I had a feeling our visit to Amsterdam would be a good opportunity for me to try out expressions of a few precise opinions. After all, Amsterdam is known for a few things I felt certain I would have no trouble criticizing.
Our plans for the next day were laid out in an orderly fashion that night. After the previous two amazing days at the tulip field and the farm, I anticipated an equally inspiring day in Amsterdam.
However, the next day it took us longer than expected to leave the house. Once we were in the car, a call came that took us on a grand detour.
Noelle had placed her cell phone in a holder on the dashboard, and we weren’t even to the end of her street when the phone vibrated. She pressed a button on her steering wheel and answered in Dutch. This allowed her to answer her phone without taking her hands off the steering wheel. I was impressed.
The woman’s voice on the speakerphone was low and sounded frightened or panicked. She spoke a long string of Dutch words, then several short sentences, raising her pitch at the end of each, as if asking a question.
Noelle’s expression darkened. She responded with compassionate sounds in between the woman’s words. For a moment I wondered if the caller was one of Noelle’s daughters, caught up in a dramatic or difficult moment.
The conversation went on for several minutes before Noelle’s voice took on a directive sound. She seemed to be giving a list to the woman followed by a firm but tender good-bye.
I waited, glancing at Noelle’s face. She still looked concerned. I didn’t ask if everything was all right because that part was obvious. Exactly what was wrong, I didn’t know.
“Listen, Summer, we need to make an adjustment to our plans. We need to go to The Hague before going to Amsterdam.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant. She did say, “the hag,” didn’t she? Why are we going to visit a cranky elderly person?
To lighten the moment, I spouted my husband’s familiar adage: “Sometimes we do what we have to do so we can do what we want to do.”
Noelle glanced at me as if what I had said was odd.
It made sense to me.
She put on her car’s blinker and changed lanes on the narrow road. We took a turn and headed the opposite direction of the sign that pointed to Amsterdam.
The phone rang again, and Noelle entered into another hands-free conversation as she drove through morning commuter traffic.
Looking out the car window, I watched the skittering clouds gather in small bunches like schoolchildren at recess. The weather looked mild and promising for our tour of Amsterdam. I wondered if this detour would take much time. I hoped I’d be able to go with the flow and not try to force the day in the direction I wanted.
Noelle drove into what looked like a crowded neighborhood where the side-by-side, three-story brick homes were replaced by high-rise apartment buildings. Dull gray concrete sides and uniform, rectangular windows gave the rows of apartments an industrial, depressing appearance.
A young woman stood on the corner with a suitcase in tow. She wore draped, dark clothing. Her hair was completely covered with a white scarf. We waited while a man in a turban got out of a car parked on the street beside us. A woman dressed in a sari with a row of gold bracelets circling both her forearms climbed out of the backseat and took swift, small steps toward the building.
This was obviously an ethnic area, and as much as I hated to admit it, I felt uncomfortable. We have parts of Cincinnati where apartment buildings such as these were built years ago. But I never drive through those areas. Never.
In Ohio I was used to seeing Mennonite and Amish women wear their traditional garb. But those women suggested a cozier, simpler life to me, while a mysterious-looking woman draped in dark fabric and a woman in a sari seemed much more foreign.
Noelle ended what was the third or fourth call she had been on while we were driving. She steered around the parked cars, put on her blinker, and pulled up at the corner where the woman in the dark garb stood. The woman leaned over, and I felt as if she was staring into our car. Now I really was uncomfortable.
Noelle lowered the window on my side of the car with the control button on her door. She called out something in Dutch, and the woman approached us, wheeling her suitcase behind her. To my shock she opened the car’s back door, tossed the suitcase onto the seat, and got in.
Noelle drove off quickly, glancing with a thoughtfully concerned expression at the woman in the rearview mirror. The two exchanged a few words in Dutch. My heart pounded.
I looked at Noelle and then straight ahead. The woman in the seat behind me made no further sound. I felt as if I were in the middle of a spy film. Was Noelle a secret agent of some sort, and she never had told me?
Noelle said something to the woman, including my name in the sentence. The next sentence was in English.
“Summer, this is Zahida. She needs a ride to the farm.”
I turned around and gave the dark-eyed woman a quick nod. “Hello.”
From the backseat came a softly asked question. Noelle responded. Another few lines were spoken, and then again Noelle’s steady response. Her answer included a word that sounded like “America” or “American.”
The woman then released a tense onslaught of barely whispered words.
What is she saying? Is it about me?
As soon as we came to a stoplight, Noelle finished her many words to the other woman. Then she turned to me. “I’m sorry this is all in Dutch, Summer. I’m sure it’s confusing to you. Zahida heard us speaking English, and when I told her you were my friend visiting from America, she became frightened.”
“Frightened? Of me?” I cast a wary glance at Noelle but didn’t dare look over my shoulder at Zahida.
How can this woman be afraid of me? I am the one who is of aid of her!
“It’s because you’re an American.”
“So are you,” I snapped without thinking.
“Yes, but she didn’t know that before. We haven’t been friends for long. I told her just now that I’m from the U.S. It’s okay, Summer. Everything is fine. I’ll explain all this later.”
