Hair, Hair, Hair, Hair, Hair, Hair, Hair

Annie's about to start another quarter of school at CalPOLY San Luis Obispo on Monday. Victoria decided it might be a good idea to spend some stress-free time with her before studies steal her mind for the next ten weeks. I gladly agreed to stay home and take care of the Willow and Poppy, and of course Barret. I love these special times with the kids because we're able to connect in a different dimension than when their mother is around. Don't get me wrong, I am a far cry from a substitute for Victoria, and all three kids remind me of that in their own special way, especially when it comes to meal times. (Dad's cuisine is always a lot simpler than Mom's.)

There's another very practical way in which I could never make up for what Victoria does, and that' combing the girl's hair. Poppy's is easy; it's short and bobbed, so a few strokes of the comb and it falls right into place. The biggest challenge I have with Poppy's hair is making sure I put the clip in the right spot. Even then I don't think it's placed as perfectly as Victoria's.

Now Willow's hair is an entirely different matter. Whenever she wakes up from her sleep, whether night-time or a nap, we always say she looks like a dark version of The Adam's Family character "It". You can hardly make out her face with all of the hair covering her features, and it's usually a matted mess. Now "It" on The Adam's Family also had hair that covered "its" face, but it was always neatly groomed. Not Willow's. So one of my biggest fears about being a stay-at-home dad when Victoria's gone is having to take Willow out in public without her hair looking as cute as the perfect pig-tails Victoria pulls; you know, the symmetrical kind that flare out and bounce every time Willow takes a step? I'm tellin' ya, she doesn't get much cuter than that. But as Clint Eastwood once said, "A man's got to know his limitations", and I certainly know mine when it comes to the girl's hair. So I don't even try to mimic Victoria's fashion style on Willow, and I just go for the simplistic look. If I could, I'd let it flow down naturally with a little clip near her forehead to keep the hair out of her face. But that doesn't last too long with a bouncy Willow-tree, so I had to come up with a different solution. Combing the hair is hard enough because I hurt her poor little scalp with every stroke. She's brave and doesn't cry, but I know she's writhing in pain from my less-than-delicate manly ways of getting tangles out of that matted mess. Once all of the hair is knot free, I have the challenge of figuring out what I'm going to do next. Since pig-tails are out, I decided I'd try something new this weekend and I put it in a ponytail. It wasn't a ponytail made with a rubber band, but rather one pinched together with one of those ponytail clips that squeezes tight and then snaps into place. I figured I finally came up with a good solution to dealing with Willow's hair in Victoria's absence, until... she got in her car seat and decided to put her head back on the rest thereby catching the clip and pulling her hair all out of place. I give up, and have decided that she's going to have to look ragged while Mom's out. She'll remain my signature poster-child for why dad's (especially me) just can't make up for the wonder and the beauty of a mom.

Poppy's handling Victoria's absence fairly well in contrast to previous departures, but she did exhibit a morose affect when going to bed tonight, knowing it would still be another 24 hours before her favorite person in the whole wide world walked across that threshold of 15 Hartwood Court.

"Hurry Home, Sweetie! I can't comb one more head of hair."

'Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair

Flow it, show it

Long as God can grow it

My hair."

Love,

Tom

Let's Get Married!

I've always been one of those dads that wants their kids to get as much out of life as possible, and as long as they're in my home and I can have some influence over that I will encourage them to explore just about anything their minds can imagine (within reason of course). I guess that's because I grew up in a similar environment. My dad always challenged me to reach for my dreams and he wasn't afraid to stretch my boundaries beyond most parents' comfort zones, especially my mom's. By way of example I was scuba-diving on solo overnight excursions near remote Philippine islands when I was 14 and sky-diving by the time I was 16. Every time I walked back through that front door after testing my limits I know my mother breathed a sigh of relief. How any of us survive childhood is a miracle in and of itself, and certainly a testament to the grace of God.

In that same vein, for many years I have imbibed the cultural phenomenon that it's better to wait a long time before children get married. Never mind my own example by marrying Victoria when I was but 23 and she 24 (yes, she robbed the cradle). I wanted my kids to go for the gusto, reach for the stars and get as much out of life's experience as possible before settling down with a spouse. Deep down I know my children knew I felt this way. We even joked about it from time to time (they were joking to see if I'd crack, but I wasn't joking at all). I bought our cultural indoctrination hook, line and sinker without really giving it a critical thought. I've since come a full 180 degrees on that position.

Here's my rationale for changing my mind, and I'll start with myself:

1. Looking back over the last 27-plus years of my married life, they've been better than all the exhilaration I collectively experienced before I got married. Sure, free-falling at terminal velocity with your face toward the earth and nothing between you but the passing distance of air that gets squeezed with each fleeting second is extreme, but what's that momentary pleasure compared to an endless bounty of love standing by your side? It's incomparable. And who am I fooling to think that there's just as much, if not more to life than being single and selfishly indulging myself over giving myself over to someone else? What a fool I was.
2. And then there's the whole sex-crazed cancer that has infiltrated the minds of most young people that men and women must "test the waters" before settling down with only one. What is that? That's all the more reason young people ought to consider getting married much earlier than the statistical norm, to avoid the temptation of doing precisely what the tempter dressed in sheep's clothing would have us do.
3. Finally there's the whole notion that men and women must be financially secure before they enter into matrimony. So just when does that happen? I'm no more financially secure today than I was 27 years ago. Sure, I have more money, but that doesn't make me financially secure. Life is a risk, and every day I wake up I walk by faith that God will supply all of my/our needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus (cf. Philippians 4:19).

