TWO STARS, MY STARS

Two stars in the sky

For the past two weeks I have been reading Julie's journal, looking at pictures, walking to places we both used to go. I have been in Timothy’s room trying to capture what he was doing the week before the accident. And I have felt an increasing desire to drive to the accident site on the same date and time that the accident took place.

So last night I set the alarm to 3:30 am. Fixed hot tea, just as Julie would have done. Packed a bag with some of the things we would have taken that day, started the truck, said a short prayer, and set off at 3:50 am, just as we did a year ago. I drove the same road out of town. Twenty minutes later I stopped to get gas, at the same gas station as we did that morning. I was trying to time my arrival at the site of the accident for 5:00 am.

"Why am I doing this?" I asked myself during the trip. I was not sure, but I felt I had to go. Then I prayed, "God, help me to remember words, things we might have said to each other, anything that I might have missed." I also prayed for God's presence in this trip and for him to help me find some kind of closure at a place that, for the past year, has symbolized death, terror, pain, and suffering.

I imagined those last moments driving, talking about our plans for that day. I remember Julie saying, "Soon we will be heading for the States on furlough; only six more weeks away." Timothy and Anahi were sleeping in the back. She also said, "I hope we get all of Anahi's documents ready for the trip." Trips were always bonding times for us. We enjoyed sharing our hearts and dreams with each other.

I got to the scene at 4:55 am, found a safe place to park the truck, turned off the engine and the lights, and just stood there in the complete darkness. Only a few trucks and cars were passing at that lonely hour.

At 5:00 am, the site of the accident is pitch dark. The nearest settlement is about 5 miles away. There are a few lonely homes in the area, but no lights. I realized again how darkness and fog contributed to the accident that morning. In my mind I saw again the truck that caused the accident. Sitting still in utter darkness, its tail end was taking up half of my driving lane, and a few seconds before impact an oncoming vehicle blinded me with its high beams. So that morning, by the time we saw the stopped truck, we were basically impacting. The truck's position was confirmed by two witnesses that, minutes before, had avoided the same stopped truck on the highway, but without an oncoming vehicle in the other lane.

Today, in the midst of this darkness, I looked up and realized how bright the stars were. I could see so many stars that you cannot see when you're in the city. At about 5:05 am I looked to the southern sky, and two bright stars, very close together, stood out to me. They seemed to be blinking. The stars were right behind the spot where our car came to rest after the impact. All of a sudden, with my eyes fixed on the beautiful night sky, I felt God's peace. I also noticed that no cars drove by for almost 10 minutes. It was so quiet and peaceful.

I felt as if God was saying, "Norberto, that morning all you saw was pain, disaster, uncertainty, death; now I want you to look up and see my creation. Look up, dream, let my hand lead you. Julie and Timothy are your stars; they are okay; they have overcome. Look up; I am here." I realized at that moment that the only way to see the beauty of the night sky is when we are standing in complete darkness.

Yes, I am still hurting; yes, it sucks; yes, life will never be the same; yes, it is painful. How God can turn ashes into beauty is beyond me. What I do know and what I was confronted with again this morning at 5 am is my own perspective and what I choose to see. Yes, grieving takes time, and life will never be the same again. It seemed as if God said to me, "Norberto, you have a choice to look up to the night sky and see my beautiful creation and what I have in store for you, or to look to your pain, your disaster, your loss.

My two stars behind the accident scene were still shining at 5:30 am, when most other stars had disappeared. I stood there for a few more minutes and then started driving again, the same route as last year, now to the hospital. I tried to imagine that drive. Timothy was fighting for his life. I was screaming, "Timothy, hang in there, please stay with me, you can do this." My phone was ringing; I was numb to everything around me. Anahi was throwing up. I was living someone else's terror. I wanted to wake up. "Please don’t tell me this is happening to me . . ."

We were rushed into the emergency room. The doctors think that Timothy arrived without life at the hospital. I remember him still breathing during the drive to the hospital. If he did pass away during that drive, it was in my arms.

