Anchors Ahoy!

When an anchor becomes untethered it serves no purpose. Tragically Poppy learned that lesson very early in life, in fact just days after celebrating her 4th Birthday when what we thought was impossible became possible. To you and me it might seem but a minor occurrence, but to Poppy it was quite the trauma. Let me explain:

In our last Blog entry I mentioned the girl's (Willow & Poppy) dichotomous reactions to the balloons I brought home for Poppy's Birthday (read below). Feeling confident that we had overcome Poppy's fears and sadness about balloons flying away because they had a toy anchor tied to the end of the string, we let them meander all through the house for several days. The girls played with them, ran with them, boxed with them, you know..., things kids like to do with balloons. Through all of that wear and tear, they never burst or lost any of their helium lift. They were a great $6.00 purchase.

When I came home from church on Sunday the girls (Victoria, Poppy & Willow) had already been home for awhile, and Victoria was making us a nice brunch. It was beautiful outside, so we decided to let our Golden Retriever, Rosie, out in the back yard. Well, on her way out her legs got tangled in one of the balloon strings and she ended up dragging it outside. Poppy screamed, "My balloon!". Victoria immediately and calmly said, "Don't worry Sweetheart, it's not going anywhere. Daddy will get it." And you know what? The anchor did its trick. The balloon remained stationary, tether in tow, and hovered about six feet off the ground with the sky's limits right overhead as it was safely tied to the toy anchor, but for... Rosie's legs getting tangled in the string. I ran outdoors and tried to grab the string, but Rosie began to flail, pulling the balloon through the slip knot it was tied to. What happened next is very vivid in my mind, almost as if I can replay it in slow motion; I jumped as high as I could to grab hold of the rising balloon and actually had it in my fingertips, sort of like a wide receiver grasping an overthrown football. I was relieved when it was within the palms of my hands, but the mylar coating was slippery and it slid right through them. As soon as my feet landed on the ground, I jumped again, only this time higher, but the balloon was of course higher too, yet to no avail - it bobbled in my fingers and then floated, floated, floated away. Poppy crumbled and sobbed; tears were streaming down her face. I felt awful. Victoria quickly said what anyone would say at that moment, "Poppy, Daddy will get you another balloon, O. K.?" She chided and whimpered, "No, I don't want anymore balloons. I just don't want anymore balloons." The dreaded became dreadful, pathetically so.

Well, off to the next adventure and lesson in life. They happen about every five to ten minutes for the girls. There's rarely a dull moment.

Anchors Ahoy!

Tom

Birthday Balloons

December 28th marked Poppy's official fourth birthday. I write "official" because we don't really know for sure what her precise birth date is since there was no note left at her "finding place" in her Chinese village. Victoria and I think she might be a little older than four because of her advanced verbal skills. On the other hand, I personally believe she might be a little younger than four because February 13th, 2005 marks the "official" day that the Lord first placed the concept of adoption on our hearts; a day we'll never forget, and the day that forever changed our lives. I have a hunch that Poppy was born that day and the Lord infused His appointment for us simultaneously at her birth. Only He knows these things for sure, as "The secret things belong to the Lord our God." (Deuteronomy 29:29a)

With all of our children home, we were excited because Poppy could celebrate with fanfare among her favorite people in the world. Since it was a Sunday and we attended church that day, we knew we wouldn't be able to honor her until afterward. So on the way home (I went in a separate car), I decided to stop by a party shop and pick up some bright mylar balloons filled with helium. I love that kind (as opposed to the rubbery ones) because they last such a long time. Of course, I had to pick up two because otherwise Willow would pilfer Poppy's every time she turned her head; turned out to be a wise move (but, of course, they always wanted the one the other had - an axiom of life). When I walked through the door with those big, colorful balloons Willow screamed at the top of her lungs with exuberance, but Poppy looked at me and them with a forlorn face. So I knelt down, gazed into those beautiful, dark brown round eyes and asked her, "What's the matter, Sweetie?" She said, "Daddy, I don't like balloons because they get away and go up into the sky." Of course, those little comments always get me thinking, but for the moment I just hugged her, said, "Happy Birthday" and then told her that these balloons wouldn't float away because they'd tied plastic, toy anchors to the bottom of the string. This seemed to brighten her spirits, as evidenced with a growing grin against her cheeks.

