Sisterchicks in Gondolas! (8 page)

“Aren’t you poetic! Come on, Jenna. We need to start dinner. Let’s see if we can turn our meager supplies into a gastronomical work of art.”

“Okay,” I said, taking the challenge. “Let’s.”

T
hat July afternoon,
in the Venetian kitchen with the high ceilings that echoed with the voices of gleeful children, Sue and I gathered up the manna left in the pantry and created a work of art in pasta and string beans. What made the experience so beautiful for me was that we were doing this together, in womanly sync, as if it were woven into our DNA. Our movements across the marble floor matched each other’s in the steps to this dance.

We were preparing a meal for people we had never met. Of course, I knew Sam, the organizer of the gathering, but I never had met the other men who were coming to this retreat from around the world.

Sue ran through a list of questions while I checked on the boiling water. “You said these men do this retreat every year? Even though they’re from different missions?”

“Yes. Sam started the retreat a few years ago to gather these leaders in one place so they would have a chance to form a brotherhood and work in unity with each other.”

“It’s an excellent concept.” Sue rinsed the green beans. “Multiply the efforts by working together instead of as a bunch of individuals.” With a wink she added, “It sounds more like something a group of women would have thought of.”

I joined her in snapping off the ends of the green beans. They were so fresh we could have eaten them raw.

“This must be quite a journey for some of the men,” Sue said. “I wonder where they’re all coming from. I hope they get here safely.”

I left the room and went to where we had stowed our luggage. I returned with the list of men and the schedule of their retreat.

“Here are their names,” I said, going through the list: Peter from India, Eduardo from Argentina, Fikret from Turkey, Bruce from South Africa, Sergei from the Ukraine, Malachi from Kenya, and, of course, Sam.

“Do you know if these guys have a set schedule?” Sue asked.

“I printed out Sam’s final e-mail. The schedule is rough. It starts with dinner tonight around six. Afterwards they’ll have a meeting.”

“In the sitting room, I suppose.”

“Possibly.”

“You know, Jenna, we’re going to have to figure out our sleeping arrangements. If they’re in the sitting room every night, where do you and I go when we’re ready to sleep?”

“Good question.”

“So what’s your good answer? I mean, we should figure this out before they arrive. Otherwise you and I are going to be locked in this kitchen until very late every night.”

I was beginning to understand the joys and the hidden sacrifices of serving in this way. Hospitality, I decided, was an underestimated gift. Once I heard “hospitality” defined as “showing love to strangers,” and it looked as if we were about to experience that definition firsthand. “Let’s set the table, and then we can figure out the sleeping problem.”

Sue checked on the china plates and glistening crystal glassware in the dining room while I went in search of table linens in the large closet in the hallway. Steph hadn’t opened that closet door when she gave us the tour, so I was amazed when I saw that the closet was more like a small room. Against one wall leaned two mattresses.

“Sue, come here!”

She dashed into the closet. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I thought I’d have to yell for you to hear me.”

“You don’t have to yell. The sound travels in this place.”

“Look at these mattresses.”

“Yes? So?”

“What if we hauled them up to the roof? We could sleep up there. Or at least use it for our hideaway while the men have their meeting in the sitting room. It will be our tree house!”

Sue looked hesitant. “Do you think it will be okay?”

“I don’t see why not. Come on, let’s turn off the burners on the food and do this before the guys arrive.”

Nothing makes a woman feel old and young at the same time like trying to outfit her improvised tree house by hauling a mattress up a flight of narrow stairs.

Once we managed to heave both mattresses onto the rooftop, I stood back and caught my breath. The evening air swirled with the scent of salt air and garlic. Accordion music floated our way from one of the alleyways where I could picture an aspiring musician playing his or her heart out for locals who were making their evening commute on foot.

Sue went back to the linen closet for sheets while I arranged the mattresses.

High above me the sun blazed its own trail home with less gusto than had accompanied its noonday romp. This steady companion of summer days on the Adriatic Sea willingly bowed to the saucy smile of a moon that had showed up early for work. The quarter moon hung back, diminished in the dusky blue sky, knowing her job was to wait on the slow-moving sun. Her time would come.

“How’s it going?” Sue poked her head up through the opening to our rooftop roost.

“Good. I was watching the moon.”

Sue joined me with her arms full of linens. “It’s beautiful.”

Together we went to work, covering the mattresses with the sheets and blankets, and then stood back to admire our Bohemian hideaway.

“We’re really going to do this. We’re going to sleep outside,” Sue said with an eager grin.

“I know. Either we’re really crazy or really cool.”

“Or both!”

I thought if this didn’t prove Sue and I were Sisterchicks, I didn’t know what would.

“Do you feel like praying?” I asked.

“Praying?”

I nodded. “We should pray for the men while they’re on their way here and pray for our children and—”

“You go ahead. I need to check on things in the kitchen.” Sue quickly disappeared down the rabbit hole. I stood alone under the rising moon and offered up my evening prayers.

Praying by myself wasn’t uncommon. As a matter of fact, it was familiar. I thought about the way I’d prayed when Gerry walked out. Callie was only a few months old. I had held her and cried and prayed all that night. While I prayed, a thin curl of the new moon rose in the sky, bringing a faint, persistent comfort into the room.

God didn’t answer any of my prayers that night the
way I wanted Him to. He didn’t give me any of the solutions I begged and bargained for. All God gave me was Himself. His presence. And even though I didn’t recognize it at the time, the grace of His presence was sufficient. His abiding Spirit was like the moon. A sliver of comfort and light rising even on the darkest night.