I drove back home this morning thanking God for allowing me to have a quiet moment at the place where my life was split in two. Why I am still here and even writing this, I am not sure, but as long I have breath in my body, I want to continue looking up to the night sky and seeing the beauty of God's creation. That sky was there a year ago, and it will be there every time I find myself in utter darkness.

Thanks for praying, thanks for loving, and thanks for being the body of Christ.

Norberto and Anahi

One Year Ago this Weekend

I have been going back to my journals and blogs to feel what life was before the accident. Connecting to Julies last sermon has helped me think what she was wrestling with, and some of the discussions we had over dinner conversations. Julie had increasingly began preaching in our local church and other locations when she was invited. During our first years as missionaries, she resisted the idea of public speaking, blaming language and other responsibilities. Her last sermon, about three weeks before the accident was on "The Vine", based on John 15. She spoke with eloquence and determination. She loved grapes and was always in touch with nature. Our plan was to plant grapes in May-June of 2012. We had designated a section on our property for this purpose. People in church still remember Julie's power point illustrations and her way of presenting a profound truth about the Christian walk. Guess what I will do this coming May and June. Yes....you guessed. I am preparing the soil.Julie did not turn down opportunities to serve her Lord. Preaching became one of those avenues she used. Thanks Julie for sharing your heart and reminding me of John 15 and my need to be pruned. Julie, I love you and miss hearing you share in church. NorbHere is part of that blog entry. Thursday, March 29, 2012

We are Grafted In

We are currently preaching a series on the "I Am" statements of Jesus.  This weekend I'll be talking about "I am the True Vine."

John 15 is one of my all-time favorite Bible passages.  I love grapes and I can just visualize a bountiful grape vine just bent over with the weight of huge, luscious grapes.  My mouth is watering for those juicy morsels right now!

What is more difficult to grasp is the idea of pruning the grape branches.  Yet, if you know anything about gardening, you know that in the winter time pruning has to be done in order for an abundant crop come harvest time.  

The most powerful image I think this passage portrays is the concept of a young branch being grafted into its source.  Jesus took lifeless branches and grafted us in as His children so we could produce fruit in abundance.  We have absolutely no life outside of Him and can do nothing when we're separated from Him.  I believe remaining in Christ means being tied so tightly to Him, that no storm, no wild animal, nothing can pull me loose from what sustains me.  His DNA is in me and I should bear the kind of fruit that He desires from me.    

So, the question bears asking first to myself and then to church, "Are we connected to the TRUE vine (vs. the ones that don't give life)? and if so, what kind of pruning needs to happen so we will bear an abundance of fruit?

The Blessing and gift of journals

I can’t say enough how Julie's words in her journals have blessed me. Over the 12 years of our marriage, we occasionally read to each other entries from our journals. But only occasionally. Why read each other’s journals when we had each other in person?

In person, we could talk and share insights, struggles, and dreams. We met every morning for Paraguayan tea time. It was a ritual, a sacred date that we considered one of our daily highlights. Missing the 6am tea time was almost a transgression of a family tradition.

Today during my early tea time, I opened a journal from six years ago. Julie was sharing her struggles as a mother, wife, and daughter of the king.

A few months after Timmy’s birth, she wrote: "It’s my first Mother’s day ever. Thank you God for the privilege of being a mom. What a life change I have had in the last six months. Timmy has consumed so much of my time and energy but it is all worth it. Timmy is sitting up unassisted and soon, will be crawling. It is amazing to see his growth. Praise God for a healthy child." (May 14, 2006)

Four days later, she wrote: "We are putting up our fence on our new lot. It is so exciting. Thank you God that we are able to buy a lot and plant trees. On mother’s day we planted a Lapacho and a chivato. Timmy is more full of life each day. He is flexible, fairly easy going and not a cry baby." (May 18, 2006)

Just planted grass and Lapacho national tree

Entries in 2006 reflected the life of our little son and ideas about our future home. It was a stage when we had just purchased a property and were thinking and dreaming about home ownership. We planted grass and trees before anything was ever built. We began saving and looking for ways to finance our home. We had been married six years, four of those in Paraguay. We were excited about the future. God had given us a sweet little baby. Life was busy, dynamic, exciting.