I know how she feels about the balloons. I always felt that way about them too when I was a kid. They sort of made me happy and sad, both at the same time. While fun, you don't want to get too attached to them because you know they're going to deflate sometime, or worse yet slip through your fingers and see them disappear high above as you longingly watched them get smaller and smaller, and then eventually vanish. You sort of hesitate to glob onto something with full affection when you know it's guaranteed to bring disappointment and sadness. Yet it's the anchors that give confidence, hope and assurance that the things you love most will never really vanquish. The only anchor we can give Poppy is outside of ourselves, and that's found in Jesus who promised that He'd be with us always, "... even unto the end of the age." (Matthew 28:20b) May Poppy's joy be in Him only, because man and things will always disappoint, eventually.

Happy Birthday Poppy,

Daddy & Mommy

It's Not About Me

3:45 a.m. is a time I rarely see on my bedroom clock, but this morning my eyes opened wide and stared at these bright red numbers projected onto my ceiling. Feeling the body warmth of my little Pop-Tart sandwiched between Victoria and me, my mind immediately started rehearsing over and over again the words of John the Baptist, "He must increase, but I must decrease." (John 3:30) I've always been struck by these words, some of the most piercing for me from the Bible. They hit me square between the eyes because my mind is so often on me; making much of me, drawing others to me, highlighting me, projecting me (or someone other than me but what I want others to perceive me to be),... it's always me, me, me. This is where my mind is most of the time. Why, even this Blog entry is about me. And this is where my mind was this morning when my eyes opened, but without a shadow of a doubt God was redirecting my thoughts through His Spirit to these profound, but simple words from the Baptist. But how? How do I do this? So, I had to get out of bed and start reading and writing.

O. K., so John was, among other things, trying to clear up any confusion among his followers about who he was and what his role was in relation to the Messiah, which in and of itself is deep enough. But on another level he was concerned about diverting attention away from him and toward Christ. So he used the parable of a wedding, its bridegroom and the friend of the bridegroom (e.g., our modern day "Best Man") to describe the relationship between them. The Best Man of a wedding, while concerned about the details of the wedding, is all about directing attention to the bridegroom. His eyes are fixated on him, and he's also looking about the bridegroom to ensure everything about the wedding is flawlessly executed so that everyone else's eyes are directed to the bridegroom. He's also excited about the bride, her beauty and the union between them. Enraptured in the moment, there's effervescent joy about the relationship that is about to be consummated.

And that's it! It's joy in Jesus; my head, my love, my Savior, and my Lord. I mistakenly think there's joy in me, but there's nothing joyous about me whatsoever. What is there that's attractive about me at all, except that which Christ commandeers in me? "For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain." (Philippians 1:21) And, "... unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains by itself alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." (John 12:24) The more I know of Christ, the more I love of Christ, and the more I love of Christ the more I die to myself.

The cosmos revolves around Him (not me), and is revolved by Him. I'll never forget Victoria's lovingly blunt words (she probably doesn't even remember this) during one of my deeper bouts with depression a few years ago (which was quite selfish of me), "Honey, it's not about you." She's right, and John the Baptist is right. I pray that today I might die to self that He might live, that I might slay myself that His love might reign, and that I might be disdained that Jesus might be rejoiced.

Watching the Daybreak,

Tom

The Good Part

Oftentimes the anticipation of something exceeds reality when the reality of that something finally becomes reality. I find that to be the case for me whenever I fail to enter into the moment of reality because I'm reflecting on what I thought it was going to be, or wondering when it's eventually going to arrive. My imagination can be quite vivid, and for that I'm immensely grateful but also find discouraging. I believe I easily fall into the "Martha Syndrome" by becoming "worried and bothered about so many things", when really only "a few things are necessary, really only one,... the good part, which shall not be taken away...". (Luke 11:41b-42) I struggle most with this syndrome during the Holidays, not because they fail to be rich, full, joyful and rewarding, blessed with love from family and friends. But rather because I build up the fulfillment of these things over and above that which only a longing for Jesus can satisfy. It's then that I realize that I have completely moved 180 degrees away from what I was designed to worship. I've made the Holidays everything the world crafted them to be and nothing what God created them for; directed from Christ and to myself. And everytime I do this, whether during the Holidays or not, I'm left spiritually bankrupt, unfulfilled and longing for something deeper.