So here's to Austin and Meagan, married at almost the exact same age as Victoria and me, and here's to all of those other young people who have chosen to marry young by contrast to American standards. I know I'm swimming up-stream on this one, but that's where I feel most comfortable. (So what else is new?)

I'm journaling about this to go on record and set the record straight with my children, not to mention that I ask for their forgiveness for impressing upon them a random expectation that has nothing to do with a Biblical worldview. May God erase my wrongs, and permit my children to live in the liberty of what's good and right in Jesus.

Getting this off my chest,

Tom

What Would We Ever Do Without Willow?

"What would we ever do without Willow?", Victoria asked Barret and me yesterday as we sat in our backyard enjoying some of her infamous bruschetta (one of Austin & Barret's favorite "Mom-recipes"). Behind Victoria in my immediate view was Willow bouncing like A. A. Milne's Tigger of Winnie-the-Pooh. As I got up to rotate some chicken on the BBQ both Barret and I said almost simultaneously and in unison, "I don't know what we'd do without her." "Life just wouldn't be the same, would it, Honey?", asked Victoria. "Not at all, Sweetie. Not at all," I said.

Yesterday was Willow's day, her birthday that is. Three years old (give or take a day or two here or there). Somewhere around this time over a thousand days ago in Wu Wei, Gansu, China, Wu Hui Xuan was left on the front entrance of the local orphanage, no doubt with the hope to be found and promise for a different life. Cleft lip and pallet exposed, she became a ward of the State with a future unknown. By that time we had already had Poppy for about four to five months, and adopting another was quite the furthest thing from our mind as we already had our hands full with a dramatic change in lifestyle.

But God was already at work, orchestrating and crafting a union that would occur 19 months later with a strange family from Lafayette, California. That first encounter was frightening for all of us, but most of all Willow. Her cautious and pensive spirit exhibited during those first hours and days have all but vaporized today. The girl we came to know in a foreign hotel in Lanzhou is not the same girl we know now. Either way, either girl, we would have been thrilled, but God keeps unfolding layers of her onion that reveal precious jewels unseen at first glance. Her joyful charisma, independent confidence and loving, tender sensitivity are blossoming right before our very eyes. She's brought a dynamic to our family that is difficult to imagine ever being without. In fact, it's almost hard to remember what life in the Kruggel home was like before she came into it.

Yesterday Willow opened numerous gifts that brought just as much pleasure to Poppy as they did her. But in a very real sense it was our birthday because her gift to us is unmatched by anything anyone could purchase. We honestly don't know what we'd ever do without Willow.

Happy Birthday Our Little Willow-Tree,

Dad & Mom (& Austin, Meagan, Annie, Barret & Poppy)

25 Years

Twenty-five years ago today I timidly walked into an opulent high-rise office building in the Emerald City wearing my fresh, newly purchased Nordstrom navy blue pinstriped suit, stiffly starched white shirt, red power tie and black wing-tipped shoes. Broke and in debt from my un-Tom Kruggel-ish apparel purchase, I was both petrified and exuberant at the genesis of my new job with Hines. Completely outside of my element, a relatively recent social services post graduate was entering into the juxtaposed realm of corporate America. Having no idea what I was doing or whether I belonged, I said to myself, "I'll give this six months, and if I don't like it I'm outta here. Besides this couldn't possibly be where God wants me anyway."

Last night, although exhausted I couldn't fall to sleep. I always figure those are moments when the Spirit is particularly active in my heart and I must pause and listen. To what? I don't know, but I usually start talking to myself. Sulking in a moment of "quiet desperation" (Henry David Thoreau) I began to ask, "Is this it?" "Yes, and no", I believe He says. My life-long paradigms of myself are completely shattered. God's awfully good at that and constantly in the business of reframing my sense of purpose. I can't help but wonder if there's more. In a weird sense, I sort of like this tension. I get bored when I'm comfortable.

Actually, I'm quite content knowing that God has sovereign- ly put one foot in front of the other, day by day, week by week, month by month and year by year. He's led me to and sustained me in this place called Hines. If it were not for Jesus, I might believe that this is Nirvana because I'm confident no other place like Hines exists for those desiring best in class real estate experience with some of the finest people that walk the face of the earth. And provisionally, they've cared for me like none other. To this day I still feel overpaid.

