dashboard confessional.

"Cari, con le lacrime nel cuore vi comunico che, in seguito ad un grave incidente di auto, la sorella Kyra è andata col Signore. Reid e le bimbe, benché leggermente feriti, sono sopravvissuti."

Moments of impact.

I still vividly remember the morning these two sentences changed my life. The news that came in a brief email from my Italian pastor hit my heart with the force of the tractor-trailer that caused the accident.

"Dear ones, with tears in my heart I tell you that, following a serious car accident, our sister Kyra has gone to be with the Lord. Reid and the girls, although they have minor injuries, have survived."

One year ago today was my friend's last day on this earth. I can't believe it's been that long. So much has happened since then. So much has changed. 

I've changed.

There's no getting around the fact that losing someone you love is sad. It is. No amount of well-meant words of condolence are really much consolation. Over the past year, I've often wondered what I could say or do to help those who call her "wife," "mother," "daughter" and "sister"...to ease the pain or make it better somehow. But I can't. I can't fix it. For them or for myself. Sometimes (most of the time) all you really can do is "weep with those who weep" (Romans 12:15). And I do grieve alongside those who lost their own flesh and blood, because she was like a sister to me. And because surviving life overseas bonds people together in a way that little else can.

If I could have it my way, I'd have my friend back. I would be able to talk to her again, especially over what have been a rough few months. Maybe I would have visited this summer. I wish Reid could have his wife back and the girls had their mother (and y'all, she was such a wonderful wife and mom) and that all the pain her family has felt this year could be erased. But it isn't that way. It's different. All of our lives changed. We're all different for having loved and lost her.

Moments of impact.

I miss her laugh, but I'm starting to forget what is sounded like.

I miss her calling me "Lizzy."

I miss her listening face.

This year has been hard. The hardest of my life, in fact. There has been a lot of hurt and a lot of healing....some more hurt and hopefully eventually those wounds will heal as well. Since the shock of losing Kyra so unexpectedly and the pain of losing such a dear friend so permanently, I just...feel things more deeply. I've felt more intense heartache over the brokenness of this world in the past twelve months than I ever have in my life, but I've also felt a richer joy...a deeper attachment to the people I love and a greater appreciation for the beauty of this life.

It's hard to explain.

It sounds strange, but it's almost as though her death brought me life....brought me a fuller understanding of what's truly important....has made me live with eyes wide open to God's work in the world in a way I didn't before....instilled in me all the things I learned from her while she was alive and would have taken for granted but are now absolutely invaluable. 

"Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." -John 12:24

I used to really struggle with anxiety and trying (and failing, and beating myself up for failing) to be perfect. While she was alive, Kyra always had a peace about her and taught me that it just didn't help to get so worked up about what was out of my control. When she died, she put things into perspective even more, showing me how little the things I would freak out about actually mattered. Her death shattered my anxious fears, because one of my greatest fears (losing someone I love) actually happened and it didn't entirely destroy me. [I do, however, tend to think that if I haven't heard from someone that I should have heard from, they've died in a car crash. Which isn't healthy. But instead of panicking about it, I start to think about how I'm going to deal with life without them. It's weird, I know.]

Moments of impact. 

I saw Inside Out for the first time on the plane ride back to America after a truly transformational two years in Italy. You know how, after having dealt with deep sadness and allowing herself to really feel it, Riley gets a whole new emotional control panel? I feel like that. A year ago today, I got a new dashboard of emotional depth that actually, strangely, has made me more steady and less melodramatic (well, I think...I hope!) than I was before. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is that we run from suffering as though being touched by it will kill us, but it can (if you allow it to do its work) be productive. 

"For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison." -2 Corinthians 4:17

"For you, O God, have tested us;

you have tried us as silver is tried.

You brought us into the net;

you laid a crushing burden on our backs;

you let men ride over our heads;

we went through fire and through water;

yet you have brought us out to a place of abundance." 

-Psalm 66:10-12

I don't know if I'm quite seeing the "abundance" yet, but I see how God has been at work in my life this year especially. I know I couldn't have survived this trauma and loss and goodbyes and reverse culture shock and hurt without my hope being anchored in Him.

Oh God, I am furrowed like the field
Torn open like the dirt
And I know that to be healed
That I must be broken first
I am aching for the yield
That You will harvest from this hurt

Abide in me
Let these branches bear You fruit
Abide in me, Lord
As I abide in You. 

