Our Newsletter #1 : to my supporters

Timothy's room

Timothy's room

Timothy loved to create, and he would often kneel by his bed to work on Lego projects. His mind was inquisitive and, while playing, he learned to troubleshoot. I loved that about my son.

The week of the accident, Timothy had dumped his Legos onto one of his two beds. The last morning we left the house together, that's where his Lego collection was. His bike was parked in one corner of the room. His airplanes were sitting out. One of his favorite soldiers was lying next to the bed, which had automobile-design sheets on it.

For the first seven months after the accident, I kept this room locked. I did not have the courage to step inside, and I did not want anybody else to go in, either. I needed time to allow myself to accept the fact that he was not with me. Holding on to how he left the things in his room seemed to give me the peace of something familiar, to which I could go back when I felt ready. I needed to see the room just how Timothy left it. For my last image of the room to be of a boy picking his nose and playing with his Legos. Somehow I thought that, by not going in, perhaps I would wake up one day with Timothy still by my side, just walking out of his room, and life would be normal again. It’s the one place in the house I did not want to touch or change.

In November 2012, on the day of Timothy's birthday, I collected my courage, unlocked the room, and walked in. It was quiet, as if it had been waiting for me. I sat on the bed, looked around, and wept. I was alone in the house, so I just let my tears flow. I spent the next months doing my morning quiet time here, in Timothy's room. It gave me a chance to think, pray, and accept and grieve the absence of my boy.

As I write this morning, the sun's rays are coming into the room, which faces east. The sunrise breathes hope and newness. I cry often in this room where my firstborn played and slept for almost seven years, but I know that Anahi represents the new life that God is allowing me to live.

Last month, Anahi turned three, and I am feeling that it's probably time to move Timothy's stuff out of his room and pass the room on to her. I think I will change the wall from blue to pink—although I might leave a stripe of blue in honor of Timmy. It's a hard step to take, but I have learned to be okay with tears and allowing my heart to be moved by the love that Timothy and I shared. I remember that I would ask Julie, "Can one love too much?" She would say, "Of course not. There is always room for more love."

Timothy, you were so loved, and you continue to inspire me to love and not give up hope. I am learning that this journey of living in this world requires tremendous love and divine strength. I miss you, and, although the colors of your room will change, your toys will be removed, and your bike will be ridden by other boys, you will continue to be in my heart as I continue living, loving, and walking on this journey.

I promise you this:

• I will continue building with the Legos of life that God will place in my path.
• I will continue being curious, like you helped me to become. I will ask many questions.
• I will continue praying simple yet profound prayers that I know God can hear.
• I will continue picking my nose like you used to do—sometimes in public.
• I will continue believing that each day is a gift, just as you were my gift in my thirties.
• I will continue being spontaneous, eating ice cream and chocolate just because.
• I will continue being a child at heart, when life seems to push me to be to serious.
• I will continue to believe that little boys are gifts from God to their daddies.
• I will continue to watch over your sister, Anahi, and remind her about her older brother.
• I will continue running barefoot and feeling the grass under my feet, not worrying about what others might think.

Thanks for sharing your room with Anahi now. She is growing and becoming a beautiful little girl. She loves to ask questions, just like you did, and is very active. (I mistakenly thought she would give me a break and allow me to sit and rest a little more.)

Timothy, I will keep a few of your Lego projects as reminders of your ingenuity and creativity. And when life gets a bit stale, I will remind myself of you and the way you changed me and pushed me to be a better person.

TWO very hard months

The last two months were hard. Somehow July and part of August brought back a dark sense of despair and hopelessness. I was doing so well, at least I thought. I had passed the one year mark in April.  I was feeling renewed strength and feeling like the worst was over. Suddenly bam bam, I felt the world coming down

I believe that several things contributed to my slipping back into an acute state of grief. One, grieving is cyclical as I have learned. It bytes back when you less expect it. Second, Julies birthday was in July and August would have been our thirteenth anniversary. Third, I was back in the states on a very short trip and happened to visit a few places that Julie and I would have been together on our last trip. Among these places,  is our campus at Anderson University, another was being with relatives and just being on a plane alone with no one to share my journey with, knowing that wherever I landed, Julie would never again meet me at the airport with her smile, saying, I am glad you are back. I missed you so much. I have taken for granted the importance of a loving face at the end of a journey. This time I left alone and came back alone.