But where I'm not content is believing that this is it. There's more, much more, but I don't know what it is. Victoria, Austin, Annie, Barret, Poppy, Willow, and now Meagan are my greatest joys more over and above Hines, but there's still yet more. So, I'm compelled to keep working, to keep pushing, to keep striving and to keep investing with a glimmer of faith and hope that I'm accomplishing something of eternal value even though I don't see it.

I'm taking today as a gift from God, and I'm asking for more, that my heart would be broken by the things that break His. And in that broken estate, I'm asking Him to make me courageous enough, brave enough to do something about it.

At 25 years, I either get a Rolex watch or a paid vacation. I'm taking the vacation with the love of my life, Victoria. Who needs another watch?

Twenty-five years and counting,

Tom

Putting My Head Under the Water

"One, two, three, wheeee!", said Annie as she recently held Willow snug in her arms, dipping completely under the pool water for the first time ever. Popping right back up, Willow wiped her eyes, rubbed her little pug nose, smiled and said, "Gan, Annie."

Willow's always been the fearless one of the two. "Caution" and "reservation" are not adjectives Victoria or I would use to describe her. She's just a little go-getter. Poppy on the other hand is motivated to do as Willow does, but not because she's thrilled by the thrill, but rather to make sure she can do as Willow does. There's simply no way Willow is going to out-do her. And Willow? Well, she'll do as Poppy does because the two of them love each other so much and it's clearly evident they just enjoy being in one another's presence.

I see a lot of myself in Poppy. A bit reserved, cautious and competitive. I always had to check out all of the angles before I dove into anything. Where's the nearest safety net? What's going to happen in the worst case scenario? Is there any possible way I could do it better? I'm not particularly proud of those character traits, but on other hand when I see them reflected in Poppy and I can also see the upside of these gifts. The hardest part about being a Pop-tart is that I constantly analyze everything, and most of all myself. There's something about that spirited Willow-tree type that seems freeing, footloose and fancy. There's a "being in the moment" joy that just oozes from Willow's pores. And when she makes a mistake, gets scolded, or encounters an "owiee", she's quickly able to move on and put it behind her.

Watching Willow and learning from her will help me help myself. And as I help myself, I can help Poppy help herself and work together to not live as if the world revolves around me/us. I'll never forget Victoria sweetly telling me during one of my more contemplative seasons of life, "Honey, it's not all about you."

Funny how God gives us children to point out our greatest weaknesses, and funny how our children look to us as if we're perfect. One's looking into a mirror, and the other's looking into the face of God.

Putting my head beneath the water,

Tom

Party-Favors

It was someone's birthday party, I can't remember who's. I must have been about seven or eight. Birthday parties were always a highlight. What short-stuff wouldn't get excited about hanging out with friends of the same age, eating cake, playing games and running around without a care in the world? Everybody's happy, and whatever hardship might have existed before the party seemed to vaporize the moment you walked through that door and saw streamers, heard laughter and smelled sugar wafting from bright, primary colors of solids and liquids. The anticipation was almost as much fun as the party. And the best part of all? Party-favors. I knew that giving was supposed to be better than receiving, but I always felt better receiving than giving, and the party-favor satisfied that selfish craving to leave with more than I came with.

This party is etched into my memory though because I'll never forget what I received as a party-favor that day. I can't even remember his name, but I know that he was less fortunate than me. His family didn't have what we had and for whatever reason couldn't afford to throw a fancy shindig. I had certainly built this one up in my mind to a greater degree than reality (which seems to be true of most expectations). My disappointment reached an epic level when I received my parting gift. It was wrapped with newspaper and held together with masking tape. It was evident the birthday boy decorated it himself; he certainly put a lot of care into it to ensure each angle was meticulously folded. Not wanting to open it in front of him I took it home. Covering the package with my hands, hiding it from my Mom with a titch of embarrassment, I walked to the back porch and unwrapped it in secret, almost afraid to see what was inside. An old, worn out paper-back book was unveiled with tattered pages and a cover that flaked the flimsy cardboard painting because of the crisscrossed wrinkles and folds. The title was one I'd never heard of. I started to cry, and my mother came out to ask me what was the matter. I showed her the book, and she was so sweet not to shame me for my ugly feelings. (That's the way my Mom is.) Tenderly she knelt down at my eye level and tried to explain what only an adult can understand and a young heart cannot embrace. My mother didn't need to shame me that day because to this day I remain ashamed of myself. I wish now I could go back in time and tell him how thoughtful it was to give me that book, and most of all that he labored to make it special for me. And I wish now that I had more acquaintances in life that could only afford to give me a worn-out hand me down as a the best gift they had to offer. I'm afraid I live in another league. I wonder who's most fortunate.

This story I pass down to my children so they'll remember. I'm reminded because of the recent birthday party Poppy and Willow attended for little Meredith, also adopted from China about the same time as Poppy and providentially a neighbor right down the street. Their heritage from the other side of the globe, born hundreds of kilometers apart from one another in a vast country brought two families together that wouldn't have connected otherwise, even though we're only houses away from one another. That too is shameful. Meredith's party was perfect and what a joy it was to celebrate her entree into the world with a family that loves her so. Poppy and Willow received more than a old, used book as a party-favor, and Poppy immediately began to hoard the best of both bags of gifts to choose which she wanted most. It was at that moment I recalled my birthday story revealed above, and oh how I wished I could have conveyed it to Poppy in a meaningful way just then. Someday she'll understand, I hope.