[The Sower's Song by Andrew Peterson]

Oh and by the way, her family is still serving the Lord in Italy and her husband has such an incredible testimony. And the Kyra Karr Foundation helped to fund the purchase of a building for our church in Rome. So the Lord is still using her to build His kingdom there, even if she's no long there physically.

I love you, Kyra. I miss you. Save me a place at the table.

i do.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish 'til death do you part?"

Even if couples choose to write their own personalized vows to read before the "I do" and "You may now kiss the bride," I've heard this said by the pastor and repeated line by line by the bride and groom at just about every [American] wedding I've ever been to. And having been an intern for a wedding planner and having been to more weddings of friends, family, family friends and church members than I can count, I've heard these words quite a few times.

So most of us have at least heard these vows before and some could probably list them off by heart. But it wasn't until a couple weekends ago that two families I love made me realize what they really meant.

"In sickness and in health..."

For many people, marriage [or if you don't believe in marriage, insert "true love," "soulmate," "life partner," "companionship," "intimacy," etc.] seems to be the goal [or at least a goal]. Sure, you may have other hopes and dreams or things you want to do beforehand, but there seems to be security in ultimately "settling down." Wouldn't it be nice to have someone to grow old with? Isn't it normal and expected to want someone to make plans and decisions with, to have fun with, to share intimacy, to share everything? Aren't we entitled to that? Isn't it what society expects of us? When you finally find your person, won't that, at long last, be it? Deep whooshing exhale...ultimate fulfillment...sappy Facebook posts...let's start a family....Right?

Maybe you're realistic enough to know that another person cannot fulfill you and that the more you want him or her to satisfy you, the more he or she will disappoint you and fall short of your lofty expectations. Okay, so maybe you get that. Or maybe you're already married and can remember wanting to be married so badly and are wondering why you ever thought this would be such a joy when your tone-deaf husband won't stop singing in the shower or your oblivious wife keeps putting the toilet paper roll on the wrong way. Or maybe things are going pretty well...you each have your quirks and pet peeves and differing opinions, but you've learned to communicate well and work through things even after the rose-colored glasses have long since been buried in the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper or accidentally thrown in the trash that is definitely his turn to take out.

So that's another level of healthy realism that acknowledges both the desire to be with someone and the reality and "it's not always rainbows and butterflies; it compromise that moves us along" [Why am I quoting a Maroon 5 throwback to middle school?]

But what if your husband is diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's Disease?

Lou Gehrig's Disease, or Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), is a progressive neurodegenerative disease in which motor neurons reaching from the brain to the spinal cord die, causing the brain to lose the ability to initiate and control muscle movement, eventually resulting in the under-nourished muscles atrophying, or wasting away.

Two weeks ago, I visited a very dear friend of mine. I met her at a Christian conference four years ago, and we've never lived in the same city or even the same state, but we have kept in touch, I have visited her family, she and her sister came to stay with me in Rome, and whenever I'm with her I never feel like it's been months or even years since I've seen her. She's truly, to quote Anne Shirley, "a kindred spirit."

The last time I visited her family was the summer before I went to Italy. Her dad had just been diagnosed with ALS and they were planning to move to a house without stairs and wondering what else the future might hold. That weekend, her dad was a little different than the first time I had met him, but he was still kind and hospitable and funny. I had dinner with their family and her parents told me about their experience in the two-year program that I was about to do as well. We laughed and shared stories and talked about what God had been doing in each of our lives. At the time, they were on the brink of what they knew would be [and already was] a difficult time. But they never stopped trusting in the Lord's sovereignty and provision. They hadn't lost their joy.

Two weeks ago [almost three years later] I visited them again. As always, being with my friend was a blessing and it felt like we hadn't spent any time apart. We caught up on each others' lives and I told her about leaving Rome and starting grad school and I heard about some of the many ways she is so intentional about ministering to people in her life. 

She also told me how her parents had moved to their family's farm, and we went to visit them. Her mom hugged us and said, "I just finished rubbing his feet and he just laid down for a nap, but you can go in there and say hi!"