On a human level, our Christmas Holiday was absolutely perfect. Poppy screamed when she ran down the hallway, peaking around the corner near the fireplace to see if Santa had come and what he might have left behind. Willow was clueless, but certainly enjoyed the hullabaloo of wrapping paper, laughter and familiar faces. Austin, Annie and Barret nestled right into their all too familiar Holiday traditions and reflections that began long before Poppy and Willow were ever on the scene, but nonetheless basked in the moment as if the girls had always been with us from as far back as they could remember. And Victoria and I just smiled in somewhat unbelief that we were actually experiencing such a moment.

On a spiritual level, I always feel that our Christmas Holiday could be more perfect. Sometimes I fantasize (and Victoria and I have talked about this) about completely doing away with gifts and just waking up on Christmas morning, going out, serving, giving what we would have spent on gifts and donating it to something worthy. Maybe one of these days God will give me enough gumption to actually lead our family in this direction. In the meantime I truly am grateful that we have one another and that our Christmas was what it was. But I also long for a day when all I really long for is the good part, actually sitting at the feet of it and worshipping it with abundant joy and without constraint for what I am tempted to substitutionally desire. This is when anticipation meets reality, and it's only at these moments that the two ever really coalesce.

Gratefully in Jesus,

Tom

Merry Christmas!

For those of you that did not receive our Christmas Letter:

Christmas seasons are often a time of rest, relaxation and rest- oration, when past traditions bring visions of hopeful familiarity, routine and bonds. We Kruggel’s share these expectations at this time of year as we concurrently reflect upon our lives, not only from distant history, but most recently in 2008. However for us this past year has been anything but restful and relaxing, and certainly not familiar or routine.

One year ago we made the firm decision and commitment to adopt another fatherless child into our family. Once again, we just couldn't shake our overwhelming passion for another, and we so desired for Poppy to have a chum that she could closely identify with for the rest of her life. Besides, we still had a little more room in our home, a lot more room in our hearts, and barely enough room in our adrenal glands but for the ample grace of God. So in March we (Tom, Victoria, Barret & Poppy) marched off to Beijing, visited with dear friends, trekked westerly across China in a closet sized sleeper car, and about 24 hours later arrived in Lanzhou, Gansu Province. Within a couple of hours of reaching our final destination, we had barely unloaded our suitcases when we met up with petite Wu Hui Xuan. With a restored cleft lip, her peering and pensive eyes, glassy with tears, penetrated our souls that were filled with high levels of both exhilaration and trepidation. Gently engaging with her, we studiously watched Xuan explore the confines of a foreign mezzanine hotel lobby without an apparent fear in the world. In a mere instant, we all turned a corner in life that was a one way street for everyone affected. Without looking back, we embraced our new found daughter, renamed Willow, and have since enjoyed the jubilation and tribulation (including a cleft palate surgery) of inescapable love. It didn’t take long for us to find it difficult to imagine life in the Kruggel home without Willow.

Poppy is a tender, playful sibling to sweet Willow, as first evidenced by her persistent questioning when meeting her, “Can we keep her, can we keep her?” But like most of us she’s also challenged with selfishness and aggravation. Minute by minute, hour by hour, and day by day we all work together to train her up, love her up and point her up. In the midst of all this character development, her doctors have thankfully determined that her special needs heart condition is tame, and are confidently hopeful will cause little disruption to her physical development toward living a long, healthy and abundant life.

Our trip to China would have been virtually impossible had it not been for Barret. His charity and sacrificial spirit made for a successful journey that simply couldn't have been accomplished without him. As an unexpected reward, Willow immediately bonded with him more than any of us, which we were all delighted to gaze upon. He had to take time off from his Freshman year of High School to help us out, but the experience of those three weeks in China far outweighed any formal education he might have received otherwise. Now a Sophomore, Barret has visions of following in the footsteps of his older siblings and attending Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo in 2011. He also turned 16 this year and, much to Mom and Dad’s chagrin, got his driver’s license only days after, but also stated that he wanted to begin his milestone “adulthood” by living a life of honor to Jesus; words to cherish forever.