What kind of a gift is a beat-up, bruised, disfigured and butchered body of a perfect man to me? If I were to see it with my own eyes, I'd be abhorred. But grace, the gift I never deserved or merited, covered my eyes as spectacles bringing full clarity to what only my blurred and naked vision clouded. Looking through it I now find the beauty of the Man, and am grateful He didn't come wrapped in adorning color and with fanfare. He's my old, used up paperback that contains the very words of life itself. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect favor, clearly more precious than any gift I might have brought to the party.

"My distant friend out there that handed me my perfect party-favor that day, whatever your name is/was, I thank you. And I'm so dreadfully sorry I scorned your grace."

Tom

More Than A Season of Summer

The solitude of a warm summer's night walk. Crickets chanting with chirps, frogs frolicking with foibles, deer dancing with deftness, and even bugs buzzing with babbles. It draws me from the depth of the deep.

The girls were running on the green-top of an abandoned tennis court. Pretending to race raggedly from one line to another, neither one caring who "won". The backdrop of a California golden hill with the shadow of a setting sun contrasted the court's surface with perfect artistry. Pitter-pattering of feet was all that could be heard, except the thoughts of my own heart toward God. Surely this puts life in the sweet spot.

Summer's are always a favorite. Clear sky overhead with loose clothing barely touching the skin. There's almost a sense of weightlessness. No constraints except the ones placed there by me. Maybe Fall will never come. But then Victoria would miss her favorite.

Today school started for Barret. Another constraint. Or is it? Must duty always be that way? I think not. The weightlessness of Summer doesn't have to cease. After all, the fullness of life peaks in this season and carries the strength to withstand the hardship of others. Colors change, temperatures drop, and obligations rise, but it's summer that undergirds the rest with assured hope for the next.

Barret's very serious about his studies. College is on the horizon, and he has his mind set on where he wants to attend. Not an easy task; certainly not a shoe-in. The Junior year is a critical one. He's determined, and prouder parents we could not be. The prayer is not only for acceptance, but more that this year would be a full year of summer. Like most, Barret is harder on himself than others are on him. He works tirelessly, which is atypical of summer-time. But the warmth, rest and energy summer affords is what Barret needs in the Fall, Winter and Spring. There is "a season for every activity under heaven". (Ecclesiastes 3:1b) For Barret, may this season under heaven be summer.

Loving the Summer (& Barret),

Tom (& Victoria)

"But Who Can Stand Before Jealousy?"

"Mommy, I'm jealous of that girl." Those were the words uttered by the little Poppy-flower of four and a half years of age just days ago. Viewing a sprouting "virtuoso" piano player, a prodigy of only six years of age on the Internet with Victoria pushed those words out of her mouth. (View for yourself below.)

What boldness! No, what guilelessness. "Impressive", was my first reaction when Victoria told me that story. Especially after Poppy then walked over to our own, almost century old upright piano from my great grandmother and proceeded to try to play on her own. With even more pride she said to Victoria, "I don't think she can do this" as Poppy proceeded to strum her fingers across the ivories from one end of the board to the other. "Oh, and you know what else Momma? Her brother isn't as tall as mine." Of course, who's really considering age, that the gifted piano player's brother was only a few years older than her, and Poppy's are almost 17 and now 24, respectively?

Teaching moments like this only arise when a heart is laid bare and the wickedness to conceal is unformed. Victoria jumped right on it like any good mother would. And what jumped on me was both inspiration and amazement. Oh to be so unassuming and innocently confess what doesn't feel right from the very beginning. That's becoming. And oh to be wracked at four years old with a force that rivals few others, including wrath and anger. "Wrath is fierce, and anger is a flood, But who can stand before jealousy?" (Proverbs 27:4) I'm both proud of Poppy and fearful for her.

I guess some jealousy drove me to a few lofty pursuits, the rewards of which I was immediately pleased with, but the longing for more insatiable. Misdirected pining can sometimes achieve remarkable humanitarian feats. The more remarkable feat is laying down to lift up. God's jealousy is righteous, and Victoria and my prayer for Poppy (and other "K's" from the household) is to steer the gaze away and to Him.

"Poppy, I'm jealous too. I'm afraid our age difference hasn't wiped that away. At least Jesus wiped it away, and His righteousness can become ours."

With Inspiration & Amazement,

Tom (& Victoria)

Taxi Tips

After just recently returning from a business trip to Seattle, I can't help but ruminate on some anecdotal life-tips received from a taxi driver that drove me back to the airport Tuesday night (I wrote them down as soon as I got out of the cab). I love riding in taxi's because I engage in deep conversations that otherwise wouldn't happen were it not for the confined space and time a taxi cab and its ride affords. Some of my most profound encounters with strangers occur in taxi cabs; maybe it's because I feel freed to pursue personal convictions of others knowing that I'll probably never see them again in my life. (After writing that last sentence I realize my logic is embarrassingly flawed, weak and elementary. The same freedom I feel in taxi cabs is the same freedom I should experience in everyday life.)