The man on the bed was much thinner than the last time I had seen him. He has trouble breathing on his own now, so he was wearing a breathing mask. But when I walked in, he immediately stretched out his arms and I bent over to hug his feeble frame. He can't communicate verbally anymore, but through gestures and spelling out words in the air, he told me, "I like your haircut! Have you lost weight? You look great!" He then proceeded to make a joke about what they would put in his feeding tube at his daughter's wedding reception. 

I've been reflecting a lot on this amazing family and their unwavering faith...and the joy and fierce love they have for each other and for God despite [or maybe even because of] difficult circumstances. How would I deal with the possibility that my dad wouldn't be able to walk me down the aisle at my wedding? What if I had to bathe my husband and help him go to the bathroom and he could no longer literally "have and hold" me or "love and cherish" me physically? Or what if my body was wasting away and I felt like a prisoner inside of it? Would I, like Job's wife, develop a "curse God and die" attitude? 

It just made me think....we are not promised health. When I envision marriage, I certainly hope and even expect that we'll have fun together, be travel buddies, serve and help each other, and make babies. But what if that's not the case?

"Til death do us part..."

Okay, it was an emotional weekend. Not only was I blessed and challenged by my friend and her family, but I also went to visit Kyra's parents. Kyra, in case this is the first post you've read, was my supervisor's wife/very dear friend who was killed in a car accident six months ago. I wasn't able to come back to the U.S. for the funeral, so this was the first time I had seen her parents and sister since the accident...the first time I saw where the tractor-trailer careened down the hill...saw pictures of the car they were in...went to the graveside...saw and heard about the struggles her family is still facing in the aftermath.

What if death does quickly and unexpectedly do us part?

Marriage [or love/companionship/intimacy/whatever] does not come with a satisfaction guarantee. It could [and probably will] include disappointment, disillusionment, inconvenience, loneliness and loss. 

So should I throw in the proverbial towel? Should I live in fear of what could happen? Is love too much of a risk? Should I still trust God when there is so much tragedy and pain and brokenness in the world? Should I dread the trials and the sufferings and the "what ifs"? 

I choose to believe Moses's words to the people of Israel in the wilderness still apply to God's people in the "wilderness" of this life before we reach the Promised Land: "Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you." [Deuteronomy 31:6]

Did the other weekend change my perspective? Do I now see the reality of the vow to be faithful "for better or for worse"? Do I now realize that I do not deserve nor am I guaranteed "better," "richer" and "in health"? Do I know that marriage is not going to bring me happiness or fulfillment? Do I now realize that, whether God's will is for me to get married or not, my life may not turn out the way I had planned or expected? Even so, do I want His will, His way? Do I believe He works all things together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose? Do I trust He has laid down His life for me in order to be in a covenantal, committed, eternal relationship with me? Do I commit to honor and love Him, no matter what [in marriage or in singleness]?

I do.

going green.

Everyone expects moving to a new country to be difficult. Not everyone expects returning "home" to be just as challenging.

Traversing oceans and being smacked in the face by culture shock and being surrounded by people who don't understand you (both because you don't speak their language and because your experiences have given you a worldview and mindset that differ from theirs) are all rough. 

But traversing oceans and being smacked by reverse culture shock and being surrounded by people who don't completely understand you (because your experiences, perspective and worldview are no longer the same as theirs) is also  rough. 

I left Italy on December 19. And it's one of the hardest things I've ever done. The past two years in Europe were both the greatest challenge and the deepest joy of my life so far. 

I beat myself up constantly in the beginning and thought I could never learn Italian. I was paralyzed by fear of failing. I've been hurt by people and had my heart broken by the brokenness of others (and that of myself). I experienced the pain and ache of grief and loss. Losing a loved one has always been one of my greatest fears, and that happened a few months ago. So it's been a tough two years.

But oh. Have these past two years been breathtakingly beautiful as well. I never expected to see so many amazing places or experience so many new things or become friends with so many wonderful people. It has truly been a joy.

So much so that I felt such a heaviness during my last week in Italy. I started stressing about not being able to fit my life back into the three suitcases I came with....How did I have so much stuff?? How was it possible to give so many things away for the last couple of weeks and still have overweight bags and run out of room for everything?? I also started stressing about saying goodbye well. These people had come to mean the world to me and I didn't want to leave without spending time with them and showing them how much I loved them. And because I loved them so much, that constant stream of goodbyes during the last few days just about ripped me apart.

But somehow I managed not to cry through any of it. Not sure if that's healthy.