Unlike our last trip, Annie couldn't join us on this most recent excursion to China because of her junior college commitments. Much to her disappointment, she stayed behind and “wo-manned” the Kruggel “fort” desiring all the while to be with us. Her forbearance was not in vain, however, because she was accepted as a Junior into Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo, where she began her Graphics Design major this Fall after counseling another summer at Mount Hermon Christian Conference Center. While grueling, her first quarter of studies was successfully filled with equal measures of pleasure and pain, exploring her first year away from home in the comfort and company of her older brother Austin, also attending Cal Poly.

Of course Austin couldn't’t go to China either because he’s now in his sixth year of Mechanical Engineering coursework as a graduate student. He will finally finish with a Masters of Science degree in the Spring, launching him into the world of semi-independence and self-sufficiency. These experiences are not foreign to him at all as evidenced by his three month excursion across Western Europe last summer with nothing but a backpack, a friend or two, a Eurail Pass and limited Euros. Upon his return, he had pretty much made up his mind after months of prayerful consideration to make a joyful commitment that will forever alter the course of his life. On a clear, crisp and glorious Thanksgiving Day morning, he kneeled beneath three wooden crosses towering overhead, perfectly placed on an isolated and craggy hillside overlooking the Siskiyou Mountains positioned just south of the Oregon border, and proposed to his beautiful bride-to-be, Meagan Kirkpatrick. What better way to submit himself to her but at the cross of the One who submitted Himself for the church, His bride, to the point of death? Their ultimate act of submission to each other will culminate on May 23^rd with family and friends in San Luis Obispo.

Victoria and Tom continually find themselves caught between the tension of clinging on and letting go. The littlest ones are definitely and gratefully clingy, but ironically we find ourselves to be clinging onto our oldest ones when they’re breaking away from us. This naturally healthy pathway of life isn’t easy for anyone, and the reality of our children needing us less each day than we need them is a high-wire trapeze feat requiring large doses of God’s kindness. Parenting carries with it incomprehensible quantities of bliss, and also unimaginable amounts of mourning. Both are necessary, and both are beneficial.

The change in our lives pales in comparison to the events of all events two millennia ago that forever altered the course of history. While Jewish traditions, like Passover, most assuredly sparked similar emotions we feel at this time of year, Jesus’ hushed birth and seemingly untimely death rocked their world and forever ours. And in the midst of such turmoil and change then and even today, we Kruggel’s look over our shoulder and marvel at His glad tidings over us with similar wonder as Mary by asking, “How can this be?” (Luke 1:34a). We then contemplate the words of Gabriel that, “… nothing will be impossible with God.” (Luke 1:37). So now and going forward, “We walk by faith, and not by sight.” (II Corinthians 5:7)

You have prayed, phoned, embraced, comforted, served and supported us this year, whether we even knew it or not, and we give thanks knowing that this pilgrimage toward our eternal home is not traversed in isolation, but in community with you. So in return we don’t wish, but pray that Christmas will be for you as merry as Jesus’ joy is over us.

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

The Hound of Heaven

Victoria recently turned me on to a blog that has shaken me up a bit. It's about a young, vibrant woman (maybe 20 years old) who's apparently a Tennessee college student. All indications point toward someone that could probably do just about anything she wants in our relatively comfortable country and be exceptionally successful at it. Instead, she is literally counting the seconds until she can finish her degree and head back to Uganda so she can live an impoverished life in service to orphans for the sake of the Kingdom. What passion, what sacrifice, and what cross bearing, and not from duty mind you, but rather from love, sheer love. And the irony is that she doesn't view it as sacrificial at all; that's what happens when love takes over. I've rarely witnessed such desire that vividly sees Jesus in the faces and eyes of complete strangers lost in a suffering world, without Mommies and Daddies, without shelter, without food, without covering, and especially without Him.

I've carried the images and words from that blog with me for over 48 hours now. When I woke up the last two mornings I cried out to God that He would burn brighter, invade deeper, and consume my longings with reckless abandon for Jesus. How many times have I ended a long day at work and mindlessly walked right by so many people on the streets of San Francisco while caught up in my own little world, looking straight into the eyes of homeless souls without giving a thought to their physical or spiritual condition? My heart can be so callous sometimes, most of the time actually.