This night, on the Venetian rooftop, His presence was more than sufficient. He filled heaven and earth. He was here. He had never left me. Over all the years, as my circumstances changed, the only constant and unchanging truth was that God was with me.

I stood in awe and whispered, “Thank You.” When I returned to the kitchen, Sue said she had everything ready and suggested we place the pasta in the water when the men arrived. She wasn’t looking directly at me as she spoke.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded.

“I wasn’t sure, when I asked you to pray and then you left, if that meant—”

“I’m just not where you are in your way of talking to God, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I don’t want you to push me into the deep end, if you understand what I’m saying.”

“I think I do.”

“You know how you asked me to tell you if you’re
being pushy? Well, just let me, you know, find my place. Get my balance. Everything is coming at me so intensely and …”

I nodded and offered her a comforting smile. “Okay. I understand.”

A buzzer sounded, and we looked around.

“Did you set an alarm on the stove?”

“No.” Sue looked around the kitchen. “It’s not a fire alarm, is it?”

The buzzer sounded again. It stopped and then sounded again, this time longer.

“The doorbell!” we figured out in unison.

“I’ll get it.” I trotted quickly to the front door. But when I opened it, no one was there. Then I remembered seeing a buzzer system at the wooden door on the street level.

Propping open the front door with a chair, I took the three flights of stairs quickly and entered the dark entryway. The light worked as it was supposed to, and I put my hand to the doorknob, out of breath.

Sam was much older than when I last had seen him. But he still was full of energy. Still young on the inside. His clear eyes smiled at me behind his silver-rimmed glasses. Everything about the man spoke of peace. He had seen much but wasn’t afraid.

“Jenna, look at you! Oh, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s great to see you. Come in. Welcome!”

Five men filed in behind Sam, each looking travel
weary but quick to shake my hand. I tried to guess who was who from the list I’d prayed over earlier.

“Did you receive a second set of keys for us when you checked in?” Sam asked.

“Yes, they’re on the table in the entry. Wait until you see this place. It’s amazing. Sue is up in the apartment, and dinner almost is ready. I’m so glad all of you made it here safely.”

“Malachi was delayed on his flight from Kenya,” Sam said. “He should arrive later tonight.”

“We’ll save some dinner for him. What about the rest of you? Would you like to go to your rooms first or eat?”

The men started up the stairs, talking with each other but without answering me.

What followed was a transition into my new role. I realized the implications of being a servant. Vital but nearly invisible. This wasn’t my home. These weren’t my guests. Sue and I were, in some ways, their guests. We were well-rewarded facilitators hired to serve them.

I felt humbled as I followed the men into the apartment. Each of them selected a room without much discussion. They washed up quickly and took their places around the dining room table. The difference between how men and women generally respond in similar situations was amazing to consider.

I let Sue know they were ready to be served. She and I moved in and out of the dining room, delivering food,
refilling crystal goblets, and removing china plates without so much as eye contact from most of the men. One of the men, Peter from India, glanced at me and said the food was good. I quietly apologized to him for the simplicity of the meal, explaining that we hadn’t been to the grocery store yet.

Peter assured me the meal was plentiful. I nodded and withdrew to the kitchen where I considered the abundance of food I was around every day. Not only what I ate but also what passed through my hands at the grocery store where I worked.

When the meal was over and all the plates cleared, the men leaned closer over the table and dove deeper into their conversations. Sam looked up as I was removing his plate and asked about the chance of having some coffee or tea.

Sue reported to me in the kitchen that our inventory included only four tea bags. I boiled water in a saucepan, and we let the bags steep for about five minutes. Serving the tea without milk, we placed on the table a china sugar bowl half full of hard sugar lumps. Every man was given a single cup of the stretched tea. On the table we placed a white china teapot filled with the worn-out tea bags floating in hot water in case any of the men wanted a second cup. None of them seemed to notice the refills or us.

“It sure is different serving men than serving women,” I said once we were back in the kitchen.

“I’m glad they aren’t too picky about what we’re giving
them,” Sue said. “Although I’ll sure feel better once we get to the grocery store.”

I told her about my thoughts on the abundance of food available to us every day. Then I leaned against the edge of the kitchen sink and kept my voice low. “I could never do this for a living.”

“What? Wait on tables? Were you never a waitress?”

“No.”

“Well, I worked at a restaurant for two years when I was in high school. I liked the challenge of serving everything while it was hot and providing coffee refills or the check before a customer asked.”

I could see how Sue would appreciate such a challenge.

“But I hated seeing so much food being thrown away.”

I nodded my agreement.

“What’s the plan for breakfast?” Sue asked.

“We’ll get up early and go to the bakery so we can serve them a continental breakfast. Sam said they would like to eat at 7:30 each morning.”

“What does he mean by a continental breakfast?”

“Just coffee and rolls.”

“Do you think the grocery store will be open by then?” Sue asked.

“If not, we’ll just go to the bakery and then to the store later.”

“This is so different from the way we do things at home.”

“I know.”

We went back to work side by side, trying to be as quiet as possible in cleaning up the dishes. Once the kitchen was in order, we hung the linen dish towels by the open window to dry. Then we left a note on the table, saying a plate of food awaited Malachi in the fridge if he was hungry when he arrived.

I was more than ready to rest my weary self for the night. I changed into the loungewear I’d packed and consolidated my luggage in a corner of the storage closet. Feeling like a true chambermaid, I turned on my trusty penlight and climbed up the steps to our rooftop sleeping room.