in Him. I’ve encountered few people who reflected Christ so vividly as Kyra Karr. All of us who knew and loved her were devastated when we heard about the car accident and that she didn’t make it. Her death truly rattled me, making me more aware of the uncertainty, frailty and brevity of life. But more than anything, her death made me reflect on her life…how she lived it to the glory of God and how it has impacted my own. So the series about hospitality is for her, because she had the gift of hospitality and she used it to love and bless others. The “Colors” painting is also for her, because she was a “color…[who brought] glory to the Light.”

I love art. I love to create. It is a cathartic release and a small miracle turn an idea and a blank canvas into something beautiful and meaningful. I hope that even in this I could reflect the Ultimate Creator…that the colors of these paintings would bring glory to the Light.

Thank you for looking at these paintings. My prayer is that from now on you might be more inclined to see God in your day-to-day life. That you might be inspired to consider His existence….to consider getting to know Him…

To consider the possibility that He could not only exist, but be Creator, Sustainer, Redeemer and Friend.

Sono tante cose.

Americana. Artista. Viaggiatrice. Scrittrice. Insegnante. Figlia. Sorella. Amica.

Ma, innanzitutto, la mia identità è in Cristo. Sono cristiana. E questo influisce su tutta me stessa.

Lui è la mia Speranza. La mia Ancora. La mia Bussola. Il mio Capitano.

Lui è anche la lente attraverso cui vedo il mondo. La mia fede determina la mia prospettiva su ogni cosa. Credo che Dio si riveli a noi nel mondo, se solo abbiamo occhi per vederlo e orecchie per sentirlo.

Ci lascia tracce. Accenni. Indizi.

Lo vedo nella vastità del mondo e nella magnifica diversità delle culture e degli individui, perché credo che Lui abbia creato il pianeta più grande del sistema solare, e anche l’atomo più piccolo del più minuscolo microrganismo. Lo vedo nell’amore di un marito per sua moglie, perché credo che la Chiesa sia la sposa di Cristo. Lo vedo in un padre quando culla amorevolmente il suo bambino, perché Dio è il mio Padre Celeste. Posso anche vederLo nella devastazione del mondo, perché mi ricorda che solo Lui può curare e appagare e che questo mondo non è veramente casa nostra.

Lo vedo anche nelle altre persone che hanno trovato la loro identità in Cristo. Ne ho incontrate poche che sono state il riflesso di Cristo così vividamente come lo è stata Kyra Karr. Tutti noi che la conoscevamo e amavamo siamo rimasti totalmente sconvolti quando abbiamo sentito dell’incidente stradale e che lei non ce l’aveva fatta. La sua morte mi ha veramente scossa, mi ha resa più consapevole dell’incertezza, della fragilità e della brevità della vita. Ma, soprattutto, la sua morte mi ha fatta riflettere sulla sua vita…come la viveva per la gloria di Dio e quale impatto ha avuto sulla mia. Così la serie sull’ospitalità è per Kyra, perché aveva il dono dell’ospitalità e perché l’ha usato per amare e benedire gli altri. Anche il quadro dei “Colori” è per lei, perché era un “colore che ha reso gloria alla Luce.”

Amo l’arte. Adoro creare. È una liberazione catartica e un piccolo miracolo trasformare un’idea e una tela bianca in qualcosa di bellissimo e significativo. Spero che anche in questo io possa riflettere il Sommo Creatore…che i colori di queste opere possano rendere gloria alla Luce.

Grazie per aver guardato questi quadri. La mia preghiera è che d’ora in poi siate più desiderosi di vedere Dio nella vita quotidiana…che siate più inclini a tenere conto della Sua esistenza…a volerLo conoscere meglio…

A considerare la possibilità che Lui non solo esista, ma sia anche Creatore, Redentore e Amico.

turn, turn, turn...

Apart from the incomparable explosion of color on just about every tree in my Southern Virginia hometown, the return of Pumpkin Spice lattes at Starbucks and different varieties of pumpkin pasta in Rome, and the Italians' stubborn determination to dress like it's autumn in New England even when it's still 70 degrees outside...few things make me feel like fall quite like "Turn! Turn! Turn!" by the Byrds. 