I am aware that this is my new life and reality. I am aware I have to begin living in this new chapter, but somehow those two months were incredible hard. I felt some of the same emotions from a year ago. Hopelessness, loneliness, bitterness, upsets nest with life and even with God. I realized I became apathetic and did not care about others. Just ugly, when will this end. Why I am feeling this way after I had come out of that dark hole.

Now I am slowly detached from those strong emotions and its probably the reason I can write and look back. I could not get myself to write one blog entry in August. I was in survival mode. Constantly tired from crying and struggling emotionally, watching Anahi and trying to keep life from chaos.

I feel that I have gained a new understanding on people suffering with depression, painful emotions, and hopelessness. I thank God for all of you who are still praying and have lifted me through these dark moments. Thank you. I realize once again that God has placed us in community so that when one of us is hurting, others can step in and carry our burdens until we can muster the strength to walk again.

I am feeling much better, with new excitement about the spring and the future that God might have for Anahi and myself. Anahis birthday is coming up September 21st, as the trees and flowers in the southern hemisphere blossom.

My second anniversary without Julie

 My second anniversary without Julie

Thirteen years ago last month, on a hot and humid summer morning in Indiana, in the open-air ceremony Julie had wished for, the two of us said, "I DO." For the next 12 years I shared my every day with Julie. But for the last 18 months I have been without her.

While Anahi has given me a reason to get up every day, not having Julie with me has been exceedingly difficult. Julie and I always stuck together, even during the early adjustments of marriage. During our conversations, we would often agree. "Yes," she would say. With Julie, I learned that the depth of conversation develops and the shaping of character occurs only in the long run. How many couples skip out too soon, I wonder, and miss out on what their marriage could have become?

Over the years, I also came to realize that marriage becomes sweeter as it ages—I loved Julie more as the years went by, and agape love began to really make sense. I remember how Julie's smile and her encouraging words meant so much to me. Good tea, apple pies, long conversations holding each other’s hands while looking into each other’s eyes—those were the treats of the wonderful marriage that God allowed us to experience. I am so blessed for having had Julie as my wife.

During the period just before the accident Julie and I agreed that we were experiencing a great season in our marriage. We had come out of a long winter, a winter caused in part by not being able to conceive. After Timothy was born, Julie experienced an ectopic pregnancy as well as surgery for endometriosis, but the arrival of Anahi—born on the first day of spring in the southern hemisphere—helped bring a fresh wind into our marriage. When Anahi joined our family, Julie had a new reason to believe in God's goodness. Julie was constantly smiling and showing off our little girl.

In ministry we had transitioned from directing the radio station to pioneering ICCI, the Bible training school. Seven months before the accident we had accepted an interim pastorate at our local church. We were busy but very excited. "Synergy" was a word we often used as we got up every day to serve each other and to serve the Lord together.

We had both made a commitment to work out any issue that came up. Sunday was usually the day we took the time to talk about anything that might have been left unresolved during the week. It was a day we dedicated to each other, and we made sure that the family was together. That day has been especially hard since Julie passed away.

We tried to make every anniversary special, celebrating each in a different way. In 2000 we shared fondue at the Melting Pot restaurant in Indianapolis. In 2004 we spent our anniversary in the hospital for Julie’s surgery. In 2011 we connected with Anahi for the first time—it seemed like every other celebration paled in comparison to embracing Anahi into our life. We had also begun saving money for our 15th anniversary coming up in 2015. Our hope was to backpack through Europe for two weeks without the kids. We wanted to do something very special to both of us every five years.

I loved being married to Julie, and I continue to believe that marriage is the most fundamental, although the most neglected, institution in the world. Marriage brings out the best and worst in us, but its success really comes down to how much work we want to put into it. Starting by changing oneself will do wonders for any marriage, and service to each other is something both spouses need to learn to do in order to grow a marriage.

Julie, it’s my second year without you. It still does not seem real that you will never again be my side on this side of heaven. We both believed we would grow old together. Some days I think I have the strength to carry on, while others I can’t imagine life without you.

But I also remember that you always encouraged me to overcome and never get stuck in self-pity or complain. So I am taking steps to hope and believe that God still wants me around, and if his plans include the reconstruction of my life with somebody else, I know you would fully approve of me continuing with joy this journey on planet Earth, experiencing the joys of family life that you brought into my life so well. I am encouraged by all of the good memories I have of you; they are a source of inspiration to believe in life and in the love of God.

For now, however, I say goodbye. You continue being loved by two people whom you truly touched in the last 15 years.

