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

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

la grande bellezza.

Confession: Up until last week, I had never been to summer camp.

Shocking, I know.

Sure, I've been to my fair share of day camps...from horseback riding camps to art camps to theater camps to weeks of Vacation Bible School...my summers were filled with things to keep me busy Monday though Friday from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. But alas, I never went to a sleep-away camp.

Luckily for me, I got to experience this missing piece of adolescence last week in the mountains of central Italy...along with 110 energetic Italian kids, a team of American university students and a group of English teachers.

Throughout this 10-day "English and Fun" camp, I helped teach thirteen 6-year-olds during the three hours of English class each morning and then did games and crafts with rotating groups of all 110 energetic Italian kids in the afternoon. I also had six sweet 11-year-olds in my cabin for "nap time." (Which, let's be honest, no 11-year-old girl in a small room with five of her best friends is going to be interested in sleeping. Or being quiet. I've got to give them credit though...they did try. They attempted to play versions of the Quiet Game that quickly disintegrated into bouts of laughter. Perhaps the most entertaining was when they played Hide and Seek...in a tiny room with six bunk beds. They turned the lights out and closed their eyes and felt around to try to find people and guess who was who. With a running commentary in Italian. Made me laugh.)

We also ate all our meals together. Having never been to camp, I guess I don't know for sure, but I'd be willing to bet good money this was some of the best camp food on the planet. Italians are serious about their food...aside from the skimpy breakfasts of essentially just bread and Nutella every morning, lunch and dinner were three-course affairs. 

After dinner, we'd have an hour-long program to wrap up the day. These generally consisted of the Camp Song (Miley Cyrus's "Party in the USA" with camp-specific lyrics...which had super cool choreography which I led daily...I don't ever want to hear that song again...But hey the kids LOVED it! Half the camp always wanted to come up to the front to do it with us), kid interviews (opportunities for the kids to practice answering questions in English), and some sort of activity to reinforce that day's theme (some of my favorites were the "human piano" where each kid had to make a difference animal noise when the teacher touched his or her head...also when some of the teachers and staff members pretended to be the Seven Dwarfs on the day we talked about feelings/emotions). Then the overnight campers would watch part of a movie before lights out. And because I didn't have overnight campers in my room, I got to hang out with the other people working at the camp or sometimes just go out on the rooftop terrace to watch the sun set between the surrounding snow-capped mountains or be blown away by the vastness of the star-speckled sky.

But this camp was no cakewalk. It was exhausting and stressful and things went wrong and kids wouldn't listen and my brain hurt from helping kids who spoke no English and Americans who spoke no Italian communicate with each other. And Italian kids are just loud. And they just have more energy than American kids.

But Italian kids are so stinkin' cute. They're beautiful little people. And they are so much more affectionate than American kids. My love tank was overflowing this week with all the hugs and kisses and words of affirmation. I fell in love with so many of these little rascals. 

Not only that, but this experience and these children taught me so much.

First of all, they are indeed created in the image of God. They're just so beautiful and precious. Ahh. I can't even.

Secondly, they just want to be loved. And they are so unspoiled by the world insomuch as they can readily accept love. I was reminded of the story of Jesus and the little children (in Matthew, Mark and Luke). The disciples wanted to push them away, but Jesus said, "'Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.' And he took the children in his arms, put his hands of them and blessed them." (Mark 10:14-16)

But perhaps what was most glaringly apparent to me (and most convicting for me) was the unavoidable reality of our sinful nature. Sure, some behaviors sprout from family issues or lack of discipline, but we are flat-out born as selfish creatures. And selfishness is at the root of so many sins...from choosing to run off and do your own thing instead of the activity the teacher/counselor has planned or screaming that it isn't fair that the 6-year-old day campers get to shower first after the water-games day or making fun of the pudgiest little girl in your class (all of which happened this week). We want what (we think) is best for us.

And we like attention. Mamma mia. There were these two preteen girls who were literally crying because they each had a crush on a (much older) counselor/staff member who "wasn't paying attention" to them. And they would get pity hugs and special treatment. That is until they kept disappearing and ultimately were sneaking into other campers rooms and prank calling people from their cell phones. It was a bit of a dramatic week.

However, I can't be too hard of them. Because that's me. I see that same desire for attention and affirmation and affection in myself. Maybe I don't act on those tendencies the same way, but I know those are the things I struggle with too. It is only the grace of God that saves me from myself.

On top of all these things God taught me this week, He also allowed me to connect with some amazing people. From the directors of the English Camp (who I already knew a bit but got to know much better) to the American students to staff members I had the pleasure of talking to, laughing with and working alongside, it was truly a joy to make so many new friends. And just to experience the Body of Christ in this way (though it was an English Camp, it was held at an Evangelical Center, so all the workers were Christian volunteers). I mean, I had only known these people for a few days and I was already having deep conversations and making hilarious memories with them. I love that. I love that when you're with a group of people whose identity is in Christ...well, you have the most important thing in common. And you're family. And it's such a blessing.