We drove a short distance in silence. My heart was still pounding. “Are we driving out to the farm?”
“No.”
The light changed, and Noelle turned with both hands on the steering wheel and headed down a short street. “Another friend of mine, Belinda, is going out to the farm this afternoon. Zahida will go with her. We’re almost to Belinda’s house now.”
I tried to find a way of settling into the moment, but I didn’t know exactly what I should be doing. I had it in my power to offer Zahida an assuring glance or comforting look, but my heart still was racing at the thought of being so close to someone different from me. Someone who was frightened of me.
I tried to remember what Noelle had said the day before in her admonition to me as we walked to the barn. She said I was afraid of too many things. She was right.
Noelle slowed down in front of a row of small houses. She stopped the car. No place to park was in view, so she left the car double-parked with the keys in the ignition and the engine running.
“I’ll be right back,” she called to me as she jumped out. “You should be fine here, but if you have to move, just drive around the block.”
She reached for the suitcase in the backseat. Zahida got out, and I sat alone in the running car. I looked out the window. Zahida and I shot wary glances at each other before averting our eyes. Noelle whisked her off into the unassuming house.
A moment later Noelle’s cell phone rang. I let it ring and kept looking over my shoulder, watching for cars. Several smaller ones scooted around with no problem. Then a van came. A great big van with an impatient driver. His persistent honking didn’t draw Noelle out of the house.
Don’t be afraid. You can do this.
With my heart racing at near aerobic level, I slipped out the passenger side of the car and hurried around to the driver’s side. I avoided eye contact with the van??
?s driver. After sliding into the driver’s seat, I studied the stick shift and the control panel. Nothing appeared different from the sort of cars I was used to.
The van driver honked his horn again.
Just then the cell phone rang a second time. I gripped the steering wheel and moved forward nice and slow. My hand must have activated the hidden button that answered the phone because a female voice suddenly filled the car with a greeting in Dutch.
“Ah, hello,” I called back to the mystery voice. “Um…Noelle isn’t here right now. Do you want to call back?”
“Who is this?” the caller asked.
At that moment I realized I had missed the turn I needed to loop around the block back to where Noelle was. Now I was heading toward the downtown traffic with the impatient van driver bearing down on me.
This was not good. Not good at all.
Get off my tail!” I shouted to the driver of the van that was bearing down on me while I tried to navigate Noelle’s car down a narrow street.
“Excuse me? Hello?” the voice on Noelle’s cell phone called out.
“Sorry. I, uh…” I couldn’t see a place to pull over or to head down another street. I was stuck in the press of the traffic. A bell was consistently chiming, and I realized I hadn’t fastened the seat belt. I tried to stabilize the steering wheel with the top of my thigh and slip the seat belt into the slot. I had managed to do a lot of multitasking over the years, but this was a stretch even for me.
“Are you still there?” the female voice asked.
“Yes, I’m still here although I have no idea where here is.”
“Is this Summer?”
“Yes.” Apparently anyone who knew the ins and outs of Noelle’s life could come to the speedy conclusion of who the confused American on the other end of the phone call must be.
“This is Tara. I’m Noelle’s daughter.”
“Yes, Tara! Hi.” I felt as if I were talking to a friend.
“My mother said you were going to Amsterdam today. Where are you?”
“I have no idea.”
“Where is my mom?”
“I don’t know. She picked up a woman and took her to someone’s house and…oh no! I can turn now, but I don’t know which way to go.”
“You’re actually driving her car?”
“Yes!”
“Where are you?”
“I’m coming up on a major intersection.”
I was out of the neighborhood district and into the thick of traffic. Several options presented themselves to me at once. Before Tara could advise me, I made a split-second decision and turned left, hoping it would allow me to return to the road I was just on.
My theory failed.
The left turn led to another intersection where I had to make another decision, and that left turn led me farther away from where I had started.
“This is very bad. But at least the van is off my tail.”
“Can you pull over anywhere?” Tara asked.
“No, I don’t see any place to park.”
“Then just keep going until you can pull over.”
“Okay, but don’t hang up, whatever you do.”
“Don’t worry; I won’t.”
I followed Tara’s instructions and kept driving. For all I knew I was on my way to Belgium!
“Can you describe anything around you?”
I had managed to turn onto a street that didn’t have as much traffic. The buildings all looked similar to what I had seen in much of Holland—brick, three stories tall, with rooflines that rose up in a whimsical fashion, as if they had been shaped with a giant cookie cutter. More-modern buildings popped up along the way, but nothing struck me as unique enough to mention as a landmark.
“I think I can turn into a small parking lot here. Yes. I’m turning. It looks like a church. Not an old church, though. It looks new. It has a cross on the top.”
I pulled the car into one of the only open spaces.
“Are you safe now?” Tara asked.
“Yes. I’m off the road at least. If I turn off the engine, do you think it will affect the cell phone?”
“No, the phone should stay on. If it doesn’t, I’ll call back.”
