Sisterchicks in Wooden Shoes! (15 page)

She went on to write that the two of them would stop on the way home for dinner since she assumed I planned to go to bed early.

The end of her note read: “If this sandwich doesn’t interest you, please help yourself to anything you would like. My refrigerator is your refrigerator. Except I’m sure mine is emptier and doesn’t yet have as many cool photos on it as yours does. But I’m working on that and feel confident that my current exhibit will be a crowd pleaser.”

I took the bait from her teasing last line and made a little trip downstairs. It felt odd being the only one in the house, tiptoeing around in my p.j.’s.

A light was on over the kitchen sink. It illuminated the room enough for me to easily view Noelle’s spur-of-the-moment photo addition to the front of her refrigerator.

I stood there, barefoot, in Noelle’s kitchen, laughing until my
sides hurt. She had printed out a picture in black and white on a basic sheet of computer paper. Obviously she had done it as a joke. And what a joke it was. The shot was of me at the shoreline attempting to chase the birds. My arms were in the air, and in front of me, as clear as could be, was the pesky sea gull clutching my sock and spreading his wings.

She had captured the moment perfectly.

While the whole fiasco was happening, I was so caught up in trying to get the bird to stop that I hadn’t seen much humor in it. I was desperate to retrieve my sock and not objective enough to realize how funny the scene must have looked to Noelle.

Now, even in black and white, I could see what a frolic it was and why Noelle had let loose with a belly laugh.

I lingered in the kitchen, helping myself to a handful of grapes from the bowl of fresh-washed and still-glistening beauties Noelle had left on the counter. I wanted to remember this. The laughter, the friendship, the comfort. The peace. This gentle longing for “home.”

As the deep purple grape burst open in my mouth and filled my senses with the rich taste of communion, I felt as if I were closing the day by savoring a little taste of heaven.

I
started the next day with morning devotions again. I was glad Noelle had left the book by my bed. I hadn’t packed my Bible, and to be honest, in the past few months I had been inconsistent in doing any daily Scripture reading. My soul felt hungry and ready for each word.

The devotional for that day was entitled “Even Though I Walk.” The passage from the Bible that started off the reading was Psalm 23-1 read it quickly, feeling familiar with the passage. Then I remembered how I had felt like a little lost sheep the day before as I drove Noelle’s car to the church parking lot. I didn’t enjoy that feeling, but this morning, secure in the warm guest bed, I realized I was more open and vulnerable to God as a result of driving around directionless. In fact, this new day I wanted God to be my Shepherd.

A few hours later, walking with Noelle to the train station for our journey to Amsterdam, I thanked her for putting the devotional by my bed. I told her how much I was enjoying it and commented that the reading for the day was from Psalm 23.

“The title of the entry seems pretty fitting for us, the way we’ve been walking all over the Netherlands since I arrived.”

“I hope it hasn’t been too much walking for you. Jelle needed the car today. And the train station isn’t far.”

“I don’t mind. I’m just not used to walking so much. It’s good for me.” I moved my shoulder bag to my other arm. “So, even though we walk to the train station, I will fear no evil. Or maybe I should say, I will fear no muscle cramps.”

“Or maniacal sea gulls,” Noelle added.

“That’s what I should have been praying yesterday. ‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of sea gulls.

Noelle turned to me with a light-bulb-over-the-head sort of expression.

“What?”

“I never noticed that part before. ‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.’”

“What part had you not noticed?”

“The verse says even though we ‘walk’ through the valley. That’s different from stopping in the valley or sitting down under the shadow of death and just giving up. We aren’t supposed to stop and get stuck in the dark places. We’re to keep going. Keep walking. I really like that thought, don’t you?”

I nodded, holding in the depth of my truer feelings. Noelle had no idea how poignant her insights were to me at that moment. The threat of cancer was my valley of the shadow of death. I had involuntarily taken the first step into that valley the day I answered the phone call from my doctor’s assistant.

Here I was, in the valley of the shadow of death. Was I fearing no evil? God was with me. His rod and staff were there to comfort me. What represented His rod and staff in my life?

I pictured Noelle and Wayne as being two very effective tools in the hand of the Great Shepherd. God was using both of them to keep me close to Him, which is what I always pictured as the purpose of a rod and staff. Wasn’t the rod used for discipline and the staff used to rescue?