Streams of consciousness journal-writing at the moment, but I felt compelled to jot this down. I do so with caution knowing that His convictions about these things are not universal, nor are other callings necessarily less God honoring. I want more of Jesus, and it goes without question that He wants more of me.

"When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die."

- Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Soberly in Him,

Tom

Christmas Cookies!

We don't know where this look came from, but it's really not like Willow. Anyway, it's pretty comical because it appears that she's giving Poppy the sinister eye, but actually they were getting along and really enjoying baking Christmas cookies with their big sister, Annie. There's nothing like the good ole traditions of the Holidays; the smell of fresh baked sugar cookies, the aroma of the pine from the Christmas tree, candles aglow in every room, a little fire, wrapping paper strewn across the table, Holiday tunes over the stereo system,... the usual stuff that most families are familiar with. Of course, Willow is completely unfamiliar with any of it, but it's not taking her long to get into the spirit. What isn't there for a kid to like about Christmas, regardless of what country you're from?

Austin comes home in a couple of days and then we'll have everyone around the house again. We treasure each Christmas not really knowing what the following year might bring. This one's sure to be filled with fond affections and love.

Warmly in Christ,

Tom (& Victoria)

Christmas Came Early

Just yesterday Willow had her latest, and hopefully last, examination of the year from the surgeons that performed her palate and ear surgeries a couple of months ago. We're thrilled and relieved to report that everything appears to be A - O. K. The "fistula" (small opening) in the roof of her mouth (which the surgeon basically said wasn't a fistula after all but rather something else... whatever) did end up healing on its own, for which we give great thanks and praise to our Lord for. Furthermore, her ears and hearing also appear to be in good shape. So for now, Willow really cannot have any foods for the next ten months or so that could sharply puncture her mouth-roof lining since it will take about a year to really firm up. We've also had her checked out with some speech therapists and they all feel she doesn't need or qualify for speech therapy at this stage of her development. We will have to revisit this in about a year.

So, we can enter into the Christmas season having received all of our most desired gifts already. In fact, we need or wish for nothing else. Christmas is complete and now we can just bask in the comfort of knowing that everything's progressing as hoped. We know and understand that these types of outcomes are never promised.

Thank you for your countless prayers for, and continually prompting into, Willow's condition. We know that God does move through the mysterious means of grace in prayer, which causes us to want to pray with great faith all the more.

Gratefully in Jesus,

Tom (& Victoria)

Monsters, Inc.

O.K., so the eyes are a little different, but virtually everything else about these two little girls practically makes them twins, at least in our minds. Boo, from the Hollywood film "Monsters, Inc.", was such an adorable character. She was vivacious, full of life, into all sorts of mischief, spoke a language that was only intelligible to her blue monster guardian, Sully, and just had the cutest mannerisms. Well, that's Willow to the tee, especially when you put her in those stumpy pigtails. In fact, we had a new babysitter over the other night to take care of the girls while we adults (Victoria, Austin, Meagan, Annie, Barret and me) went out to dinner.  The first thing out of the sitter's mouth was, "Wow, she looks just like Boo from Monsters, Inc."

Austin and Meagan left this morning to head back to San Luis Obispo at about 5:30. I got up early and saw them off. Meagan had to get back to work, and Austin had to catch a flight to Denver for an interview with another engineering firm. He's already received two job offers from companies here in California, so he's got some options, which is a real rarity these days. We're all very grateful that God's poured out such remarkable doses of grace as a fruit of his labor.  Theses things are never guaranteed.

Annie's now home too, so for the first time since Thanksgiving, which I suppose really wasn't that long ago, we had all of our chicks in the nest over the weekend. We'll get to experience that again on December 23rd when Austin comes back, only we unfortunately won't have Meagan with us.

Well, speaking of monsters, our little Boo is struggling to fall asleep these days, and I can even hear her now making a bit of a ruckus in the back room (it's about 10:00 p.m). I'm going to run back and try to calm the storm. 

[Pray for Barret; he has finals all week - he's such a hard working student.  We're proud of him.]