I turned off the engine and leaned back, drawing in a deep breath. All I could think at the moment was that Wayne would never believe what I had just done. Whenever we went anywhere, I always let him drive. All the years of being the family taxi driver had sent me into a transporting hiatus. I never tried to navigate new routes at home. This experience was so far out of my comfort zone it was ridiculous.
Tara’s voice sounded louder now that the engine was off. “Do you remember anything else my mother said about where you were going?”
“We were planning to go to Amsterdam, but she received a call, and we went the opposite direction. She said we had to stop and see a hag and then—”
“Did she say ‘Den Haag? That’s The Hague. Are you in The Hague now?”
“Oh. Possibly.” Obviously, The Hague was a place and not a person. I should have known that.
“If you’re in The Hague, the traffic is always difficult. My mother probably took the woman to Belinda’s. Did you see a little dog there at the house? A Scottie dog?”
“No, I didn’t go inside. I was waiting in the car. We were double-parked, and Noelle said I should drive around the block if I had to move the car. A van came up behind me, and I started driving. That’s when you called. But I think I heard the name Belinda earlier in the conversation or when Noelle was on the phone. I don’t remember.”
“That’s okay. This is making more sense. Can you see any street signs or a sign at the church?”
I spelled the words I could see on a sign posted in the parking area. The name of the church was included in what Tara said was a warning that parking was not open to the general public on weekdays. The name of the church was all Tara needed as a clue.
“You are in The Hague, and you are not far from Belinda’s. But don’t try to drive back to her house. Stay where you are. Even if someone comes and tells you the parking is not for public use, do not leave. I will call Belinda. My mother can come to you more easily than you could drive back to her.”
I did as Tara said. I figured out how to hang up the phone, and then I sat alone and waited. I couldn’t remember a time when I had felt so out there and isolated, not to mention embarrassed.
How did all that happen? How did I get so far off track so fast? How humiliating! What if Tara hadn’t called when she did? I probably would still be driving with that van on my rear bumper. I can’t believe I got so lost.
After the first fifteen minutes or so of scolding myself, I leaned back. All I could do was wait. Wait and hope that Noelle found me.
I could hear the steady roar of the city traffic outside the car window. Inside the warm car I was comfortable and calmed. For the first time since I had rushed into the driver’s seat, I thought about praying. The first words that came to mind were, The Lord is my shepherd.
“And that makes me a little lost sheep,” I muttered. I definitely felt like a lost sheep in need of a shepherd. How poetic that the place I had at last found to stop and rest at was a church. The Lord had herded me here. He was protecting me.
I didn’t like that image very much. I liked the protection part, of course. I hadn’t crashed the car or driven off into the North Sea. But I didn’t like feeling lost.
I also didn’t feel confident in the driver’s seat. It would be easy to draw a lot of life parallels from that thought, but I didn’t want to go down that road, so to speak. I was fully aware of my weaknesses and deficiencies. Since I had arrived in the Netherlands, the Lord seemed to find a steady stream of creative ways to make clear to me that He was the One who wanted to be in control of my life.
Am la slow learner or what?
I rubbed the back of my tensed neck and hoped God wouldn’t answer that one. I decided I couldn’t do much about the situation. I was here. That’s all I knew. Noelle w
as coming. I would wait. And I would try to think of something other than the humiliation I felt over being stranded.
The tulip fields came to mind. Ah yes. The magnificent, alluring tulips that had unfolded their breathtaking beauty to us in the sunshine. That’s what I had hoped this trip to the Netherlands would bring. In moments like the ones we had experienced two days ago, I had found it easy to be at peace and to trust that God had everything under control. I reminded myself that He delighted in creating peace and beauty and in pouring out His love, warmth, and hope on all His creation.
I liked settling into that sort of mind-set with God much more than the scenario in which I was the little lost lamb and He had to carry me around because I was incapable of managing on my own.
For the next twenty minutes I kept watch and waited.
Noelle arrived on foot. She later said she had walked only “a few kilometers.” I had seen her walk and knew she could cover a significant stretch of town in a short time.
I gladly turned over the driver’s seat to her. She apologized for leaving me in such an awkward situation, and I assured her she didn’t need to apologize.
“Did everything turn out okay? With Zahida, I mean?”
“Yes.” Noelle nodded. “It’s pretty extraordinary. Zahida recently became a Christian.”
I hadn’t expected Noelle to say that. I turned to face her to make sure I had heard correctly. “She’s a Christian? But she was dressed like…”
Noelle waited for me to finish my assumption. I didn’t. Obviously I had done just that, made an assumption based on what a woman looked like. Wasn’t that a lesson I had sought to teach my children? Why didn’t I have that truth rooted in my own heart?
Noelle pulled the car out of the church parking area and skillfully directed us back into the flow of traffic.
Ignoring my unfinished comment, she said, “This morning Zahida told her mother she was a Christian, and she was turned out of their home. I had hoped this wouldn’t happen. Do you remember when we went to the tulip fields and I said I had gone last week with a friend, her mother, and her grandmother?”
I nodded.
“That was Zahida. Her mother and grandmother were so enthralled by the tulips. We had a great day together. I had hoped they would be more open-minded when she told them about her decision.”