All we knew was that, in one motion, both the boys dashed over to Sue and poured their corn packets over her head. Instantly three pigeons landed on her head and picnicked in her tussled cornfield.
I thought she would shake the birds and seed off her head as quickly as she could. But, to my surprise, she stood there, looking shocked yet saying, “Did you take a picture? Did you take a picture?”
I laughed as I slowly circled her, catching every angle of the birds in her red tree house.
“Jack is never going to believe this,” I said.
“Hey, I’m not believing this,” Sue said with a squeal.
“Sue, if you’re thinking of asking me if your hair looks good in these shots, you can guess my answer.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” Sue said. “I’m not that much of a birdbrain.”
She laughed so hard at her own joke that the birds flew away. Bending over and giving her hair a good shake and ruffling her scalp, she said, “Your turn. Hand over the camera, and I’ll take some pictures of you.”
I went with the more sedate pose of holding out my palms and had no trouble attracting the rousted pigeons, which came back for the last of the corn. Their beaks tickled as they went for the kernels in my hands. Their smooth gray feathers caught the late afternoon sun pouring over the piazza and reflected a dozen jewel-toned colors. I admired the up close view of the birds as much as all the inlaid gold-, ruby-, and sapphire-adorned works of art we had viewed in the man-made places of worship. God does a much better job of making works of art that reflect His glory.
The feeding of the pigeons was delightful and turned out to be a great ending to our long afternoon in the open-air “living room.” It was one of those touristy things that, as you watch others, you think you don’t want to do. But once we entered into the experience, it turned out to be a favorite memory.
To cap off our full and fabulous day, Sue and I went in pursuit of what turned out to be her favorite tourist custom. Sunset was approaching. We needed to find a gondola that came with just the right gondolier.
We found him along the waterfront near one of the great columns that rose into the night sky at the water’s edge and guarded the entrance to the Piazza San Marco. A winged lion stood atop the column.
Our gondolier was sitting on a bench with several other gondoliers in front of the lined-up, waiting gondolas. His name was Matteo, and he was the only one of the lot who looked like he was over forty. He was also the only one who didn’t look up at us and grin as we approached. That’s why we chose Matteo. It was a good choice.
He spoke English and understood clearly when we said we wanted to see all we could in an hour’s ride. We told him we didn’t want to go down the Grand Canal like everyone else. We wanted to see his favorite parts of Venezia.
With a respectful nod, Matteo helped us into the padded seats of his carefully detailed gondola and backed up from the dock. Across from us, beyond a span of seawater, was the island of San Giorgio Maggiore, where the men had visited the Benedictine monks. From where Sue and I sat in the gondola, we had a perfect view of the lowering sun as it tossed a wide, loose knit shawl of golden light across the waters. A shawl to cover dear Venezia.
Matteo steered the gondola down what looked like a main canal opening. He leisurely pointed out the sights: the home where Marco Polo was born; the balcony on the home of Casanova; the oldest church in Venice; his personal favorite seafood restaurant.
“Their specialty is seppia al nero. It’s very good.”
“And what exactly is that?” Sue asked.
“Squid cooked in its own ink.”
Sue made a face, and I knew we wouldn’t seek out that restaurant for a late-night snack.
Taking the camera from me, Sue snapped a shot of the restaurant. Then she took a few close-up shots of me. She started to get into the fun of taking pictures and caught several of Matteo, with his steady posture, as he watched the canal ahead of us. This was a man who took his work seriously. We liked Matteo.
“Was your grandfather a gondolier?” Sue asked.
“Yes. And his grandfather and so on.”
“That’s so amazing to me. When did y’all start working as a gondolier?” Sue asked.
“I was seven.” He went on to describe the intense training that included becoming fluent in other languages. Matteo spoke seven languages and had been doing this since he was fifteen.
My respect for the gondoliers rose as we listened to Matteo. What he did was a dying art. During the winter months, he could go several weeks without picking up a single fare. I don’t know if he told us all this to pique our sympathies so that we tipped him well at the end of the ride, but it worked. We parted with our money willingly. A significant reason for that was the final point of interest he showed us on our circular route back to the dock.
“Ahead of us you will see Il Ponte dei Sospiri. The Bridge of Sighs.”
“I read about that,” Sue said.
I gave her a little tap on the leg, motioning that we should let Matteo tell us his version. Sue snapped pictures of the covered passageway that was suspended two stories above the canal. The gray edifice was ornately decorated. Two windows were positioned like two eyes that had their lids closed. This was because the windows were covered on the inside with what looked like a permanent shade that had only enough slits to let in air.
“The prison is on this side. The court in the palace of the Doge is on the other side. When a prisoner was found guilty in the court, he would be taken across this bridge on his way to prison. Here he would take his last look at beautiful Venezia and sigh.” Matteo demonstrated with a deep sigh. “This is why it is called The Bridge of Sighs.”
As our gondola slowly passed under the structure, we looked at its underbelly. Sue drew in a deep breath and let out a long sigh.
I said, “Are you trying to see what the prisoners felt like?”