Warmly in Christ,

Tom (& Victoria)

Treasures & Time

Not long ago I heard a sermon drawn from my favorite book of the Bible, the Psalms. I love the Psalms because they're chalked full of joy and sorrow, triumph and defeat, life and death, and worship and idolatry; the reality of living that defines my life, and the life of most I'm sure. There's uncharted solace with my God when I consider that where I've been He once trodden, what I've done He forsake, who I've been He foreknew, when I've sinned He forgave, and how I've wandered He secured.

From Chapter 90 was the Psalm preached, and it reminded me of a poem that I wrote five years ago while contemplating these very things; the brevity of life, the treasures I hold dear, the time I've wasted, and the future untold.

Treasures & Time

The grass withers and the flower fades,
And the sands of time sift away.
In the flickering of light and twinkling array,
So is life and the passing of day.

I question my time and where I invest,
And in where and what doth my treasure lie?
The toil of labor shall soon be nigh,
And the memory thereof a very distant sigh.

Few shall recall where I spent myself,
The money I made and the places I trade.
No one shall know in the midst of their aid,
The thoughts, the heart, the passion forbade.

Will the circle of monotony cease,
To rule myself and the cycle of day?
The sound of echoes to change my way,
I veer a course toward worthless decay.

The struggle within is known too well,
The same ole battles and victory seem still.
The will to win and alter my fill,
Comes only from Him as the source to kill.

I ask Thee to help me number my days,
That I might be wise, with foolishness gone,
Counting my hours till I sleep like a fawn,
Content till morning when I wake in the dawn.

I cannot regain that which has past.
Thus I buffet myself in this moment of time,
To think on my Love and serve Him sublime,
Before I am dust and summit the climb.

- T.M.K.

Treasuring and toiling the time,

Tom

Sleeping Like A Baby

Last week I returned home from a long, hard day at work which began in the early morning hours, capped off by a late evening of gathering together with some folks at the church. After greeting Victoria and Barret in the family room, I started my usual walk down the hallway toward our bedroom and could hear the faint sound of some slow, soothing harp music coming from Poppy's bedroom. The lyric free song was a tune I immediately recognized as "God Is So Good". Victoria bought this CD for the girls to listen to as night time "settling" music that would also serve to embed them with some familiar tunes that may carry them through life. As I came closer to Poppy's room I could see that the door was cracked with a soft light lit, so I slowly and quietly pushed it open to see if she was asleep. My eyes were struck by the unbelievably relaxing pose she and our little cat, Penelope, struck on the lower bunk. There was something about that moment; the lighting, music, feline comfort, peaceful child, warmth, etc. that impregnated me with pause while all my stress and tension vaporized into obscurity. I tiptoed toward Poppy, leaned over, kissed her forehead and knelt in thankful prayer for this perfect and providential point in time. I then gently walked out of the room to grab my camera and digitally capture it forever.

Times like this secure my confidence in God's appointment for Victoria and me. How could we ever desire anything else?  Yes, God is so good.

Sleeping like a baby tonight,

Tom

Looking Back with Confidence for Tomorrow

A little over twenty- three years ago I held a fresh, new born baby in the palms of my hands and shed tears of joy while sitting next to my lovely wife after she gave birth to our first child. At the time I had no idea how to be a father, nor hardly what it meant. I knew, however, that I had just stepped into a realm of life that would profoundly change me forever. Frightened, excited, worried, and jubilant were all emotions that seemed to dash across my heart, sometimes all at once. I remember feeling almost identically the same when I asked Victoria to marry me on a chilly, dark December night (almost 27 years ago to be precise) holding a fresh, red rose with a diamond ring slipped through the stem, looking out over the Emerald City's (Seattle) skyline from Highland Park. I had no idea what I was getting us into, but knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was meant to be and have never questioned it since.

There's no possible way to completely prepare yourself for these vectors in life. God has just wired us, almost instinctively, to fluidly step into them, by faith, trusting that with His grace we'll move through them doing the very best we can. As I look over my shoulder and peer into history I see so many ignorant mistakes I made raising my children and trying to be a good husband to my wife. In the midst of all of them, I remain dumbfounded that my lovely children and beautiful wife are who they are.

