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

lost & found

Hey there!

So it's been over a month since you've heard from me [Sorry about that], and I've been in four different countries since then [five, if you count a layover in Belgium].

I could spend this blog post telling you about a trip to Israel, recounting how we hiked to the cave where David hid from Saul in the desert [1 Samuel 24], how we swam in the Dead Sea, rode camels, looked out over the place where Jesus called Peter out upon the waters [Matthew 14], and stepped into the tomb where Jesus was [most likely] buried. I could attempt to express how amazing it was, as a very visual person, to be able to really see where many of the events on which my faith is based actually happened and what a pleasure it was to be driven around and hear about the history and culture from a friend who had lived there for almost two years.

Or I could spend the rest of this post telling you about meeting my family in England...how I saw my brother for the first time in over and year and a half and how I am so proud of and thankful for my family's love for each other and the Lord [not to mention their proficient planning skills that made our whole experience possible!]. I could tell you about how I lived every hopeless romantic's dream by touring the grand houses and castles used in Downton Abbey, Pride and Prejudice and The Princess Bride. I could use the next few paragraphs to write a rave review of the Harry Potter studios tour. Because if you've read the books and seen the movies as many times as I have, you would walk around in wide-eyed wonder too. I could also elaborate on how my favorite part of the trip was reuniting with friends who used to live in Rome and seeing one of their hometowns. And how this friend put it so interestingly..."If someone had told me when we first met, 'This is Elizabeth. One day you'll show her around Richmond and shoot arrows in your backyard,' I never would have believed them." 

I do truly marvel at the places God has allowed me to see, the experiences He's allowed me to have, and people He's given me the privilege of knowing and loving.

But I'm not going to talk about any of that [Sorry to disappoint].

Instead, I'm going to tell you about losing my suitcase [Your attempt to stifle that yawn is greatly appreciated].

So, directly after the aforementioned dream-trip to England, I hugged my family goodbye and got off the bus at my terminal at London Heathrow on the way to a conference in Portugal. Everything was going smoothly, until I almost tried to board the wrong flight for Porto during my very short layover in Brussels. It was a close call, but I did make it to the right gate. However, apparently my bag did not. 

After landing and waiting while all the bags circulated around the conveyer belt and realizing mine was not going to be one of them, I went to the area marked "Lost and Found." However, I had a dilemma: My flight had landed late and the line to file a report about the suitcase was long, and I was supposed to leave on a bus with a group to go to the conference. Not having any way of contacting anyone [I don't have an international phone plan] and not wanting them to leave without me, I left the baggage claim area to find the people with whom I was supposed to take the bus to the hotel an hour away.

To make a long story short, I finally found my group, and about an hour and a half later I was on the bus [still suitcaseless...having been told there was no record of where my suitcase might be]. So I plopped down in the first available seat, only to realize God had orchestrated that as well. The woman I sat next to was an incredible listener, who graciously listened to me vent my frustration and worry that I would never find my bag [which, most critically, had my camera with all my un-uploaded pictures from the trip on it as well as six months' worth of contact lenses that Mom had brought me and other things that were of personal importance to me]. She also prayed with me about some things I hadn't dealt with emotionally, apparently, that had bubbled up under the stress of losing something valuable. On top of all that, it turns out that she went to the same graduate school I've been considering and studied the same thing! So that was further confirmation [of which God has been gracious enough to provide me with in abundance lately] that that should be the next step.

I'm sure this seems petty to most of you, because I know that losing a suitcase is pretty common and they usually find it and deliver it to wherever you're staying within 24 hours. But it [thankfully] had never happened to be before. Now, granted, I was in just about the best possible place for it to happen...surrounded by people I know and who care about me and not having much to really "do" besides sit in sessions and listen.

So that is one lesson that I learned from this "loss"...you just don't really need that much. Now, I have gotten pretty good at packing light [shocking, I know, for those who know me from home...the girl whose suitcase always just barely met the maximum weight requirement]. I mean, I've been to Germany and Israel with nothing but a backpack. But for the first time since leaving home, I packed my medium-sized suitcase because I figured it was appropriate if I was going to be away for two weeks. However, I ended up wearing the same things all the time in England because it was almost always cold and rainy and I only packed a few things appropriate for such weather [silly me]. And then, as you know, I was never able to used any of it while in Portugal. 

So as over-prepared and well-packed as you try to be, your suitcase could get lost and it could all be for nothing. So just pack the essentials in a carryon and roll with it.

Also, I learned it really is okay to ask for help. When people found out I literally only had the outfit I was wearing and my purse, people lent me everything from clothes to contact solution to a cell phone charger. And you know what? I didn't have makeup or the books I had brought or workout clothes or a swimsuit or another pair of shoes. But I had more than enough.

The way I packed is pretty indicative of my life in general...I have a lot of superfluous stuff. Stuff that sits and gathers dust. Stuff that could better benefit someone else. My stack of "wants" that could be exchanged for someone's sincere "need." What about you?

But however much it was constructive to become more conscious of my own tendency towards materialism, let's face it: the suitcase's contents [particularly the camera] were still valuable to me. It's not as though this all taught me to throw up my hands in such a situation and say, "Oh well, there's that. I didn't really need that stuff anyway." No, of course I called the airport daily to inquire if my luggage had been found [no record of it was tracked until day two of the trip, when it was found in Belgium]. And how my heart leapt when it was no longer floating around in the void! Someone finally knew its whereabouts! And how I wanted to hug it when it was finally delivered to the hotel at midnight before the last full day in Porto!

And it made me think...my Father cares about things that are lost. He doesn't throw up His hands and say, "Oh well, good riddance." In fact, Jesus gave us three parables in a row in Luke 15 to illustrate how He feels about the lost. The shortest of which is this:

"Suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one. Doesn’t she light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it? And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.’ In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents." [Luke 15:8-10]

This story is preceded by one about how a shepherd left the 99 safe sheep to find the one that was lost. The parable after is that of the Prodigal Son, about whom, when he returned home, his father said, "Let's have a feast and celebrate! For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found."

I'm so glad I serve a God who doesn't abandon that which is seemingly forgotten and tossed in the Lost and Found bin.

"For the Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost." [Luke 19:10]

The good news, in case you were wondering, is that everything, including my camera, was in my suitcase when it was returned to me. Nothing had been lost forever. And how I did rejoice over what was lost and had been found!

I'll leave you with this, because it's a hymn we all are probably somewhat familiar with...but take some time to really meditate on these lyrics:

1. Amazing grace! How sweet the sound
   That saved a wretch like me!
   I once was lost, but now am found;
   Was blind, but now I see.
2. ’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
   And grace my fears relieved;
   How precious did that grace appear
   The hour I first believed.
3. Through many dangers, toils and snares,
   I have already come;
   ’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
   And grace will lead me home.
4. The Lord has promised good to me,
   His Word my hope secures;
   He will my Shield and Portion be,
   As long as life endures.
5. Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
   And mortal life shall cease,
   I shall possess, within the veil,
   A life of joy and peace.
6. The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
   The sun forbear to shine;
   But God, who called me here below,
   Will be forever mine.
7. When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
   Bright shining as the sun,
   We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
   Than when we’d first begun.

Love from Rome,

Elizabeth