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

viewers of the dawn were in her audience this morning as I was, there in my sheltered perch. This quiet moment felt like a rare privilege, seeing what I was seeing.
    It seemed a good time to pray. I thanked God for bringing me safely to Noelle’s home. I thanked Him for orchestrating this crazy, last-minute adventure and blessing me with such a great start with my longstanding pen pal.
    I looked out the window again and thought I should ask God for something. But what? Had I ever asked Him for anything for myself? I had spent most of my life praying for others. For my husband, for our children. I had asked for finances, wisdom, direction, and lots of health needs on behalf of others. What if I asked God for healing?
    What came to mind was the biblical account of Hezekiah, one of the kings of Judah. As he lay dying, languishing on his bed, he turned his face to the wall and prayed that God would spare his life. God healed him and gave him fifteen more years.
    Should I ask God for fifteen more years?
    Suddenly I realized I had jumped from the denial stage of grief to the bargaining-with-God phase.
    Stick with denial. That’s where you want to stay this week. You can jump around to the anger and bargaining after you get home.
For now, just enjoy this trip. Look how Noelle is going all out to make this a wonderful visit. Don’t ruin it, Summer.
    I read the Whittier quote again, taking in the first line: “Drop Thy still dews of quietness, till all our strivings cease…”
    I wanted my striving to cease.
    Then turning my face to the wall, or, more accurately, the window, I watched the day slowly inch her way to center stage as the curtains of darkness were drawn back. I felt the quietness that filled the room. I took small sips of the “unfolding grace” of the coming dawn.
    And I didn’t ask God for anything.

J elle suggested we make a list,” Noelle said as she unloaded the dishwasher later that morning.
    “A list of what?” I sprinkled a spoonful of granola over a bowl of strawberry yogurt.
    “A list of things to do and see while you’re here.”
    In spite of my having been an early-morning audience to the new day, I somehow had managed to float back to sleep while I was propped up in bed and had slept until almost nine o’clock.
    Noelle rinsed out her coffee mug and placed it in the dishwasher. “I told him we might enjoy our time together more if we didn’t have a schedule.”
    “Either way is fine with me. I don’t have anything specific in mind. Well, actually, that’s not true. I do want to see a few things, if it’s convenient.”
    “Let me guess. You want to see a windmill. And a field of tulips, of course. I’ve already thought of the best place to go to see those.”
    “Yes, those are my wished-for tourist sights. But I also would love to see the
Kitchen Maid
    “The kitchen maid?” Noelle made a sweep with her arms in the tidy space all around where she stood. “That’s me! You’re looking at the kitchen maid of this house.”
    I laughed.
    Noelle smiled. “It is so fun to hear your laugh. I never imagined it being so light. It makes me want to laugh when I hear you laugh. So, what is the joke about the kitchen maid? I’m afraid I don’t get it.”
    “I was referring to the painting by Vermeer. You saw the original painting at a museum when you first came to Amsterdam and sent me a postcard of it.”
    “I did?”
    It surprised me that Noelle didn’t remember.
    “Yes, it’s a beautiful painting. I kept the postcard on my refrigerator for years and years. It got so crumpled I finally put it away in the box where I’ve kept lots of your letters.”
    Noelle looked at me with an expression of amazement. “You’re kidding. You still have the postcard I sent you way back then?”
    I nodded.
    “I don’t remember what postcard I sent you, but I do remember sending one. At the time I was afraid you wouldn’t want to be pen pals anymore once you found out I had flown the coop, so to