Now, in the same way, I trust my Father to shepherd my first child, Austin, and his bride-to-be, Meagan, through this pilgrim's road trusting He'll provide just enough grace to them to care for one another and honor Him to the best of their God-given ability. The same ecstasy of emotions I had when Austin was born and when I committed myself to Victoria are now racing across my heart once again, only this time knowing that I cannot possibly be alone. These moments come so rarely into our lives, and it comforts me to know that the same God protecting Victoria and me is the same God who will protect Austin and Meagan, and the same God who continues to protect Annie, Barret, Poppy and Willow. Looking back gives me great hope for tomorrow. Austin and Meagan know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were meant to be, and my prayer is that they'll also be able to look back with hope for tomorrow, recognizing that it was the God of all comfort that guided their steps through their paths of life.

These are joyous occasions. I wish they could last forever. Someday they will.

Jubilant in Jesus,

Tom (& Victoria)

Precious Proposal

It was a crystal clear evening with stars in full array amidst the frigid, pure air at about 6:30 when we arrived at the Box "R" Ranch with our good friends, the Denny's. After unpacking our belongings and settling in we sat around a roaring fire in our log cabin, looked at each another and just sort of sighed an "augh" of contentment under our breath. All of us were pretty pooped after a full day of travel, so we laid our heads on our pillows long before Austin, Annie, Meagan and Luke arrived from Southern California. Victoria was finally able to peacefully rest once all of her chicks were in the nest after Annie came into our room and gave us a sweet greeting around 2:30 a.m. Our nieces, Meghan and Caitlin were scheduled to arrive on Thanksgiving morning.

The next day we awoke to an incredible sunrise, stunning view of the natural meadow to the west, and a cool cabin in much need of another fire in the fireplace. This was pretty much how we started each day during our holiday break; each day except Thanksgiving Day. The evening before we began our traditional 18 hour process of smoking a turkey that requires a constant vigil of stoking coals and hickory chips into the smoker to maintain low, but stable heat and curing. Only the men are required to watch 90 minute shifts, sometimes in the wee hours of the morning, allowing the women to sleep knowing that the bulk of cooking other tasty delicacies requires enormous stamina throughout the day. We've been doing this for about seven years now and have yet to overcook a bird or be disappointed with its flavor and moistness. This year was no different.

However, something

was quite different about this Thanksgiving morning because under the crosses on the other side of Inspiration Point (one of my favorite places on earth) our eldest son, Austin, contemplated Jesus' sacrifice for us and His marriage to His bride, the church, by also kneeling and proposing marriage to his bride-to-be, the love of his life, Meagan Kirkpatrick. Joyfully and tearfully they embraced and became fiance and fiancee. Austin slipped a ring on her finger, all caught on photography by his sister, Annie, who was strategically located at a distance in the cleft of a rock overlooking the crosses. When they arrived back at the cabin we all celebrated with a little Martinelli's, a toast and some hugs and kisses. Clearly one of the happiest days of either one of their lives, and also one of ours.

And so, this Kruggel family continues to grow and expand, this time not by adoption, but nonetheless by grace.

Our best Thanksgiving ever,

Tom (& Victoria)

Turkey Time!

Tomorrow we load up as much stuff as we can into our Honda Pilot and our Thule roof-rack compartment, including the two little munchkins and Barret (in the car and not the roof-rack, of course), and journey north to Oregon for our traditional Thanksgiving gathering at the Box "R" Ranch. We'll caravan with our good friends from church, the Denny's (some of the nicest people God's created, all six of them). We should get up there at about 6:00 or 7:00 p.m., if all goes well. Austin (and Austin's Meagan) and Annie will hook up with us, together with our good friend-from-Seattle's son, Luke Larson (now studying at BIOLA), sometime around around 2:00 a.m. or so. (Poor souls, they have about a 10 to 11 hour drive compared to our 6 hour one.) My sweet nieces from Portland, Oregon (Caitlin & Meghan Tholen - Victoria's side of the family) will arrive on Thanksgiving morning.