I vividly remember this song playing on a Kohl's "Back to School" commercial when I was a kid (gosh, probably about 15 years ago). My family was enjoying our annual beach week at my grandparents' condo in early August, just a couple of weeks before school started back. And I remember seeing the commercial and thinking, "Okay. Summer's officially over. Fall is here. And that's fine. Time for the next thing!" And with that, I traded in my goggles and sunscreen and just-for-fun books for binders and bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils (any You've Got Mail fans out there?).

But really, we're not always so quick to accept change with such submission, let alone excitement, are we? Maybe we do enjoy the seasons changing, but they shift with such predictable regularity that it doesn't make us feel anxious or out of control. We expect it. Most of us enjoy it (even though I, personally, could happily do without winter altogether). 

But, for better or for worse, the seasons of life are not so easy to anticipate or foresee. And one thing these past several years have taught me is to roll with it.

Up until about three years ago, my life was pretty "normal." I had what I would consider your average childhood...I went to school, dabbled in a variety of extracurricular activities that ranged from swim team to cheerleading to horseback riding, went to university, had part-time jobs.

But then God really rocked my world. I think since I grew closer to Him in college, my life hasn't been so normal. Before then, I tended to make decisions based on my interests...I operated more or less as the judge and jury of my own life. But since surrendering to Him, He's led me down paths I never would have chosen...taken me on adventures I never would have expected.

He called me to go. He brought me to Italy. Living overseas is never something I thought I would do. If you had told preteen me that I'd be living in another country, speaking another language on a daily basis and just generally dealing with the struggles of existing in a culture very different from my own, I would have laughed in your face. 

And since He told me to go to Rome, absolutely nothing has gone as I had planned. I didn't go when I planned to go but stayed in America almost three months longer because of visa issues. My supervisor told me he was leaving Italy for good on the day I arrived, as he was rolling my suitcase up the sidewalk to my apartment. As soon as I had completely unpacked, our landlord informed us he wanted to sell our apartment and we would have to move out in a couple of months. The art gallery that I had come to run closed soon after my old supervisor left, because he had opened it and done most of the fundraising and we no longer had the money to pay for the space we were renting. 

But you know what? Because I didn't go to Italy right away, I was able to be with my family while they and my church were going through a difficult period and I got to be a bridesmaid in my cousin's wedding. And I'm sure my first supervisor would have been great, but my new supervisor and his wife became like my second family and I absolutely love our whole team. And our first apartment was nice, but I feel really at home in this one. And running an art gallery would have been cool, but in all honestly, not having it has freed us up to be more present at the university and more involved in our Italian church, and the coffee shop where we now do all our discussion groups and events instead is definitely one of my favorite and more frequented places.

And so after a somewhat rocky start characterized by God daily taking me by the shoulders and shaking me, saying, "My ways are higher than your ways. I know what I'm doing. Let go. Trust me," I finally felt at home here. Sure, there were still rough days. I still had days I felt like I couldn't communicate at all or wanted to pull my hair out over the nonsensical inefficiency of the public transportation system or the way our WiFi sometimes just switches off for several minutes and then starts working again or how our toilet sometimes spontaneously flushes and other times won't flush at all. But all in all I was happy. I had started to become comfortable.

Then Kyra died. And my world was rocked again, more violently than it's ever been before.

To be honest, I'm still waiting for God to reveal the "why," the way He's done so many times before. Maybe I'll never fully know. But as He's been teaching me consistently, really daily, for so long now....I can trust Him. 

"In His hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind." -Job 12:10

Kyra put a painting of that verse in her daughters' room. I never thought about it much before, but it means infinitely more to me now. I'm reminded of this truth every time I walk into their room. He's still watching over their family. He's still holding me.

I've realized that much of my sorrow over losing Kyra has to do with my discomfort over this drastic change that I wasn't ready for...that none of us would have chosen. Even though I miss her terribly, I'm not sad for her...because I know where she is and she is overflowing with joy right now in a way that I can scarcely imagine. I don't think I've ever thought about the concept of being "homesick for heaven" before these past two years. But I've seen and heard and experienced so much in the past couple of years that I feel the reality of that: that this world is not our home. There is a hope of something higher. Perfection does exist. But it cannot be found here on earth.

I think so much of our dislike of change has to do with the fear of it. Fear of the unknown. 