She shook her head and smiled softly. “I already know what a prison feels like. I’m sighing to see what if feels like to come out of prison and float away, a free woman.”
For the rest of her life, I knew this place, this day, this bridge would be Sue’s bridge of sighs. She was free.
And so was I.
So how do two free birds that are ready for the next season of life celebrate on such an evening? After Matteo helped us out of the gondola, we flitted right over to the nearest gelato bar, ordered big, and said ciao to Mama Venezia.
Epilogue
When, over the years, my mind wanders back to our trip to Venezia, I still think of her as a woman. In a strange way, I want to grow old the way she did.
Venezia candidly revealed her many sides to Sue and me that short week without once trying to hide her age. We watched her rise to her full height in the noonday sun and smile broadly on us, revealing rows of cracked and yellowing teeth. She blew baci at us from her curved footbridges painted a sweet shade of sienna. At sunset, her most dramatic hour, the Grand Dame stood still and let the sea-soaring birds adorn her faded tresses. On our final night there, Sue and I watched from a gondola as Venezia calmed her indigo waters and, with a sigh, invited strangers to come dance beneath her rising moon.
Venezia always will be a personality to me and not just another European city.
I miss Paolo and his corner café. I miss Lucia with her amber eyes and the way she presented us such gracious offerings of her daily bread. I miss the sound of Malachi’s rumbling voice. I miss our view of the moon and stars from the rooftop.
Both Sue and I miss the water that surrounded us every day and lazily floated under all the footbridges we crossed. We miss the way the morning light changed the deep night waters into white wine colors. We miss the palace and the simple kitchen that had no oven.
And yes, of course, we miss the gelato. We’ve tried imposters in the U.S. that have advertised themselves as “Italian gelato,” but sadly they are all frauds. We know gelato. As a matter of fact, some might consider us to be experts when it comes t
o Venetian gelato. At least we’re certain we could earn a merit badge in that field.
Since that exceptional adventure, when Sue and I found ourselves “victims of grace,” we have watched our small lives expand. Goodness and mercy have remained hot on our trail. And our trail, believe it or not, has led us to nine countries.
In some ways, my life went from being an “offering,” like Malachi’s eggs, and turned into a commitment. I was the chicken. In more ways than one. Sue and I now go to visit women who serve in full-time ministry. We go because sometimes they need an older sister to come along and help to brush the shame off them, for whatever reason.
There isn’t a real science to it. We pray together about each invitation. We wait for the money for the trip to arrive, and it always comes in unexpected ways. Then we pack. I pack an easy-to-understand Bible translation, a new notebook, a pen, and a flashlight. Those items aren’t for me, but for the woman I’m going to visit.
Sue packs what she calls her “Sisterchicks Survival Kit.” Each kit is different, depending on what Sue finds to tuck inside, but all of them have something yummy to eat, something sweet to smell, and something uplifting to read. Once we took new underwear because the woman had let us know that was her greatest need. That time the gift was truly “uplifting” for her.
The first country we flew to was Ukraine. Goodness and mercy had to be following us through customs when we arrived because the airport inspector wanted to know why we were “smuggling” in so many bags of chocolate chips.
“Cookies,” I told him, even though I wanted to nod at Sue and say it was her idea. “I’ve come to bake cookies for my friend in Kiev.”
“You have come all this way to bake cookies?” he asked.
I nodded. Then I showed him the recipe on the back of the bag. He confiscated one of the bags for “inspection.”
Deborah cried pretty much the whole first day we were there. Sergei hadn’t told her we were coming so the poor thing was in shock. Our first batch of cookies brought her around, and she stopped crying long enough to eat them while they were still warm. We had to coax her into the luxurious bubble bath we prepared on our second day, complete with vanilla-scented candles to sweeten the least lovely room in their small apartment. After that we made Deborah take a nap while Sue fixed way too much pasta, and I mopped the floors and did the laundry.
By the third day, Deborah was ready to go out laughing, and boy, did we! When we left, Deborah had a clean house, a freshened heart, and a new smile. Sergei actually cried when he dropped us off at the airport. He said we had given him back his wife.
After that the invitations started coming from places Sue and I had never heard of. One time, the answer to our prayers about whether to travel to a certain destination was clearly, No, don’t go this time. We still don’t know why. But all the other times the money has arrived shortly after the invitation, and off we would go.
The most unique way the funds have arrived so far was when I walked into an appliance store and an alarm system went off. It turned out I was customer number ten thousand, and the prize was a double-wide refrigerator. How’s that for just showing up? I didn’t need a new refrigerator so I sold it to a friend at work, and that’s how we financed our fifth Sisterchicks Hospitality Trip. That one was to Indonesia.
By that trip, Sue and I had a fairly good idea of what to take and what to do once we arrived. We listen to the women and tease them like we’re already close friends. We read to their children and watch over their little flock so the women can steal a few hours of solitude or with their husbands. We laugh aloud. A lot.
I love it when they let me wrap my motherly arms around them and pray for them. I whisper in their ear, “Grace on you,” and they always cry.
Sue and I make sure we read psalms to them every morning. On our last night, we take them aside with a pan of water and a towel. We kneel down and wash their feet. With a wonderful sigh, we tell these warrior women that what they are doing in serving the Lord has not gone unnoticed.