The Box "R" Ranch comes complete with virtual isolation from any civilization as we commonly know it; 1,500 acres of virgin and pristine land covered with loge pines set against the backdrop of the Siskiyou Mountains and the snow capped Shasta peak, a couple of log cabins (constructed from timber felled on the Ranch) with river rock fireplaces, cattle (some of whom we branded last year), draw horses, goats, chickens (who's eggs we eat for breakfast after robbing their coups the day before), dozens of wild cats and kittens (where our own little Carmel came from), and some of the most hallowed ground I've encountered. It's here where I contemplate the Lord like no other place on earth. My favorite spot is across a craggy gorge carved by a shallow stream where I can view three crosses reminiscent of Calvary; the rolling eastern hills serve as their backdrop. And it's there that I usually meditate and ruminate on Psalm 19, and consider that the heavens declare the majesty of the Lord. If I've ever come close to actually hearing from God, this is where it happens.

Most importantly, these remarkably tender moments with family and friends build layer upon layer of solid memories, traditions and intimacy that simply cannot be duplicated most anywhere else. This is the kind of experience that stays with you for a whole year until you do it again, and on the way out of the driveway from the Ranch everyone asking, begging, and even demanding that we simply have to come back next year. Lord willing, we will.

Thankfully Thankful,

Tom (& Victoria)

"My Head Can't Stop Thinking About Mommy."

"Dad, my head can't stop thinking about Mommy." This is what Poppy said to me this morning as I held her in my arms with her head tucked into my shoulder, peering out the window behind me. I rarely get these opportunities, so it's a real treat, although I'm not so sure the girls feel the same way. There's just something about a mom, especially Victoria as far as I'm concerned, that a dad like me simply cannot adequately suffice. So what is that she does that seems to endear them to her with a bond that's so inseparable? Is it the way that she combs their hair and perfectly places those bows in just the right spot? Is it the way she holds them tenderly close and snuggles them so dearly in the morning? Is it the way that she prepares such tasty home-cooked foods at every meal and occasion? Is it the way she picks the perfect outfits for each and every day, sometimes matching between the two of them, but always color coordinated and stylish? Is it the way she sings to them at night with a soft lullaby that's comforting and soothing? Or is it just the way that her presence provides a sense of calm, peace and security? I suppose it's all of these things and more, but maybe it's much less what she does and more just who she is. When I first met Victoria almost 30 years ago, I knew I had met the sweetest person in the world. Up until that time, no one could rival my mom. So, I suspect that the same spirit that attracted me to Victoria, and also provided me comfort from my mother, is the same spirit that connects these girls to their mom. And a spirit of that kind simply cannot be fabricated in me, no matter how hard I try.

This evening when I was getting the girls to bed after giving them their tubby, I noticed Poppy putting Victoria's shoes away that were lying on our bedroom floor. I asked her why she was doing that and she said, "Because I don't want to look at those shoes. They remind me too much of Mommy and I miss her." Anticipating that's what she might say, I said, "I'm glad you put them away Poppy, because I can't stop thinking about her either."

Can't stop thinking about Victoria,

Tom

P.S. - Willow captured sight of another crescent moom today.  What a thrill!

"Moom, Moom!"

One of the first English words that Willow learned was "Momma". But that's not really fair because it's virtually the same pronunciation in Chinese. So the next English word she learned was "DaDa" (in China it's "BaBa"), but Willow always said (and still does say) "GaGa", or sometimes "GwaGwa". Not too long after that she started to pick up lots of other words, but her speech annunciation has always been a bit challenged to state the least. While she really seems to enjoy picking up new words, there are few that rival the enthusiasm and excitement around the word "moon". 

One evening at dusk while I was returning from a walk with Willow the moon was rising in the East; full, brilliant and radiant. I pointed to it and said to Willow, "Moon". She responded softly, almost in a whisper, "Moom". I said, "No Willow, it's 'moonnnn'". She replied, "Moom". I decided that was close enough, so I said to her, "Good, Willow". Each subsequent time she saw the moon thereafter her volume level, while also pointing to it with her dark skinned and slightly curved finger, seemed to increase by at least one decibel. Now, whenever she sees the moon, whether in the day, at night, or even in one of her favorite books, "Goodnight Moon", she forcefully yells, "Moom, Moom!"

Can't wait for the next moom,

Tom