The first bloom of our pata de buey tree, only three months after  Julie planted it

The next six years were incredible. We were able to see Timothy grow and go to preschool and first grade. We were able to move into the home that we'd both dreamed of. We got to host people from at least seven different countries. We got to see Timothy play in his own, blue-walled room. In a sense, God gave us the gift of seeing things happen and dreams come true.

Just reading these entries brought back a ton of wonderful memories. Thank you for the gift of good memories. Thank you that dreams do come true.

As I process my grief, deep inside I know that God will restore and that I will see a few more dreams come true. I am continuing to journal, even if my journal never sees the light of the day. It’s a blessing that I get to enjoy.

Norberto and Anahi

10 months of grieving and healing

All to You, I give it all to You. I lay my life before You. Lord, I surrender all. All that I have been through, I give it to You now. And though I have some questions, things I'll never understand, I come into Your presence, and I place them in Your hands. I know that You are faithful. Your mercy will sustain me, and Your grace will see me through. I cast my cares upon You, and I come to You in faith. (From the album, Thank You Lord, by Don Moen)

Ten months ago, my life changed forever. I still wish so badly that I could go back to my former life, connected to Julie and Timothy. I struggle, I wrestle, but at the same time I am aware that I have to embrace and accept the new life God is giving me. It’s so easy to think that we are in control, and that life as we know it will last forever. Nobody lives expecting tragedy. We avoid it. But there is an appointed time. This alone should give us purpose and direction.

I want to make mine the words of Don Moen. Julie enjoyed listening to him, and I clearly remember how, often on Sunday mornings, Julie would play his CD and look up to heaven, singing along. Occasionally she would lift up her hands and worship. I would catch her singing, "I surrender all."

An average day in Paraguay, Jan 2009

Perhaps I never truly understood how much Julie surrendered. She surrendered living in her birth country after her call into missions. After every furlough back in the States, she would say goodbye to her mother and father, not knowing what the future held. She gave up pursuing a successful career and all the benefits that may have come along with that. With her business degree and her almost straight-A school record, she surely would have landed a well-paying job somewhere.

Julie also gave up positions that she held in the first 24 years of her life. Before we got married, she was part of the pioneering team that started SpringHill Camps' InPursuit in Seymour, Indiana. In college she was involved in student government, serving as student body president, the second woman (got to double check this fact) to hold that position at Anderson University. She gave up making good money to embrace a calling that brought her to Paraguay to serve people she had never met.

During a tough day during our first year in Paraguay, Julie said to me, "Norb, I feel like a nobody. People laugh at my broken Spanish; my head hurts." Between tears, smiles, and frustrations, we talked, prayed, and held each other, knowing that we were in the right place but realizing that it wouldn't be easy.

Of course, within a few years, Julie learned to speak great Spanish. She took on responsibilities, locally and internationally. Soon people realized that she cared and was here to stay. Her simple actions and her smiles gained her favor with Paraguayans. She began blogging about her journey in Paraguay. She once had me recording how clothes are washed by hand. That video has been watched thousands of times, 

But giving up things gives room for new things to happen. In Julie's 10 years in Paraguay, she saw the fruits of her labor when:

• Sandra Greve, after being personally mentored and trained by Julie, took her place with Children of Promise, a child-sponsorship program that currently serves almost 100 children in Paraguay and Argentina.

• The Radio Alternativa Christian radio station, which Julie had administered, became self-supportive and she was able to hand it off to capable hands.
• Timothy gave his heart to the Lord at age 5 while we drove back from Asuncion.

• We moved into our own home in 2009, made possible because saving and living within our means was so dear to Julie.

• Esther Anahi came into our home after two years of waiting and paperwork. One more orphan has a loving home.