Yours always,

Norberto and Anahi 

Clapping at the funeral

Today was hard. I was invited to share at a funeral in town. I was not sure if I could even be there, or even say something without loosing my voice.  People of all ages were crying, struggling, quiet and starring in the distance. Esmelda, a 64 year old mother had a stroke yesterday and went to be with the Lord within a few hours.

As I finished sharing by the grave side of Esmelda, and they had lowered the body, a man came up to me and suggested we clap for her and say goodbye this way. I had never even thought about clapping at a funeral. I asked my friend Hugo if he thought this to be OK. He said, sure, why not.

People clapped for a long time. As they were clapping I thought of Esmeldas arrival and the angels welcoming her with beautiful music saying you have made, you are home. Another image that came to me was from the foot races I have been on. There is nothing like having family waiting for you a the end of your race and people cheering for you.

I also thought of Timothy and Julie, clapping loved ones into heaven. I thought of the day my little boy will clap  when we finally meet. It was a great moment. I challenged the 250 plus people to hope, and live in such a way and to make it to the finish line.

I am challenged daily to move forward and push until I too cross the finish line.

Letter to Julie on her second heaven birthday

Hi Julie

Today  we would party because its your birthday. You always made sure we had fun on family birthdays. You started the tradition of making breakfast in bed for the birthday person in our family. You made sure there was a present and a moment to celebrate.


Today was quiet. I was on the road traveling. Life has changed dramatically since you went to be with Jesus last year in April. Its been actually hard to celebrate. I have been looking at pictures this evening, hoping to savior some of those birthday occasions.

I treasure the wonderful moments I had with you. There were so many. You had party written all over you. You are turning 37 in heaven. You actually have stepped into timelessness. You are no longer aging. I know deep inside my heart that you are more alive now than ever. I am a little jealous.

I send you my love and hugs. My prayer is that today you and Timothy had a moment together with probably angels and a great choir. Your legacy on this earth continues to touch life's. My pain has connected me with others who have lost loved ones.  I continue doing what we have both began.

Sandy, our dog is ok, Anahi is growing beautifully and keeping me very busy. She prays for you. She misses you. I am watering your orchids. The flowers and bushes you planted have bloomed this year. Everything is growing. Thanks for leaving me with the smiles of so many flowers and with the legacy of your love in my life.


Thank you Julie, I love you. Give Timothy a hug for me....Tell him I love him..I miss you both

your husband Norberto

Thomas the Train

Thomas the Train

Opening the Chama Valley Times, a paper from a small town in the mountains of New Mexico, I saw on the first page a picture of Thomas the train. The caption read: “The little blue engine so beloved by children everywhere, once again made a stop in Chama for two weekends.” Immediately my thoughts went to my son Timothy.

One of Timothy’s favorite toys was Thomas the train. He had Thomas trains in all sizes, as well as a series of Thomas videos.  For about a year, Thomas the train was the focus of his playing attention. The pinnacle experience with Thomas the train took place in July 2009 when, during our furlough, we spent a full day with Thomas the train in southern Indiana.

Timothy was four years old at the time. He had been looking forward to this experience. I remember distinctly how Timothy was afraid when he finally met Sir Toppam Hatt in person. We ate, got on Thomas the train, and rode the train as a family, shouting, talking, and making Timothy's dream come true. We laughed and experienced wonderful moments on that hot July day in southern Indiana.

Timothy, I am so glad we got to experience Thomas the train together. I will never forget your excitement. I am sure you are having a great time in heaven, but I treasure the time you and I had with your mommy four years ago.

Family Portraits

Family Portraits

Over the last months I have been enjoying looking at my family pictures. Each has a story and is connected to emotions we experienced as a family. I especially love looking at the last pictures we took as a family between January and April of 2012. Julie and I had been married for almost 12 years, and we were enjoying life as a family of four. Both of our children, Timothy and Anahi, had come as a result of much prayer and years of waiting. Each of them, before even arriving into our home, had a powerful story.

At the time of the accident, Julie was pregnant again. I remember during one of our breakfast conversations not long before the accident, Julie said, "If it’s a girl, let's name her Lilian, and if it’s a boy, let’s call him Caleb." She was due in December 2012. If the pregnancy would have come to a full term, today I would be the proud father of three children and the husband of an incredible woman. I consider myself a family man, and I believe the institution of marriage can be the closest representation to heaven on earth. Only God knows the reason for taking half of my family home . . .