Once again, just as I had sensed while waiting for Noelle in the church parking lot yesterday, I saw myself as God’s little lamb. I was more helpless than I wanted to admit, but I also was being cared for more deliberately and tenderly in this valley than I would have guessed possible. I was loved. What a great gift that was.

“Thank you, Noelle.” Tilting my head to offer her an appreciative grin, I tried to impress her by saying it in Dutch. “
Bedankt
.”

“You’re welcome. But what are you thanking me for?”

“For walking with me.”

“Okay…”

I didn’t want to add the part about walking through the valley of the shadow of death, although, at the moment, talking about it didn’t feel as monstrously frightening as it had before. Still, I skirted the real thoughts that had prompted my thank-you.

“I appreciate your putting everything in your world on pause this week to give your time to me. You were very kind to let me show up the way I did and hijack your life.”

“Are you kidding? Your visit has been such a lift for me. I was telling Jelle last night what a gift this is to me. I couldn’t stop
talking about the Ten Boom house while he and I were having dinner. He’s never been there either. I’m taking him and the girls. And I’m reading all her books. Your visit is stirring up things in me that I walked away from a long time ago, and I don’t know how I feel about all that yet. But I do know I need to pay attention to the feelings.”

Our conversation would have gone further, but we were at the train station and had to hurry to make the train that was boarding just as we arrived.

We sat with mostly businesspeople. Our seats faced each other, and the view out the window was more expansive than what I had seen from the main roads. A uniformed conductor came down the aisle, asking for our tickets. We showed him the passes Noelle had arranged for earlier, before we dashed to board the train.

“Would you like a morning cup of hot chocolate?” Noelle stood up with her wallet in her hand. “This train has a beverage car.”

“Sure. Should I come with you?”

“No, I’ll be right back.”

For breakfast I finally had tried the drinkable yogurt Noelle had purchased for me at the grocery store earlier in the week. It wasn’t my favorite jump-starter beverage. Perhaps it was the texture and slightly sharp taste of the chocolate yogurt. The drink didn’t go down smoothly.

I had higher hopes for the cup of Dutch chocolate Noelle handed to me a few minutes later. “That was fast.”

“I was first in line. Doesn’t happen often. Let me know how you like it.”

I lifted my cup to hers. In a dull, barely audible tap of the cardboard rims, we toasted. “To a day without sea gulls,” I said.

“To walking right on out of the valley of the shadow.”

Instead of saying the customary “Cheers,” we both said, “Amen.” I took a sip and wondered what Noelle’s valley was.

I would have pondered that thought more extensively, but my mind was diverted by the sensation of deep, rich chocolate rolling over my taste buds. Nary a bud was disappointed in the immersion. “Oh, this is good.”

“You like it?”

“Most definitely. It seems to be more bittersweet than what I’m used to. Not that I’m a hot cocoa connoisseur. I love it. Does it have less sugar? Is that it?”

“I don’t know. I think it has less alkaline or acid or something. I’ll have to ask Jelle’s sister. She’s the Dutch chocolate expert. All I know is that it’s processed differently than anywhere else in the world, and I happen to think it’s the best.”

“I would agree with you on that.” I took another slow, savoring sip of the delectable Dutch chocolate from my cardboard to-go cup and gazed out the window. The train pulled into a stop at a town called Leiden, according to the sign on the landing.

More travelers boarded the train, filling the remaining empty seats. We hadn’t gone far after that when the scene outside the train car window turned into what seemed like a wide, flat-screen view of a travel show that was better than anything I ever had watched at home.

We were passing a tulip field.

I held my breath as if I could hold in the sight of the flowers’ color, symmetry, and brightness.

After the train rolled past the last row of dazzling tulips, I took another long sip of my Dutch chocolate and slowly turned to Noelle with a contented smile on my lips.

With a softening expression around her eyes, she leaned over and whispered, “You have a mustache.”

I licked my upper lip and used the tip of my finger to finish the quick chocolate “shave.” “Better?”

She nodded.

“Why don’t you come to the States sometime?” I hadn’t premeditated my question. It just jumped out, so I went with it. “You should come and bring Jelle. I would love it if you would stay with us. I’ll show you all the sights. Of course, that will take about twenty whole minutes, but it would be fun. I really want Wayne to meet both of you.”

Noelle smiled. “I’ll have to think about that. Thank you for the invitation, Summer.”

“I’ll have lots of tortilla chips and salsa. Isn’t that the food you once said you missed the most?”

“Yes. I don’t think I’ve tasted a true Southwest tortilla chip or cilantro-laced salsa since I’ve lived here. Not like my mom used to serve.”