During a family trip Feb 2012

• Women in the neighborhood would come to Julie to ask for prayer and have long conversations. Today young women that she mentored hold leadership positions.
• We inaugurated the ICCI, the Christian Bible school, and 5 full-time and 20 part-time students began their training to become Christian leaders.
• She helped give away 50 motorcycles to indigenous pastors.

I wish that Julie could see the people in the church today who are making commitments and stepping into ministry, remembering Julie and wanting to imitate her example.

Today, 10 months after the accident, I admit that healing is taking place. The pain has subsided, and I am beginning to hope, to create new habits. I am enjoying my little Anahi, who still prays for her mommy and, with no prompting, looks up to heaven when she says the word "Mommy." I am thankful for my sister, Nila, who has been by my side since the accident. I thank God for each of you who has said something, sent a note, or prayed for us. You are one reason that I am standing today.

One side of me wants to go back to my former life with Julie and Timothy and recover what I have lost. Another side of me wants to live again and hope and dream, aware that I have been given another chance to live and wanting to make the most of it. I am learning that there is a tension that exists and that will probably remain with me as I journey on.

Anahi needs me, and there is still a ton to be done. Don Moen sings, "Lord, I give my whole heart, mi corazón." I want that. "My soul sings, my spirit shouts with every breath of crying out." I pray that I can be faithful to the end and that God can turn these ashes into beauty.

On the journey,

Norberto and Anahi

Weeping and Rejoicing on the Journey

Encouraged by today's daily devotional

We are all on a journey that leads us to live beyond this world. We have all faced or will face affliction as we live out the life God has entrusted us. Rejoicing is definitely my favorite part of the journey. Weeping is usually the hard side, the one we would like to avoid.

This morning I read these thoughts in, Streams in the Desert, daily devotional. There is a limit to our affliction. God sends it and then removes it. . . After a long ordeal, the threshing tool is on its hook, and the wheat has been gathered into the barn. Before much time has passed, we may be just as happy as we are sorrowful now (Feb 16th, page 77).

This is very promising and should be an encouragement  but not always easy to practice. When live gets tough, it seems that it will always be that way, and thinking beyond the momentary pain is definitely an act of surrender and commitment to a larger plan, under the leadership of someone so much bigger than "us" little creatures.

I have tried to come to God daily. I believe we all grow and embrace certain biblical principles slower-quicker than others. Giving up control has probably been the greatest challenge to my faith. We seem to have life all nicely planned, until something beyond yourself, beyond our abilities to change, redo or avoid happens. Death is so final and so foreign when you never have experienced it close by. I have a new respect for life and the time we are given each day.

God continues to be the Alpha and the Omega, even though we think we will determine the Omega with our reason, abilities or sense self righteousness or by what we do. God is still in control and has plans far greater than our best goals for this year. I admit, I am not there yet, its a long road, but I want to live out this kind of faith.

I thank each one of you again and again for praying and loving from the distance. I also want to continue holding on to this truth, that Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning (Ps 30:5)

On the journey of life
Norberto and Anahi Kurrle

Parenting 101: Timothy's first year

My beloved son, Timothy:

From the time you were very small, I called you different nicknames: Choclo, Campeón, Héroe, Ganador, Chupi, Boppi, Biscocho, Flecha, Luchador, Corredor, Botón, and more. Campeón (Champion) was one of my favorites because you had already overcome a number of hurdles. Although the odds of pregnancy were not in our favor, you came anyway after your mommy underwent surgery for endometriosis. Then, at birth, your umbilical cord was wrapped around your neck three times. I was so, so glad when you actually arrived, healthy and beautiful.

With your birth behind us, we were a family of three. Your first summer welcomed you with 35 days of 100-plus-degree temperatures. We had just purchased a new air conditioner for your room, and we would wake up at night to make sure that you were okay. Fortunately, the nature of our work allowed for one of us to be with you at all times. This helped your mommy to make sure that you got breast milk for as long and as much as possible. And although she took the longer shifts at home, I enjoyed taking you on spins in my car to pay bills or meet with radio clients. You were easygoing; as long as I was moving, you were okay. Your mommy and I had zero experience, only theories, on how to raise children. But we soon learned the difference between a hungry cry, a poopy-diaper cry, and an I-want-attention cry. I enjoyed watching you and learning from you.