Exuding a very jovial aura, I asked my cab driver what made him so happy. He responded in his strong Indian accent by saying that he possesses very little, and therefore is very rich in life. Probing a little further, I asked him to explain himself. He said, "Look, if you want to help beggars, stop looking for them on the street corners, because they're usually the ones that ride in my taxi cab dressed in Hugo Boss suits. They have everything, but possess nothing. The reason they're beggars is because what they have cannot satiate their constant hunger for more. So, they beg, beg, beg and beg, and then beg for more. They're never really secure."

So he teed it up nicely for me to toss my next query his way. I wondered what he meant by security, and he explained it like this, "Most people think that if they plan, purchase and pursue they'll find security that will carry them safely into old age. The only problem is that their pursuit makes them insecure, never achieving real security." I asked him if he felt secure, and he said, "Yes, because as soon as you realize that you cannot attain security you find real security."

Coming full circle, I said to him, "So you're rich in your poverty, and you're secure in your insecurity. Am I understanding you correctly? Is this what makes you happy?" He answered, "Yes, but it's not just that. I've learned that if you do exactly the opposite of what the world tells you to do, you'll find true happiness and fulfillment in life." In response, as I reached into my pocket for some money to pay him for his 20 minutes of service and entertainment, I said, "It's interesting that Jesus said some of these very same things. The difference is that richness, security and the pursuit of happiness are not found in the living out of these paradoxes, but rather in the living within them through the One that points us to God. In other words, my friend, Jesus already lived these truths to kill our pursuit in order to find the One that will lead us to life divine. Think about that."

Amazing how close most of us are to the Kingdom.

Waiting for my next taxi,

Tom

All Is Not Always Well

Life has a way of cruising along and all is well, and then it throws you a curve ball. You never quite know when it's coming, but right about the time you realize it's on its way it's across home plate and you didn't even have enough time to get into a stance. This is particularly true when someone in your family who's almost always healthy isn't feeling well, especially when it's one of your parents. Then, all of the sudden, all is not always well.

My Dad hasn't been feeling so hot lately, but I didn't know how badly until I called home the other evening and my parents didn't answer the phone. I figured they were out to dinner or something, only to get a call the next day from my Mom that Dad was in the hospital for some strange condition I'd never heard of. He's now home and is better than before, but is still extremely fatigued.

I wouldn't normally post about something like this, but felt I wanted to journal the off-balance and catawampus feelings I experience whenever someone close to me gets ill. My emotions are no different than anyone else's, I'm sure, but it's a strange and uncomfortable phenomenon that must be dealt with.

It's not natural that people, family members get sick. We were not created for this, but to live eternally without blemish or hardship. So it's natural that it feels unnatural. And it's particularly unnatural when it's one of your parents because no matter how young or old you are you always think of Mom and Dad as invincible. Whether my children realize this or not about Victoria and me, it's probably true for them as much as it is for me with my parents. I pray often for a long and healthy life; not for my benefit, but for theirs, especially the little ones. Moms and dads represent a strong sense of security in life, regardless of whether you're physically close in proximity or not. I'm glad God created us this way because it's a magnetic pull to find security in Him, the one who will never grow old, never grow weary and never fail. And since I'm (we're) created to find security in those who care for us most, our world is shaken when they are not feeling the way that you've always known or envisioned them to be. This is all the more reason why all children need mommies and daddies. They need that peace, that sense of belonging that can only come with parents. That's why, among so many reasons, Victoria and I believe in adoption. 

So tonight, and tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day after that I'm praying for my Dad (and my Mom too). I've always prayed for them everyday, but at times like this I pray even harder, more passionately, and with deeper conviction. This too is a good thing because it raises the level of appreciation to where it should always be sustained. And it's another reminder to me that I need thank God for being God, His eternal care over my soul and the security and rest I find in Him.

"So, Dad, I know you're probably going to read this, and that's O. K. I write because I love, and I love because..., well, just because; I can't help it. Victoria is praying too, as are all of your grandchildren (and there's a lot of em' out comin' out of this household). Thank you to you and Mom for making me feel so secure; and thank you for helping me see the inseparable security the Father gives, whether you realized you were pointing me to Him or not.

I love you.  All really is well,

Tom (& Victoria, & Austin, & Meagan, & Annie, & Barret, & Poppy, & Willow)"

Blue Washcloth/White Washcloth

What is it about wanting whatever the other person has even though what you have is precisely the same but for maybe one minor variation? We want what we cannot have, only to find out that when we get what we want it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. The greatest satisfaction comes from merely having it, knowing that the other person does not. That's ugly.