There's really only one way to conquer that fear.

"When I am afraid, I will trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid." -Psalm 56:3-4

I certainly wouldn't want to face change or tragedy with only myself to depend on. I don't know how I could go through trails without this Anchor for my soul. 

I know Kyra's family couldn't do it without the hope that they have. It's the only reason this situation hasn't shattered Reid. 

So we have no idea what will happen, really. But we shouldn't be paralyzed by fear of the future. Things will change. That much is certain. But let's not cling so tightly to the things of this world or the way we think things "should be" that we start to put our hope and invest our happiness and find our identity in these things. What if we truly trusted God with the pen? What if we really let Him write our story and didn't fight Him over every plot twist?

[Even as I type all these things, I'm definitely still learning them. I still want to wrestle the pen back from Him and scrambled to find the Wite-Out. "Nuh uh, God. No way was ending Kyra's life a good idea. No. way."]

But I still have a hope that He's moving and working (and I know He already has been) in and through this seemingly irredeemably awful situation. Deep breaths. This is His story, not mine.

So as summer turns to fall, so another season of life is beginning as well...for all of us who knew and loved her. And for me, it will change again in two months when I go back to the U.S. and start another chapter at grad school (another thing I never thought I'd do). But He keeps reminding me not to be afraid. That He's still with me. He's still carrying me.

And of course, I couldn't start with that song and not end with these verses: 

There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
     a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
     a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
     a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.

What do workers gain from their toil?  I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race.  He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. (Ecclesiastes 3:1-11)

broken.

I don't know how to do this whole grief thing. [I guess no one really does]

I've never done it before [thankfully]. In 25 years, this is the biggest shock and the deepest ache I've ever felt.

I know plenty of people who have been through something like this or something even worse. Injury, illness, loss. Losing a friend...it feels like there's an empty space in my life now. Like I've lost all sense of normalcy. Because I saw her almost every day. Because she was a security blanket. A support system. A wealth of knowledge about Italian language and culture. An encouraging word. A funny story. A YouTube video. A laugh.

But I know that my pain is nothing compared to those even closer to her. The ones who call her "wife," "mommy," "daughter," "sister," "lifelong friend."

And I know everyone has their own scars. Their own aches. The interesting thing about pain is that it doesn't truly touch you until it's your own. You can feel pity and sympathy for a sad story you hear on the news or something that happened to a friend of a friend. But until your own heart really gets involved...you're just a spectator.

But how do we, who are truly living it, live through it?

Anyone who knows me very well at all knows that So You Think You Can Dance is pretty much my favorite show. I love dance in general because often it allows you to express something you can't quite get across with words alone. And it's cathartic. A release. 

So I've been thinking about this piece from last season:

We're all a little bit broken, aren't we? Whether it's a breakup or a death, a sprained ankle or loss of limb...no one goes through life unscathed...undamaged. 

And there's just so much evil in the world. I heard yesterday about the reporter and cameraman from my area who were shot and killed live on air during the local news. On top of that, I've been dealing with the emotional repercussions of being involved in a human trafficking ministry. I promise to write a whole post about it all someday because a few sentences just don't do it justice...but the reality is that most of the people we talk to every week are transgendered individuals. Female on top, male on bottom. Playing with themselves to entice customers driving by. [Sorry if this shocks you, but this industry, unfortunately, exists and is alive and well]. And they tell us about how they get drunk and high just to be able to do this on a nightly basis.

And that's all really depressing.

And if I believed that this life was all there was (these 90 or so years...or for Kyra, 30...or for others, even less), it would all seem rather hopeless.

But.

"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure." -Hebrews 6:19

Hope keeps me from despair [the "depths of despair," as Anne Shirley would say].

And I cling to this promise [one God literally opened my Bible to yesterday morning]:

"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.

He determines the number or stars and calls them each by name.

Great is our Lord and mighty in power;

His understanding has no limit." -Psalm 147:3-5

I'm human, so I'm hurting. But I have hope in something higher than this world, so I still have joy in the midst of pain.