 

I remember when you were only about 20 inches long. You could lay on one of my arms while I held your head with my hand. You would smile and look up as I tried to water the lawn. Those moments were priceless. Only heaven can testify to the majesty of these ordinary yet life-giving moments. Recently at church I was asked to pray at the baby dedication of a little boy. I did not expect what happened next. I broke down and was speechless for a while. Holding this baby brought back so many memories from seven years ago, when I held you in my arms and enjoyed your presence.

Somewhere around 5 months old, you began to kick a little soccer ball that I had hung on top of your crib. As soon as I would shout gooool for special high kicks, you would respond with another great kick. You were healthy and strong. Your arms and legs developed well. Unlike other kids, however, you did not enjoy crawling. You just wanted to be held or to stand on your own. So every day after lunch, you and I would go out in the yard to do some walking. You held on to both my hands at first, and then just one. I remember one particular walk that first autumn. The leaves were falling, and you enjoyed stepping on them and hearing them crunch. Mommy had to call a few times to convince us to come in because we were having such a great time outside.

You began walking on your own at 11 months. I had spent hours trying to strengthen your legs. Perhaps I rushed you a little, but I wanted so badly to see you walk and grow.  I was often told, "They grow up quickly; enjoy them." I made it a point to enjoy you.

Just shy of turning one, you had your first small surgery. We had to have one of your eye ducts unblocked. You had to be put to sleep for a moment. Around that time, we also took our second furlough back to the States. We wondered how you would do on the airplane and with the crazy schedule we had ahead of us during the following two months. As we drove our car, I remember stopping every two hours or so to stretch your legs and to comfort you. I remember changing your diaper as you stood firm on the steering wheel.

Watching the mountains and the sunsets with you and Mommy was perfect and a bonding time for all of us. On that trip we made it to the Grand Canyon, which we toured while you hung out in the backpack. We wanted to share with you our love for the outdoors, and for you to see as much of this world as possible. According to the Bible, Heaven is beyond imagination, so I can only think that you are seeing the beauty of what’s not yet available to me. I am sure that angels are showing you around. You and Mommy have made it.

Timothy, I know you can’t read this blog, but I enjoy sharing your stories with our friends in so many places. Here are some notable entries we made in our family journal during your first year. On February 12, you said "mommy." On March 16, we wrote, “Baby officially sucks his thumb.” On March 26, you rolled over by yourself for the first time. In April, you traveled with us to an adventure race, and you got your first sand flea, which I had to get out while you were sleeping. On July 6, we noticed you breaking your first tooth. Our journal also records that July 10 was a difficult day. That day, you welcomed me at the door and gave me a big hug, as if knowing that I needed it. I thanked God for that. Timi, you made me feel at home. That sweet reunion will happen again.

Until then, I will treasure the memory of celebrating birthday number one:

To be continued . . . Timothy's second year.

Waiting for Timothy: March 2005 to November 2005

My beloved son, Timothy:

Long before you came along, your mother and I wanted children. We believed in the promises of God and considered it an honor to be parents, if that was God’s plan for us. You were to be our firstborn, after a long wait.

Once we found out that you were on the way, those first nine months seemed to pass so slowly. We talked to you, played music, and sang to you with the knowledge that you were developing. Julie tried to eat the right stuff, sleep, read, and tell me all about what she was learning. We had lively discussions on parenting styles.

On August 31, our doctor said that we were expecting a boy. We were eager to meet you. Just over a month later, on October 1, we purchased a lot in town, where we wanted to one day, God willing, build our home.