And I had the most perfect last night in Rome...a night that reminded me of my very first night in Rome...wandering from monument to monument, piazza to famous piazza, just taking in the beauty of my city...the city that had stolen my heart...with people I had grown to love. And of course, there was amazing Italian food and gelato!

Then at 5:30 a.m. on December 19, two brilliant Brits picked me and my bulging suitcases up from my apartment, helped me sort through the contents of my suitcases sprawled all over the airport floor (because one was overweight and the check-in attendant didn't take pity on me), bought me my last cappuccino and cornetto, and waved goodbye as I started the long journey back to America for the first time in two years.

After a layover in London, watching Inside Out in Italian on the plane, and telling the British stewardess "Grazie" and realizing that was weird and wrong and I should probably be careful not to do that in the future, I finally wheeled my luggage trolley through customs and into the open arms of my family and one of my best friends from college holding a "Welcome Home" poster. And then I had my first all-American meal in 24 months: Cracker Barrel. 

Since then, for better or for worse, I've dived in head-first, knowing I would be starting graduate school exactly one month after landing back in the U.S. So in the past two weeks, I bought a car, got car insurance, got a new cell phone and a cell plan, and have been to the dentist and several doctor appointments. Oh yeah, and Christmas and New Year's parties and a trip to Atlanta thrown in there somewhere too.

I'm thankful for the busy-ness that helps me not to dwell on missing Rome. But there has also been down time to think and process and consider the reality of reverse culture shock (the struggle is real). I had read a lot about reverse culture shock and talked about it a lot with people who had lived overseas...but I guess nothing quite prepares you for an experience until you actually experience it.

A friend recently sent me some helpful information about returning to your home culture. Here's what it said about re-entry and some of the ways the difficulty of the transition can manifest itself:

What causes re-entry time to be difficult for some?

Generally it’s because you have changed or are changing in attitudes and values, and are coming back to an environment that has not changed in the same way. The deeper these attitude and value changes are in you, the more likely it is that the transition period will be unsettling. Points of dissonance that you may experience include:

·      Unexpected tiredness, confusion and sometimes discouragement

·      An awareness of habits or behaviors that were second nature before leaving, but seem meaningless or disturbing once home

·      Adjusting role changes, either defined or undefined, that lead to an unsettled feeling

·      A change of responsibilities, a change of pace

·      An unexpected adjustment period leading to frustration or anxiety

·      A sense of loneliness and a need for a close friend to listen

·      An inability to express or share the experience and resulting changes

·      A reaction to North America affluence/ lifestyle/ wealth

·      Disillusionment with the abundance in the North American church and seeming lack of concern for the world

I have experienced all of these things with varying levels of intensity. It's comforting to know that these reactions are normal! Another thing this document said was that you could be an Assimilator (someone who easily fits back into the home culture and quickly forgets the way the experience in the host culture has changed them), an Alienator (someone who becomes very frustrated, pessimistic and critical about their home culture), or an Integrator (someone who is " able to identify the changes they have undergone or are still experiencing and don’t demand immediate closure on them. They desire to see their short-term cross-cultural immersion have a lasting impact on their lives and the lives of others. This means they will wrestle with how to integrate the things they saw, learned, and questioned into creative alternative choices.")

I'm hoping and praying I'll be the latter. 

Someone explained it to me this way a few months before I left Italy and this example really stuck with me: Imagine you have two balls of Playdough, one blue and one yellow. The blue culture is your home culture, the one you left behind. The yellow is your host culture, the new one you're moving into. So you start out pure blue. But little by little, you start to take on some of the properties of the yellow culture. Of course, you cannot actually change your color from blue to yellow, even though you might want to. Rather, you become a mixture of the blue and yellow cultures. You go green. Then you go "home." Everyone around you is still blue. But you've changed. There's a little yellow in you now. And you can't take the yellow out (you've mixed Playdough before...once you squish two colors together, there's no going back). So you're just different. You're no longer blue, but you didn't turn yellow either. 

I guess I need to find some green people who get me ;)

So there you have it...some of my jumbled thoughts and feelings about returning "home"...and how weird it feels to no longer really feel at home at home...

I'm weird. I'm different. I've changed. But that's okay. Times of transition are hard. But that's okay. 

So here's to being thankful for the great adventure of the last two years and looking forward to the next one, whatever He has in store.