As I have learned to grieve over the past 14 months, I've realized that true healing happens when we deal with our pain. And part of this process is letting go and accepting the loss. At a recent personal retreat I was made aware that the next step is saying goodbye. I began saying some goodbyes on this blog last month, and on July 1 I said another goodbye, this time to my family portrait. Yesterday I clicked "edit" on our Facebook profile picture and selected a more recent picture that represents my new family: a snapshot of a widowed father and his daughter.

Does this mean I want to take my old family portraits off the wall? NO. Does it mean I feel like going on with life without Julie and Timi? NO. I want to continue loving them and cherishing them, and if I could change things, I would bring them back. No one can take away the experiences, the lessons, or the love that we cherished as a family of four. Julie, who loved God first and was willing to serve me just as I was willing to serve her, helped me to become a better man, husband, and father. Timi made me a more grace-giving, more spontaneous, and more self-sacrificing man.

Thank you, Julie and Timi. Even though you are no longer in our family profile picture, you are, indeed, carved in the innermost place of my heart, forever. 

Family traditions - Sundays in Paraguay

Today, as Anahi and I drove towards my sister’s house in Bella Vista before noon, I realized again how many people grill stake for lunch. I saw smoke going up in various back yards. Families come together to grill and share. In most Paraguay's settings, life slows down on Sundays. Groceries stores are closed and people look forward to their Sunday get together. Coming together with friends and family on Sunday, is a tradition Julie and I have embraced since arriving in Paraguay.

There are very few restaurants in the area. Eating out usually means a treat or is saved for special occasions. Some forty thousand people live in the area known as Colonias Unidas. There are probably no more than five decent restaurants in the area, and only three are open on weekends. Eating out is not much of an option.

As I drove to Bella Vista, and spent a few hours with my sister’s family, I realized again, the gift of family.  I am blessed for having my immediate family living within minutes from my place. They have been by my side since the accident, supporting and offering their love. There is a new understanding of love between us. My youngest sister Nila has been living in my house since the accident, helping me raise and care for Anahi. Not only my immediate family, but my church family has become very dear as well. Last weekend people at church brought food and after the service threw me a surprised birthday party.

As I was having lunch with my sister’s family and friends today, I thanked God for his love and those close to me. I could not help and think about Julie and Timothy and the love we shared for so many years and the times of grilling out. Julie would usually make the salad, or bake a pie while Timmy would help me ignite a fire and bombard me with questions.

These are some thoughts from noon today. Julie wrote a lot on this blog about the culture and the traditions of this beautiful country. I have somehow been ignoring life outside of my little world of grieving for over a year now. Today I realized in a special way, that I am alive, and I have desire to start grilling for friends and family again. I want to get back to cherishing this culture, develop new traditions and allow dreams to find a place in my heart as they have in the past. 

Birthday breakfast in bed

Birthday breakfast in bed

When I was growing up, my family often missed birthdays, and what might have been a special occasion became just another day. But when Julie came into the family, she made sure that no one was left without a party.

Depending on which side of the equator we found ourselves, my birthday was celebrated either in the midst of wonderfully sunny summer days or cold and rainy winter days. This year the forecast for my birthday here in Paraguay includes rain and freezing temperatures. But it will also be cold because Julie won’t be here.

Every June 22, I can remember Julie getting up an hour earlier to make something special for me. Often a birthday breakfast would include crunchy pancakes, French toast, scrambled eggs, or fruit salad. Julie would brew special Brazilian coffee, add an extra touch to a favorite recipe, and serve it all to me while I was still in bed. Tomorrow, however, my birthday just won’t be the same. I will wake up, and, unless Anahi is asking for milk or the dog is barking, there will be only silence.

Jewls, I would give the world to have just one more breakfast with you. One more time when I could hear your voice saying, "Happy Birthday, Norb! I love you. This is your special day." I want to tell you that I cherish your intentionality in making special occasions count and in building family memories. I can only learn from you now, so I will take this valuable tradition and continue celebrating it with Anahi. It’s not the same without you, but I will not give in to defeat. I know you are celebrating in heaven.

Goodbye, Julie. Thanks for teaching me to celebrate. Thanks for showing me that life needs to be experienced in the now. I say goodbye with sadness for not having you with me, but I say goodbye also with hope that life on this side of heaven will still give me a number of years to serve, love, and celebrate with Anahi. You had so many dreams for this little one. You would be so proud of her. Her birthday is coming up in September, and, let me tell you, we are going to have a party. Anahi will be celebrated!