And one last thing: God has just been bowling me over with his beauty lately. I cannot describe the sunsets or the view from the mountaintop on our excursion day (and the pictures hardly do it justice but I'll include them anyway). I just don't see how people could look upon such beauty and not think there had to have been a Creator. This couldn't have all just happened. Or maybe they're looking but they're not seeing. They're not savoring. Not enjoying it. ("Taste and see that the Lord is good." -Psalm 34:8) Or perhaps they're enjoying the gift more than the Gift-Giver. 

I'm reminded of a Tim Keller quote, and I'll end with this: "Religious people find God useful. Christians find God beautiful."

May we never consider Him simply useful or worse, entirely nonexistent. He IS, and he is not just a means to an end. He is Creator, Sustainer, Redeemer and Friend.

God, you are so beautiful.

the climb.

I strongly dislike Miley Cyrus. Especially because sometimes I'm forced to see her on the ads that come up on YouTube as she sings, "Love, money, party" incessantly and tries to look sexy. I just want to shake her and scream, "There's money to life than being as shockingly raunchy as possible!!!" Poor thing.

But back in her Hannah Montana heyday, she had this song...The Climb (which, quite unfortunately, is currently stuck in my head). And, for better of for worse, it was part of my train of thought as I faced a climb of my own last week.

Last weekend, I had the absolute pleasure of spending several days in what might be the most beautiful place I've ever seen...Le Cinque Terre, or "five lands" in Italian. Nestled in cliffs, these five colorful towns are scattered across the Italian Riviera. The weather was perfect, the water was my favorite color and the food was fantastic! The little apartment we stayed in was wonderful as well...complete with a plethora of lemon trees in the garden. And I didn't overanalyze or think about my to-do list or make any plans and I wasn't responsible for anything or anyone...it felt like I could completely relax for the first time in a while.

And here are the pictures to prove it:

But why, you ask, is the title of this blog post "The Climb" if this weekend was so beautiful and relaxing?

Well, our last night there, we decided to embark on what we were informed was a "30-minute hike" to the the far end of the Cinque Terre coastline (we stayed in the last town, Monterosso). But what we expected to be a pleasant, relatively mild coastal walk turned out to be a rather steep hike to the top of the mountain at the far end of the Cinque Terre coastline, which, all in all, took us nearly two hours! 

We just kept following what we hoped was the right trail, and it just kept going...UP. At a certain point, I had gotten so far ahead of Courtney and her mom that I couldn't see or hear them anymore. Then I came to a sign that seemed to indicate that THIS was the beginning of the "30-minute hike." And then it really started going up. And it had already been a long day and it was almost dinner time and the sun was starting to set. But I thought, "I've gotten this far. Let's finish this!"

So up I went, with rather less water than was probably good for me and rather more huffing and puffing than I'd like to admit, all the while hoping I wouldn't have to climb back down in the dark and pondering what would happen if I fell or encountered an ax-murderer or a bear (are there bears in Italy?)...there would be no one to hear me scream...

But, throwing caution to the wind, I continued my ascent...not really knowing where this trail would take me or if there would even be a view at the top to make it all worth it. I just kept thinking about verses like Psalm 121:3 ("He will not let you foot slip--He who watches over you will not slumber") and prayed that would be true. And I felt Him with me, as I do most powerfully when I am alone and it's quiet and distractions are minimal (oh, that we would take more time to shut up and let Him speak).

And as I kept going I thought, Isn't life like this? We don't know what's coming around the bend in the path, and sometimes life is a sandy-toed stroll along the beach and sometimes it's a white-knuckled struggle up a mountain. 

Take it away, Miley...

"The struggles I'm facing

The chances I'm taking
Sometimes might knock me down
But no, I'm not breaking

I may not know it
But these are the moments that
I'm gonna remember most, yeah
Just gotta keep going

And I, I got to be strong
Just keep pushing on

'Cause there's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be a uphill battle
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose

Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb, yeah!

Keep on moving, keep climbing
Keep the faith, baby..."

I can't believe I just quoted Miley Cyrus. Yeah. That happened.

Oh and by the way, there was an AMAZING view from the top, I got to see the sunset, Courtney met me up there and we walked back together, and I didn't break my ankle, fall off a cliff, get eaten by bears or axed to death by a psychopath.

I know we can't always have mountaintop experiences. Sometimes we do slip and slide all the way back into that valley. Sometimes the climb seems never-ending. Sometimes we just want to give up because the struggle just doesn't seem worth it.

But I hope at the end of this earthly life, I will feel like I did when I finally reached the top of that mountain. I hope I can say, along with Paul, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." -2 Timothy 4:7