9781601420091

Sisterchicks in Wooden Shoes!

by
  • ISBN13:

    9781601420091

  • ISBN10:

    1601420099

  • Edition: Original
  • Format: Trade Paper
  • Copyright: 2009-05-05
  • Publisher: Multnomah Books
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Supplemental Materials

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Summary

An abnormal medical test result sends Summer into an emotional tailspin and prompts her to fulfill a lifelong dream of meeting her pen pal since fourth grade. Each day takes them further from anxiety and closer to God.

Author Biography

Robin Jones Gunn is the much-loved, best-selling author of the Glenbrooke, Christy Miller, Sierra Jensen, and Katie Weldon series, with more than 3.5 million books sold worldwide. Sisterchicks in Gondolas! won the Christy Award for excellence in fiction. While Robin savors an occasional real-life adventure with her Sisterchicks, she truly loves being home with her husband, their grown son and daughter, and their golden retriever, Hula.

Excerpts

After booking my ticket to the Netherlands, I sat quietly in front of the computer, contemplating what to do next.
Outside the rain carried out its spring fling with gusto. Telling my husband seemed wise. Not on the phone,though. I didn’t want to say the words “abnormal mammogram,” “biopsy,” or “I’m leaving for a week” unless I could see his face.


So I decided to bake cookies. After padding my way to the kitchen, I pulled out a mixing bowl and turned the oven to 375 degrees.


I’m not the sort of woman who takes a long bath or a long walk to have time and space to think. For me, the best processing happens when I have my well-used mixing bowl balanced on my hip. No electric mixers for me. I beat the lumps out of my life challenges with a wooden spoon.


Then I line up all the solutions in my head while arranging the lumpy balls of dough on the cookie sheet. Soon the scent of all that lovely butter, brown sugar, and oatmeal wafts from the kitchen, and I start to feel better.



The fragrance fills the house with a standing invitation for my children to “come hither.” As they gather around the kitchen counter, I remember what really matters, and my problem is somehow quietly resolved.


Only this time I knew that when the enticing fragrance raced down the hall into each bedroom, it would find no takers. All our children were launched and flitting about in their own worlds.


Abnormal. Biopsy.


I went after the cookie dough with renewed mixing vigor. Taking a few steps closer to the refrigerator, I looked over the collection of off-kilter photos until I found the one of Noelle standing in a field of tulips with a windmill in the background.


You’re going there, Summer. It’s going to happen. You’re going to see Noelle. You really are. Believe it.


For many years a variety of photos and postcards have adorned our refrigerator. Every time I would stop mid–pot roast extraction or post–milk replenishment, the images I would look for were the ones of Noelle and her world.


How long had I dreamed of seeing those tilt-a-wheel windmills and picking those bursting-with-color tulips by the armful?


As I dropped the dough into agreeable rows and slid the cookie sheets into the oven, I made another decision. I would tell Wayne everything as soon as he came home. But I wouldn’t tell anyone else about the biopsy until I had received the results. Not even Noelle.


If everything worked out for me to see Noelle, I wanted to spend my time with her as unencumbered as possible. I would take the trip in a self-induced state of denial. Yes, complete denial. It was the only way I would be able to enjoy the visit.


I foraged around in the garage for a suitcase and went hunting through Wayne’s desk for my passport. The scent of warm cookies encircled me, and I thought about how one should never underestimate the power of comfort food when faced with monumental decisions. I’m convinced that the fragrance of cinnamon and sugar enlivens the heart and strengthens the senses when a woman is in want of a special measure of courage.


My courage lasted all afternoon and kept me company as I ran errands. Denial can be a wonderful thing.Why had I never called upon its fabulous powers before?


I was eager to reach home to see if Noelle had read my e-mail yet. In the rhythmof our online correspondence, I would write to her toward the close ofmy day, and she would read my post at the start of her new day.The time difference between our two lives was six hours. She was always six hours ahead of me. Maybe she had seen my e-mail before going to bed. Maybe she already had responded.


The rain stopped as I rounded the corner, returning home with a full tank of gas and a week’s worth

Excerpted from Sisterchicks in Wooden Shoes! by Robin Jones Gunn
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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