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.