“What else do you miss about the U.S.?”

“Candy.”

I laughed. “Don’t you have candy here?”

“We have lots of candy. Very good candy, just like our Dutch chocolate is very good. But when the girls were little, I wanted to
buy kiddy candy for them like we grew up on at home. Here, it’s not the same.”

“No candy necklaces?”

“No. My girls grew up with a salty sort of licorice called dropje. I don’t like it. Do you remember the pink bubblegum that came in little wrapped squares with cartoons folded up inside?”

“I loved that Bazooka bubblegum.”

“And Neccos. Is that what they were called? The round, thin, wafer candies that came in a wrapped cylinder. I used to buy those when we went to the movies and let them sit on my tongue until they melted. My goal was never to chew them but just let them dissolve, one after the other. Same with Junior Mints. Do they still make Junior Mints?”

“Yes. Can I lure you to my corner of the world if I promise an unending supply of fresh salsa, Junior Mints, Bazooka bubblegum, and Neccos?”

“Your powers of persuasion are impressive.”

The train rolled into a huge covered station. Noelle motioned that we should head for the front of our train car to exit now that the train had stopped. My powers of persuasion were apparently not impressive enough to convince her to continue the conversation.

As soon as we stepped off the train, I was awed by the enormity and detailed beauty of the station. Haarlem had seemed charming and Old-World. Amsterdam, starting with the train station, felt like an elaborate scene from an epic movie. I was only a walk-on character in the enchanting saga, but “walk” seemed to be the theme of the day, so on I walked.

Noelle had a map with her, which she pulled out as soon as
we exited the train terminal. “My recommendation is that we start with the Van Gogh. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds good. Lead the way.”

“We’re going to take bikes. My girls say the best place to rent is this way.” Noelle led me to an unassuming storefront. We entered, and there on the floor, stacked up on the walls, and hanging from the ceiling were bicycles. Every sort of bike imaginable was lined up, ready for rent. The orderly sections reminded me of the tulip fields, only without the color, fluidity, or grace. This field was a lot of metal, rubber, and spokes.

“Ready?” Noelle asked as soon as we had signed for our bikes and were on them. “Stay with me. We cannot get separated. If we do, ask anyone where the Rijksmuseum is, and go there.”

“Rikes,” I repeated. “‘Rikes’ like ‘bikes.’”

“Yes. That museum is near the Van Gogh Museum. Anyone in Amsterdam should be able to tell you how to get there.”

I had not been on a bicycle since… I couldn’t remember when. I soon discovered that the saying about never forgetting how to ride is only partly true. I still remembered how to ride a bike, and once I was on, the pedaling part was automatic. What didn’t come back naturally was remembering how to start. Do you sit down and balance yourself first before pedaling? Or do you stand to pedal?

My choice was to stay standing, just so I would have my feet ready to do the inevitable balancing. After two false starts, I was off. I’m not sure how. It seemed to be a combination of the standing, pushing off, then sitting and pedaling all at once that proved successful.

Noelle pedaled slowly. I appreciated that. We turned a corner, and suddenly we were engulfed in a torrent of bicyclists. I felt like a fish entering some sort of stream in the middle of a feeding frenzy. The grand swirl of bicyclists moved as one, turning another corner and picking up the pace.

We were apparently in rush-hour traffic in a lane on the main road that was designated for bikes only. What amazed me was how quiet it was for such a huge city. A tram packed with commuters glided along rails. Cheery bicycle bells rang as bicyclists alerted pedestrians of their impending turns. In bunches, cyclists would leave the pack and take off down side roads while a steady stream of new cyclists joined the pack.

I was exhilarated by the experience. Few people wore helmets or protective gear. The exception seemed to be the children in tow on the front or back of bikes steered by experienced parents. One man in a suit expertly balanced a young boy on the front of the bike and pedaled with a folding stroller strapped over his arm. I saw a striking blonde in a straight skirt and beautiful white blouse and fashionable sunglasses pedaling right along with a briefcase in a front basket and a helmet-wearing toddler in the seat behind.

I managed to stay beside Noelle in the swirl of morning movement. That in and of itself was miraculous, given the number of bicyclists that surrounded us.

“This way,” Noelle called out to me. “Edge your way to the right.”

I edged over. We turned down a wide street that soon became narrower. Another turn brought us upon one of the loveliest sights I had seen in any city anywhere.