Stephanie Morrill

The Loss of a Friend

3 March 2010

Yesterday, I received word that a friend of mine from Orlando, Christy Kirven, passed away.

Ben and I had lived in Orlando for a couple months when I saw a Beth Moore study advertised in the church bulletin. I thought it was my idea to join the group, but it was really God moving me into a situation that would forever change my life.

The study met at Christy’s house, which was in a beautiful and confusing neighborhood that didn’t believe in labeling all their streets. The foliage and feel of it was totally different than the rest of the city, and it became my sanctuary.

From my first meeting with those lovely ladies, I felt at home. Which is a little strange for an introvert like me. We met every Wednesday morning in Christy’s sunny family room to study and visit. I can still remember the special flavor of Christy’s coffee, some blend of her own that tasted slightly of vanilla. She told us how she made it, but I never tried. Somehow I think if I drank it outside of her kitchen, it wouldn’t taste quite the same.

My 22nd birthday happened to fall on a Wednesday, about 2 months into our Bible study. The ladies put together a lunch, ordered a cheesecake, and went in on a Barnes and Noble gift card for me. When I went home, I wept with gratitude. Leading up to my birthday, I’d feared it would be one of the hardest and instead it turned into one of the best.

Since my blog either won’t host pictures or I’m too stupid to figure it out, I can’t post them in the body, but these are two pictures of the group. The majority of these women had kids right around my age or older than me, but they never seemed to mind me joining them. Every once in a while, one of them would make a comment about why would some young girl like me want to hang out with “old ladies” like them? But rather I wondered why they would be so gracious to keep me around. As I grew closer to them, I grew closer to God, and closer to being who I was always meant to be.

About a year and a half after we’d started meeting, Christy was diagnosed with cancer. I still remember getting the phone call from her best friend one morning before church. Both of us were crying, and it seemed like my whole world rocked a bit.

During the last couple years, Christy battled Hodgkins disease, non-Hodgkins disease, breast cancer and finally, brain cancer. She went through a variety of treatments, from chemo to a bone marrow transplant. I had the privilege of being there for some of it, but we moved back to Kansas City about 2 ½ years ago and my involvement was “limited” to prayer.

Since receiving the e-mail with news of Christy’s death, I’ve been bombarded with memories.

How beautiful Christy was even when she lost her hair. She looked like the gracious, put-together Southern lady I’d always known.

Christy’s warmth when she met my mother for the first time, and how she requested that next time my mom was in town, they get coffee.

How Christy insisted that everybody come on Wednesdays, regardless of if they’d had time to complete all the homework that week.

The way Christy believed the best about everybody. Like if someone was running late, she always assumed they ran into traffic or received a last minute phone call.

How Christy could sympathize with anybody. She never seemed to mind if I griped about living in Orlando, even though she loved it there. I hope to be just as gracious to someone who might not love Kansas City like I do.

You’ll notice Christy’s name, along with several other women from that study, listed in my acknowledgements for Me, Just Different. Together, they were the living, breathing Amy Ross I wrote about in the Skylar books. I’m sad for Christy’s beautiful family, for her friends, for Discovery Church. I’m also grateful she’s no longer suffering, and that she’s in the presence of the Lord she loved and faithfully served all these years.

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