On the evening of October 14, we went to hear the UniNorte symphony orchestra. I remember that Julie smiled as you kicked her when the drums were played. It was as if you were saying, "Let me help the orchestra. I am alive and already understand music." We had dinner after the symphony to celebrate your impending arrival and our last month without kids.

Our journal entry of November 12 says that we spent the afternoon hanging curtains and decorating your little room. Your crib was ready, and you were due within the week. We wanted so badly for you to be born. During that last month, relatives would call and wonder, "Is Timothy here? Don’t keep us in suspense." Several ultrasounds showed that you were a healthy, developing boy. We prayed for your health, for your future, for wisdom to raise you, and for you to prosper in all areas of life.

On November 22, we checked into the hospital at 4pm and got our room reserved. Since Julie and I both had birthdays on the 22nd, I wanted you to be born on that day, too; that way, it would be simple for me to remember your birthday. But you had your own identity and timing, and God had a specific plan for you. The next day, at 5:15am, Julie gave me the word: "My water broke." A long day began. Julie did awesome, and you arrived via natural birth at 3:15pm on November 23, 2005.

I was allowed into the delivery room to witness your birth and will never forget those tense, painful, yet life-giving moments when you opened your eyes, busted out your first sound, and began your life outside of the womb. My life had been changed: I was the proud father of a healthy boy. My journey on this earth with you, Timothy, had officially begun, and the future was ahead of us.

On the 25th, about 48 hours after your birth, we brought you home. Julie was so strong. Her pain turned into dancing. It will be like a woman suffering the pains of labor. When her child is born, her anguish gives way to joy because she has brought a new baby into the world. Our anticipation was now a reality.

To be continued . . . Timothy’s life, birth to age 1.

ANAHI TURNED TWO-DOS

Anahi’s Second Birthday

Anahi turned two on September 21. To celebrate, my sister Nila helped me organize a little party at our house. Anahi and I had a great time with all of our friends. We had a cake, finger food, candy, and a piñata. The kids also got to play for a while in the Globo Loco (bouncy house), and my sisters put on a puppet show.

After a time of singing with the kids, I tried to share a few words, but I soon realized that I can’t say too much without breaking down. Anahi is my connection to Julie and Timi. Since I lost them, she has become my sunshine and a ray of hope in my life. But even as she has given me a reason to keep going forward, when I start to reflect I can't help but think about what she meant to my two loves.

I know that Julie would have written so much more about Anahi by now. About how she likes to entertain and interact, and about how easily she smiles when someone asks her to pose for a picture. About how she loves her clothing and dressing up and staying clean. And maybe even about how, when someone asks her how old she is, she answers, "dos."

Despite only being two years old, Anahi has already gone through so much. She lost her parents at birth, and then she and I lost Julie and Timi. In the year that Anahi and I have been together, we have become each other's hope and inspiration. I know that in a few years Anahi will become aware of what happened to her so early in her life, and I pray that she can overcome it to experience the fullness of life. As I write this, I look forward not just to her next birthday, but also to the life that God has prepared for her.

Anahi, if one day you read this blog, listen to this: You are God's child, entrusted to me at an early age, a gift to me and many others. You are an inspiration, beautiful inside and out. I love you, and I want to see you grow strong and grow in all areas. You are a woman of great purpose. When you came to us, Julie named you Esther, believing that you were born for such a time as this. As I end this third blog entry since the accident, I want your friends and your Mami to know how blessed I am to have you in my life, for such at time as this.

Happy Birthday 

With love,

Your daddy, Norb

Its our 12th Aniversary today 2000-2012

Happy 12th Anniversary, Jewls

I still remember it like it was yesterday, that hot August 12th in 2000, when you walked with your mom and dad down the stairs of the open auditorium of In Pursuit Camps in Seymour, Indiana. It was the day we said "yes" to a lifetime together. Your face, your dress, your eyes said everything. You were radiant, pure, beautiful, gentle, and ready to begin the journey of a lifetime.