The other evening I was giving the girls their routine tubby and decided to momentarily step out of the bathroom to grab something. No sooner had I left the room when I heard the girls screaming in unquestionable frustration. I hurried back into the bathroom to find them bickering over a washcloth. Poppy had a blue one and Willow had a white one; but Poppy wanted the white one even though they were both the same size, shape, age, softness, etc... Willow seemed to have a glean in her eye as she peered over at Poppy knowing she had something Poppy wanted. (I don't remember getting that worked up over washcloths when I was their age, although I do remember taking joy in having something my siblings wanted.) Rather than try to reason with the girls I quickly opened the cupboard drawer and found another identical white washcloth to the one Willow had. I then handed it to Poppy. All was now well in the world as they both possessed a piece of white, wet fabric they could hold up to their bodies. I then made them put the washcloths down, look at each other, tell one another they were sorry for getting angry, hug and then kiss. Seeing those two little naked bodies hold one another and whisper into each other's ears was a pretty sweet sight.

Victoria and I are trying to teach the girls what's ours is yours and what's yours is ours. It's hard when Poppy thinks that almost everything is hers, even when it was originally given to Willow. The easy thing to do is just buy two of everything. For example they both each have a little red tricycle, but one has a basket on it and the other doesn't. Of course, guess which one they both want? One thing that's impossible to buy two of is mommies and daddies, especially mommies. There's a real nasty "jealous bug" (that's what we call it in our household) that comes out of its cocoon every time one of the girls receives attention from Momma and the other doesn't. It's especially active in the early morning right after everyone wakes up from a long night's sleep and wants a snuggle. I don't know how Victoria does it, but she manages to spread herself in ways that eventually satisfies both girls.

Lot's of patience, lots of discipline, lots of forbearance, lots of training, and lots of love go a long way. The hard part is that it takes so stinking long to get there. That's where vision comes into play. If we cannot keep our eye on the long of the short of it, we're doomed. The immediacy of the here and now is not where the reward lies (although sometimes it peaks its head up every once in awhile for us to see).

Quite frankly, I'm with Poppy and prefer the white washcloth too because when I look at it and see how dirty it is, it's a reminder just how deep the stains are and just how much of the filth has been removed.

Scrubbing Away,

Tom (& Victoria)

"I Wish I Were A Grown Up"

My dear little Poppy-Seed:

Last night we had such a wonderful time together as a family (you, me, Mom, Barret, Annie, Willow, Brian, and eventually Kristen). We went for a summer-evening swim, strolled back through the neighborhood with your little sister facing you in your red wagon under tow by your Dad, barbecued some incredible Mediterranean shish-kabobs, listened to Greek music over the stereo speakers pumped into our backyard, ate an incredible meal together, laughed, enjoyed a gourmet dessert, sat around the fire-pit and talked, and then called it a night. As I laid in bed next to you gazing into your forlorn face because you couldn't stay up with us any longer, you said to me, "Dad, I wish I were a grown up."

I know how you feel, Sweetie, and I used to feel the same way when I was a child. Seems like adults get to do all the fun stuff; stay up late, go to college, get married, play sports, drive cars, eat and drink whatever they want, use big words, laugh about things that don't make sense, and tell little children what to do. There were so many things I wanted to say to you last night in response to your statement, but it was too late in the evening (way past your bed-time), and as smart as you are I'm afraid you wouldn't completely understand it all. So let me just write a few things to you that I would have said under different circumstances. Maybe you'll read this one day and then appreciate what it means to be young and old, and all the in between.

"Be careful what you wish for:

• To be a child and have faith like a child are highly esteemed in God's economy. There are some aspects of being a child I hope you never rid yourself of, even into your oldest of age.
  
• To be a child and receive care like a child are highly esteemed in most any economy. There will never be another time in your life on this earth where you need not concern yourself with food, clothing, warmth, covering, and most of all whether there's anyone on this planet that truly loves you.
• To be a child and possess naivety like a child are highly esteemed in your Mom's and my economy. For now, you're sheltered from much of the evil in this world and your innocence is virgin. There will come a day all too soon when that starts to get chipped away.

• To be an adult and think like an adult is highly esteemed in an adult's economy. But with that comes all the complexities of unanswerable questions and pondering. Ultimately, you must fall on your face and cry out to God who has all of the answers, but may not choose to let you in on all of His secrets until you meet Him face to face.
• To be an adult and work like an adult is very fulfilling..., fulfilling indeed, especially because that's the way God created us to live and is, therefore, also highly esteemed in His economy. However, danger is right around the corner when you live to work thinking that in working and then accumulating, fulfillment has achieved its end. The end is in Jesus.
• To be an adult and know the ways of the world like an adult create knowledge, and hopefully wisdom, and are highly esteemed in the world's economy. But with that runs the risk of discouragement if you embrace the world as your home. Start getting truly homesick early in life; it will help you cling to that which will never let you go."
  

There's more my little Pop-Tart, my Yao Qiao-girl. Let's save those, and even these, for a day later in life when we can go for a long walk with your mother in a secluded place and search the things of God together.

