Sisterchicks in Wooden Shoes! by Robin Jones Gunn Read Free Book Online Page A

I’m not sure I know all the names in English anymore. I know it has blueberry, and is it lingonberry? Do you have that berry in the States? It’s popular in Scandinavia. Anyway, it’s my favorite appetizer juice. All you need is a few sips to wake up your appetite. Speaking of appetite, are you interested in having some dinner now?
    “Sounds good. It smells wonderful.”
    Noelle invited us to gather at the dining room table, which she had set with dark red place mats, shiny black dinner plates, and thick-handled flatware. The vase of red tulips was encircled by votive candles in small gold cups that cast an alluring glow across the table.
    The setting was so beautiful and the serenity of the moment so peace giving, I felt as if I could slowly enjoy this meal with my tender-hearted friends and then go back to the airport and board a plane. I would fly home rich in what I had hoped to gain from this trip—all in less than eight hours.
    However, as I was discovering on this journey, God had much more to give to me. The elegant candlelit dinner with Jelle and Noelle was only the beginning.
    I couldn’t recall a time when I had felt so celebrated. I also couldn’t think of a time when I had initiated or participated in a gathering that expressed so much honor and so much unrushed simplicity. No matter how much effort I had put into preparations for a birthday or holiday meal, I couldn’t remember a party when we were undistracted. Someone would have to leave early. Someone was in a bad mood. The phone rang. The time together never flowed as effortlessly as it did at Noelle’s home.
    I didn’t know how much of that was inspired by Dutch tradition and how much was Noelle’s temperament and the daily rhythm of grace she danced to with Jelle.
    Time seemed to curve to their bidding. Nothing in the world was more important than our leisurely time together and their careful attention to the details. I felt honored, which is the best gift one friend can give to another.
    Crawling into the guest bed after dinner and sinking into a deep sleep under the thick comforter, I was certain I would sleep around the clock and not wake until at least ten the next morning.
    My prediction was wrong. I woke before dawn. After my efforts to fall back to sleep failed, I reached up to lift the windowshade to peek outside, and the shade stayed in the partially open position.
    Lying back down, I tried to convince myself this was the time to sleep.
Sleep, sleep, sleep. Come on! Sleep!
    My efforts were in vain. Sleep had left the building. I was alone in the darkness except for a faint tinge of rose that laced the predawn clouds outside the window.
    I noticed a book on the small table next to the bed and picked it up. It was a devotional. In English. After I bolstered up the pillows behind my back, I opened to a page entitled “Unfolding Grace.” At the top was a portion of a poem by John Greenleaf Whittier.
    Drop Thy still dews of quietness,
Till all our strivings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress,
And let our ordered lives confess
The beauty of Thy peace.
    I paused before reading further. What I had experienced at dinner only hours earlier was a living demonstration of those words. Peace.
    The next portion of the entry on that page was from 2 Corinthians 4. “So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace…. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can’t see now will last forever.”
    I leaned back, lowered the book into my lap, and gazed out the window. The morning sky definitely was blushing now. It was as if God had invited the shy new day to come and spread her beauty over this corner of His world, and she was being obedient but at the same time was embarrassed to be put in the spotlight of the rising sun.
    I wondered how many