As Rend Collective so perfectly puts it:

The pain will not define us
Joy will reignite us
You're the song
You're the song
Of our hearts

The dark is just a canvas
For Your grace and brightness
You're the song
You're the song
Of our hearts

We're dancing to the rhythm of Your heart
We're rising from the ashes to the stars

You're the joy joy joy lighting my soul
The joy joy joy making me whole
Though I'm broken, I am running
Into Your arms of love

So we are not broken beyond repair. We are not doomed to an existence of emptiness and sadness and hopelessness. But only if our hope is in Christ.

"But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body." -Philippians 3:20-21

So I will celebrate in the downpour. I will dance in the rain. I will try to go on without Kyra's constant affirming words. I can still treasure up all the things that I learned from her [and oh...they were many]. From how to make pasta all'amatriciana to how to love people by practicing hospitality, she taught me so much. And I will try to do the things she encouraged me to do...the things she knew I was passionate about and prayed that I would have opportunities to do...even things as simple and mundane as Zumba and art. She was also the first person to encourage me to think about staying in Italy...who made me feel like I could do this long-term. 

And reflecting on those things does make me zone out again...I feel myself getting distant and sad even in crowds of people laughing and talking...when it hits me again with surprising force that it's true...she's gone.

But that's just the reality. I hurt because I'm only human. But I'm not smashed to smithereens because I'm setting my heart and mind on things above [Colossians 3].

Another thing I've been thinking about is Ireland. I just got back from spending a few days there catching up with some beautiful people and hearing what God is doing in their lives. And I was thinking on the three hour bus ride to and from the airport as I took in the most vibrantly green hillsides and the sun shining through the cloud-dappled sky...it rains a lot in Ireland. And that can be sad and gray and depressing. But oh. When the sun comes out...you see the effect of the rain: the incomparably lush, green landscape. And it is absolutely marvelous.

So I'll close with this "Song for the Suffering" for all you other broken people out there [please please please watch this]:

"On this mountain you will destroy the shroud that enfolds all peoples, the sheet that covers all nations; he will swallow up death forever. The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces; he will remove the disgrace of his people from all the earth." Isaiah 25:7-8

left behind

There are reminders of her everywhere.

From her hand-me-downs hanging in my closest to voice messages on WhatsApp to the souvenirs I brought her from England to a note on our fridge that says, "Kyra loves Coco and Lizzy."

On my first day in Rome, she took me to what is now my favorite bar and bought me my first cappuccino and cornetto. I then went to her house where she had strung a "Benvenuto" banner and had made lunch. 

Since then, her apartment, less than a five-minute walk from mine, was a place of refuge and comfort. A place I could be sure I would be welcomed with the pitter-patter of little feet running to open the door and a trio of little voices yelling, "Beh-Beh's here!" A place where the food was always excellent and the company was even better. A place where, if I was feeling sad or alone, we would just sit curled up on the couch with a cup of tea and she would ask what was going on and how she could pray for me. A place where we talked so much about marriage and motherhood and watched several seasons of "Call the Midwife." A place where we would try (to no avail) to get Reid to play a game with us.

Kyra Karr was without a doubt one of kindest, humblest, most selfless, most genuine people I have ever met (I LOATHE referring to her in the past tense). I have rarely met with someone who conducted herself with such dignity and grace, even under pressure...on those "Rome is so inefficient and frustrating" days or when one of the girls was having a meltdown. She was always composed. Always had a loving response. She was such a good mom. It was no secret how much she loved her daughters. She was always patient, always kind. She loved them and her husband so well. She taught me so much by the way she lived her life. 

And Kyra Karr was HILARIOUS! I loved her personality. She was goofy and lighthearted. She brought peace and joy into even tense situations. I was always amazed by that. Even when I wanted to get frustrated on her behalf.

And y'all...Kyra Karr loved Jesus. Loudly. Her faith has been and continues to be an inspiration for me. Obedient to God's call in her life, she moved her life and her kids overseas. She had a baby in Rome. She put her kids into public Italian school (and they are little champs!!). She humbled herself daily by speaking a foreign language and making "stupid American" mistakes. Life here is hard, but this was her home. She loved it here. She loved Italians. And it showed.

And she was so obedient to this verse:

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching." (Hebrews 10:23-25)

With her initiation and encouragement, she, Courtney and I did a Bible Study together, met regularly to pray for each other and memorized scripture. We were always at the Karrs' house. And whether we were just eating pasta squeezed around their kitchen table or devouring a decadent, made-especially-for-us birthday cake from her fancy book of cake recipes, Kyra was the perfect hostess. 