I love you,

Daddy

What We Need vs. What We Want

One of the greatest fears I have as a father, and I know that Victoria shares in this fear as a mother, is whether I'll be able to give all of my children what they need of me. That's different that what they want of me. If I go to my grave thinking that any of my children needed more than I gave, then I think I'll go as a sorrowful man, but for the eternal life I have in Jesus. The demands of life, the pressures of work, the routines of the ordinary, and the needs of each individual family member (not to mention the needs of extended family, work associates, etc...) pull on a father (and a mother) to such a degree that there's almost always cognitive dissonance. I don't want my children resenting the passions that drive my desire to love and serve Jesus, and yet at the same time I want them to see that sacrifice is required of all, including them and me. These diametrically opposed drives constantly pull at my psyche, sometimes to the point where I almost feel sick to my stomach. It's not constant, nor is it really that often, but lately I've gone through one of those seasons and I find myself praying more, preaching to myself more, and trying more to be a father to all of my children in the ways that they need me most. Of course, being a good husband to Victoria is an even stronger pull for me, so that dynamic also comes into play here. None of this is a bad thing.

I guess where I'm going with all of this right now is that I need to come to grips with the truth of leaving and cleaving (for Austin and Meagan, of course), and with the truth that for me to live is for me to die. My life in Jesus and the pursuit of my relationship with Him comes at an earthly cost, and I want my children to see, know and experience that losing this life for the sake of life eternal brings greater joy than all the riches, fame, and family this life could offer. For me, I'm finding that it's costing me more and more all the time. I find myself looking back over my shoulder after plowing the field, and then in that process creating crooked lines that are not becoming of a good steward. The focal point of my vision has got to remain fixed on Jesus, and in that pursuit I pray my children will have the same vision.

This world is a crazy place, especially in America. I have too many distractions; material things, Blackberries, vacations, retirement, etc... They're all becoming very distasteful to me as I see that I've taken the lure and it's reeled me in. None of this is bad, per se, but I've pursued them at the expense of a higher pursuit for Jesus. I want nothing more than to let these things go in my heart. I may enjoy them, but I may not elevate them over Jesus. I'm having to let go of a lot of things these days; this is healthy.

It's hard crucifying your old passions, but the joy that comes with it is immea- surable. May my children know and love that which is much greater than anything I could possibly give them. If they had that, I'd go to my grave a happy and fulfilled man.

Letting Go In Christ,

Tom (& Victoria)

Is the Glass Half Empty or Full?

I'm one that is usually a little more naturally inclined to look at the dark side of things rather than the bright side, the bad over the good, the "glass-is-half-empty" phenom- enon over the "glass-is-half full" phenomenon. It's one of those things, among so many, that I really don't like about myself. I have friends and family in my life that help balance me out and push me to see the opposite paradigm. Thank God for them.

When it comes to mankind, I hear and read about so much wickedness in the world. Everywhere I turn it haunts me like a frightening ghost. I don't fully understand it all, and must fall to my knees and cry out to God who is infinitely wise. He alone is all knowing, and He alone can supply peace in the midst of the confusing, the abstract and the unknown.

Poppy and Willow helped me see the good side of things just the other day, which gave me a slight glimpse into the nature of God. Victoria and Kristen (Meagan's sister living with us for the summer) went to a women's Bible study the other evening. As they left the house to go to the hosting home, Poppy became so morose. Her love for and attachment to her mother is so overwhelmingly strong that it's almost impossible to describe. It's something that has to be witnessed. So I decided that in order to cheer her up I'd take the girls for a long walk up the hillside to watch the sunset. It was a beautiful evening and God's glory was out in radiant display. We talked off and on about God's artistry, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get Poppy to stop thinking and talking about Victoria. About every five to ten minutes or so she'd get those pitiful alligator tears streaming down her rosy, plump cheeks. I attempted with all my heartfelt emotion to encourage her that Momma would be home soon, but that didn't seem to comfort her. She said to me on a couple of occasions, "Daddy, I just can't help the tears. They keep on coming no matter how hard I try to stop." This almost brought me to tears too, so I sat on the ground, held her in my lap with her special pink "blankie", and just rocked her. She seemed to settle down a bit. In the midst of all the commotion Willow just kept looking at Poppy and then looking over at me and saying, "Wheelo haaappie".

Poppy's love for her Momma is a naturally good thing. Where did that come from? It's designed and created within her. Willow's desire to smooth things out so others are not sorrowful is a good thing. Where did that come from? It's designed and created within her. At their age they didn't connive and craft a manipulating scheme to get my attention or to foster peace. I'm well aware of their natural tendency to transgress, but experiencing this encounter with them on Wednesday night prompted me to thank God for His perfectly orchestrated image found in every human being. While that goodness is never enough to put us in perfect stead with God (cf. Romans 3:10-18), it is enough to reflect His glory.

In spite of the sadness of the evening, it was satisfying to see the magnificence of God's design in the midst of it all. These girls continue to push all of us older Kruggel's to places we use to enjoy but lost before Poppy and Willow were found. Momma eventually came home and all was well once again in the Poppy-fields.