Then we cry happy tears all the way home.
Sue likes to tell people that we’re couriers. We cross all kinds of borders to smuggle in goodness and mercy. And usually some form of chocolate.
My sister-in-law is a different woman from the nail-biting person who went to Venezia with me. Sue is a free woman. Jack is so proud of her. I am, too. Even when I watched her drawl all over herself in nine different countries.
I am a free woman as well. My past didn’t disqualify me for this. If anything, after all the stories I’ve listened to, I would say my experiences prepared me for what I do. And what exactly do I do? It’s so simple that I almost missed it. I go where Jesus asks me to go and I feed His lambs.
Discussion Guide
Jenna felt as if God was telling her “You’re not done yet.” Have you ever felt the same thing? If so, what happened next in your life?
A new season had begun for Sue and Jenna. The burdened Sisterchicks at the beginning of the book became “victims of grace” in Venice and were ready to take flight again. When has God touched you in such a remarkable way that you could also claim to be a “victim of grace”?
Sue and Jenna had both weathered demolishing storms in their lives. Jenna’s recipe for healing any sort of broken heart starts with equal parts truth and acceptance, then add the patient understanding of a true friend. Have you had a friend share this “recipe” with you during a troubling time in your life? How did it affect you?
When her husband left, Jenna found out that God didn’t answer her prayers the way she wanted Him to. Even though she didn’t recognize it at the time, the grace of His presence was sufficient. If you’ve ever been frustrated over unanswered prayer, how did you come to terms with this?
Jenna encouraged Sue to dive into the deep end of life so she could experience the refreshment that comes from taking that plunge. In what ways have you dived out of your comfort zones? What were the results?
On the boat when Marco winked at Jenna, it dug up her buried loneliness, her longing to be married to a man who would love her forever and never leave her. Share a time when you’ve had to conquer dragons of doubt and vultures of self-pity. What helped you through this troubling time?
When Sue gave Jenna “the smile,” Jenna knew they were truly sisters. We are blessed to find Sisterchicks in many shapes—whether by blood or circumstances. Share about one of your Sisterchicks and how that relationship continues to grow.
Jenna told Sue, “Shame off you.” Discuss the circumstances that led Jenna to say this to her sisterchick. Have you ever felt like Sue? When we open up and share with others the deepest struggles of our hearts, healing can begin, which leads us to say, “Shame off me!” And once we’ve done that, God’s amazing grace shows up to fill us with hope and peace. If you are able, share your deepest aches with the group. And as each person shares, respond to them by saying “grace on you.”
“Slice, chew, and swallow slowly” the peace that comes from immersing yourself in God’s Word. Share your favorite Psalms and why it has become your air, food, and water to sustain you.
Jenna was told that showing love to a stranger is the definition of hospitality. In what ways have you reached out to the world around you and shown them God’s love? How does that act of hospitality feel different from showing love to your friends or family?
After Jenna told Sam and Sergei the story of her marriage and divorce, their acceptance, understanding, and lack of judgment filled Jenna with a feeling of grace, freeing her from shame. Can you relate to Jenna’s experience in any way? If so, how?
Jenna’s internal response to Sam and Sergei’s encouragement to “Feed His sheep” was to doubt that she had anything to offer. Often we spend so much time thinking about what we can’t do, that we miss what we can do through the ways we are uniquely gifted. Share one way in which you’re gifted and how that has been developed over the years.
Sam told Jenna, “I’m beginning to think that 90 percent of what w
e should be doing as believers is to just show up.” Can you think of a time in your life when you just showed up and God’s Spirit took it from there?
Showing up is a lot easier when the baggage of the past is left behind. Travel light! What is the baggage you need to let go of today?
Bonus Material for
Sisterchicks in Gondolas!
Hello, dear Sisterchick!
One of my greatest delights in writing the Sisterchick novels has been the journeys I’ve taken around the world while researching the location of each book. (I know, what a writer’s dream!) If I could take you with me on these adventures, oh, what a time we would have! Since that’s not possible, I thought you might enjoy seeing a few snapshots and hearing a few of the stories behind the story for Sisterchicks in Gondolas!
AHHH, VENICE!
My first visit to this enchanting city was as a college student. My girlfriends and I arrived with our backpacks and trudged up and down the narrow passageways to the youth hostel. The ambiance captured our imaginations during our short visit, and I secretly wished to return one day. That wish came true in 2006. This time, I was determined to take a ride in one of the gondolas since that luxury was beyond my means during my first visit. My daughter, a college student at the time, was with me on this adventure. In her sweet innocence she decided to find the perfect gondolier for our long-anticipated float down the canals. She approached one suave gondolier who stood ready. “Will you sing to us during our ride?” she asked. His response was, “Bella donna, there are two types of gondoliers: those who sing and those who make love. I do not sing.” I grabbed my wide-eyed daughter by the arm, and we kept on going until we found the perfect gondolier for us. The mellow canal ride that evening was one of the highlights of our Sisterchicks adventure in beautiful Venice!