That day was the culmination of more than three years of dating after meeting in college. It was a big step that we did not take lightly. We knew that the journey of two lives becoming one, bridging two cultures, and merging two languages would have its challenges. You wrestled for a while, and so did I. For a time, you played hard to get, and I think I even got you back once—just for a moment. Above all, we both wanted to follow God's path for us and not be an obstacle in each other’s life.

In time, God answered our prayers and confirmed our "yes" to each other. We discovered that neither of us could be without the other, even if we tried. I could not get away from you and be happy. We'd both gone to Anderson University for a degree, but we ended up with much more than that: We found each other.

You loved the outdoors, so we decided to keep things simple with a wedding under the morning sun. Our family was there. Friends came to support us. Our friend Mark and my dad led the ceremony. Our groomsmen and bridesmaids were dressed for the occasion. And you and I both sweated so much that I am still trying to cool off. I still feel sorry for everybody sitting in the sun and getting sunburned by the end of the ceremony.

We washed each other’s feet during our wedding ceremony to symbolize the way we desired to live out our commitment to each other and to our calling. You had service on your mind. Marriage was about serving God and each other. It was not so much about what you or I could get out of it, but about how we could help each other to become the woman and man that God intended.

After the ceremony, the staff and friends at the camp surprised us with a hot-air balloon ride, which almost took us to Kentucky because the pilot did not have a place to land. I was ready to jump out of the balloon. We landed in a farmer’s backyard, and everyone cheered. It was quite the surprise for people watching TV in their house to suddenly see this massive balloon landing outside.

We had embarked on the journey of a lifetime, and August 12th became one of our favorite days of the year. You loved to be surprised with either a special outing or just something custom planned. But regardless of whether we celebrated our anniversary in a simple or extravagant fashion, you embraced my way of expressing my love for you because you loved me, unconditionally.

Over the years, God was good to us. We dreamed of growing old together and sitting under the oak that we planted in our front yard when my grandmother Emilie turned 100. This tree became a solid reminder to us of our commitment to each other and to God.

Of course, we had our bumps in the road. There were days when you probably wanted to send me out for a jog. Indeed, when we needed some space from each other, jogging or biking seemed to be a great outlet for some stress or just a good opportunity to think about how to resolve our differences. Our struggles brought us closer to each other. We desired to grow as a couple through anything that came our way. Seeing families destroyed by so many of today's issues, we fought very hard to avoid going down the same path.

We wanted anything that came our way to be a stepping stone to a stronger marriage. Whether times were easy or hard, I appreciated so many things about you, Julie:

1.      You were intentional about our relationship. Thank you.

2.      You were proactive about learning to do new things, such as speak Spanish or cook. Thank you.

3.      You worked on being a good hostess, so important in Latin America, even though that was not one of your gifts, as you often shared. Thank you.

4.      You were constantly learning. It made for some very fun conversations around the table. Thank you.

5.      You cared for Timi and Anahi. You wanted our children to grow up with a mommy and a daddy as their first influence. Thank you.

6.      You focused on me. You knew my likes and dislikes. You found running shoes on sale, shirts, and racing equipment. You loved giving gifts. You came alongside me and made sure that I was okay. Thank you.

7.      You never forgot family birthdays or special occasions. You pushed for family celebrations. Thank you.

8.      You loved sitting and spending time with me and asking me how my day went. I miss that so much. Thank you.

I am in Orlando today, Julie, celebrating the life that God gave us together with the family here. On the drive down, I had the chance to spend time in the beautiful mountains of Tennessee. You would have loved it. Each day I was there, I could just hear you saying, "Norb, look at that unique bird," or, "See that funny-shaped flower?" I could hear you saying, "Norb, this is life." We saw so many beautiful places together. I would have loved to continue seeing and climbing more mountains with you.

I will miss you today, Julie. I will miss your spontaneous laughter as you looked forward to a special event. I will miss you looking into my eyes and saying, "Norb, I love you." And I will miss telling you how much I love you and how much I love being married to you.

Happy 12th anniversary, Julie. I will never forget you.

Te amo,

Norberto