Seeing the Glass Half-Full,

Tom (& Victoria)

30 Years Later

Thirty years ago this very summer I walked toward a wood paneled cabin built on stilts in the Redwood and Ponderosa Pines of Mount Hermon and was enraptured by a beautiful young lady standing on the porch. She introduced herself to me as Vicki Tholen from Seattle, Washington. And that was the genesis of a formation designed by God that has grown into our own Redwood version of a strong, towering tree providing nourishment and shelter not only to one another, but to all those seedlings He's placed in our care.

Last night we returned from a week long family camp at Mount Hermon that was now our seventeenth consecutive year of vacationing there. Victoria and I can easily keep count because she was pregnant with Barret that first summer we drove up from Redondo Beach, California to enjoy the nostalgia of our courtship. Austin, Annie and Barret all have such fond memories of summer vacations at Mount Hermon, always begging and pleading to return as we drove out of the driveway to head back home each time we spent a refreshing week there. And now Poppy has been there three summers in row, and Willow twice. They, too, are developing strong bonds and attachments to this place we like to think of as hallowed ground. In fact, Poppy remarked as we were driving down the hill out of the camp, "I'm sad to leave Mount Hermon." We all know how she feels.

It was an exceptional week for Victoria, Barret, Poppy, Willow and me. It did seem a little incomplete and odd in a strange way not to have Austin (& Meagan) and Annie there. (Both Austin and Annie have worked there in recent summer's past.) The teaching was awesome, the food abundant, warm and tasty, and the weather breathtakingly perfect. There's so much to write about and tell that it simply cannot be captured here.

I will share one tender moment (among o' so many) I had with Poppy while I was trying to put her to bed one evening early in the week. The girls were pretty wound up about being at Mount Hermon, so getting them to sleep those first few nights wasn't a simple task. As I laid there on the bed with Poppy and the dusk light was just about to vanish, she softly said to me, "Daddy, I don't like the dark-time; it makes me sad." "What about it makes you so sad, Sweetie?", I asked. "It's just that everything has to come to an end", said Poppy. I had to stop and think for a moment because I knew this was a tender teaching time that would have either been lost forever or seized upon to impart what little wisdom I possessed. So I said to her, "Sweetie, it's not the end, it's actually the beginning. And just think, God can speak to you all night and give you enough rest so that tomorrow is even more exciting than today."

She seemed to be comforted by that, but her momentary sorrow did get me to start thinking. Because I know Poppy, I happen to also know that she's a bit afraid of the dark, which contributed to her hesitation to close her eyes and fall asleep that night in a new and strange surrounding. I know how she feels (most of us were probably afraid of the dark when we were little). Darkness is nothingness. We all went on a train ride this week into Santa Cruz (departed from Mount Hermon) and we eventually ended up in a tunnel that was several hundred meters long. By the time we got to the middle of the tunnel you could not see the entrance or the exit, so it was pitch black. There was no perspective or sense of dimension whatsoever. What is that? It's nothingness. It's alone-ness. That's a scary place to be. Knowing that we'd eventually get to the other side and greeted by towering Redwoods gave comfort. But what if we were trapped in that tunnel for awhile? What if we were trapped in darkness for a lifetime, or an eternity?

Poppy (or Willow) doesn't need to be alone, left in the dark. None of us do. Jesus said, "I am the light of the world; he who follows me shall not walk in the darkness, but shall have the light of life." (John 8:12b) Because we've been shown the light which brightens our paths, we can now follow with the light of life. And once we possess that light of life, we become light ourselves because Jesus said that, "You are the light of the world." (Matthew 5:14a) And there's nothing Victoria and I want more than for our children to have the light of life. This I would have loved to have shared with Poppy that evening, but couldn't think that quickly. I hope to have it on the tip of my tongue the next time she expresses her sorrow over the darkening of the night.

Refreshed in Jesus,

Tom (& Victoria)

Another Great Article

How often do we as Christian parents consider that our work, our labor and our love of child-rearing is Kindgom-work? Parenting is the typical course of life for many (although not all), but most parents (like me) are often swallowed up by the routine necessities of survival, so it's difficult to contemplate the longer-term vision and purpose of why we do what we do. But those routine necessities are gospel-izing privileges to train up our children that they too might draw more into the Kingdom, and even perhaps pursue a life calling that would reap a crop of 100's, 1,000's and maybe even 10,000's for Jesus' sake and God's glory. It's critical that I frequently step back and examine the eternal purpose of what we do as parents, and I remind Victoria (and she reminds me) that it's a good work, honorable and pleasing to the Father. This article (click on link below) is a good read about this very subject matter.

http://www.seriouslifemagazine.com/default.asp?index=6

What I appreciated most about this article is not just the helpful touchstone that what I/we do as parents is eternal, but also that we can use our home as a training ground for missional work both locally and abroad. It's helped me re-think how we as a family spend our time, money and gifts.

"The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers in His harvest field." (Matthew 9:37b-38)

Warmly in Christ,

Tom