I felt at home in their home. They are my family here in Rome.

From Kyra being the one I knew I could call during a breakdown I had when I got sick and had to back out of a trip and everything felt out of control to the countless logistical things Reid has been so quick to help me with, the Karrs have been there for me in so many ways. They have been what's kept me here on my hardest days...knowing I could depend on them. Knowing that they cared about me. Encouraging me when I felt like I could never learn the language or do this living overseas thing.

It's been about 36 hours since I read the email that brought the initial blow...saying the family had been in a car accident and Kyra was killed on impact. (Gosh, it still doesn't feel real to say that.) Since then, there have been so many tears that I honestly think I'm getting dehydrated, and I've gone from shock to disbelief to overwhelming sadness to anger and back again. I couldn't sleep last night, and God graciously had so many people contact me during those hours in particular. And because I was awake anyway, I went on my roof (at one of the few times Rome is almost completely silent) to watch the sunrise. And I felt a peace up there alone in the quiet, watching God paint the sky. It was a reminder that He's still up there, "watching over our comings and goings both now and forevermore" (Psalm 121). 

I've also been surrounded by my Italian church family (there was a prayer meeting at my pastor's house the evening we all got the news), other Americans on my team (Courtney and I had dinner with some team members that night), and far-away friends who have been peppering me with emails and messages and phone calls, making sure we're okay.

I don't understand why this happened. I am utterly heartbroken for Reid, Nolyn, Ellie, Livia and the rest of her precious family, some of whom I have had the pleasure of meeting. I miss my dear friend and mentor. In fact, I miss them all so incredibly much...they were supposed to return to Rome today after two months in the U.S. and I was so excited to see them again. It doesn't make sense. I can't reason or explain it away or change or fix anything.

And people keep telling me to be strong, but honestly my faith feels shaky at best. That line from Return to Me keeps popping into my head: "What was God thinking?!"

But, astoundingly, the person who surely is suffering the most through all of this and would understandably be the most shattered is the one giving me strength...giving me hope. I'm so thankful for Reid...my supervisor...our fearless leader...who blows me away by saying that he is not angry with the driver of the 18-wheeler who left the truck in gear, causing it to roll down the hill and into his beautiful wife. He's not enraged that he was under the influence of narcotics and just flat out negligent. Instead he tells us, "I am not at all angry with him however and to be honest I never even think about that. With the freak timing and coincidence of everything, what else can I do but find hope in knowing the Lord allowed this for a reason."

I'm amazed by that response. None of us can know what that reason is right now. And even though I cannot see how this will ultimately bring Him glory, I know He can and He will use it. And I am so proud of and thankful for Reid for staying so strong, and moreover for the Lord who is his strength in this time of weakness. Because let's face it, no amount of earthly strength would be sufficient for Reid and especially their oldest daughter (six years old) to be able to handle everything with the grace and dignity they are demonstrating. Just like I'm sure Kyra would have.

I had so many passages of scripture dog-eared so that I could reference them here. But I think I'll just let these memories of Kyra speak for themselves. Because she preached the gospel with her life. And I am beyond blessed to have known her so well, even for so brief a time as a year and a half.

I'll end with this, because it was one of the last verses she had been memorizing and it's a good reminder...in Romans 4:17, Paul talks about Abraham believing in "the God who gives life to the dead and calls into being things that were not."

Kyra is alive in Christ, and, starting yesterday, is spending eternity enjoying and praising her Lord and Savior. I have no doubt. Through Jesus, in whom she believed, there is life for the dead. And He can make something out of nothing. He can make something beautiful out of all this pain...all this dust.

So, for those of us left behind, may be rejoice with Kyra, who doesn't have to be homesick for Heaven any longer. May we realize this life is fleeting and temporary and we are not guaranteed one more breath. This world is just our temporary home.

Even so, you left behind ones, I mourn with you and I remember my friend and miss her deeply already. I am praying with and for you. May her love be an example for us and point us to true Love....Love that transforms...that gives life to the dead and calls into beings things that were not.

Love from Rome,

Elizabeth