I knew in that moment the power of words, the gift of the written word, and how the importance of those words only increases after the person who wrote them is gone.
I felt a distinct pinch in my heart. Once again, I missed my Bible.
Twenty
Penny?” I asked softly, as she clutched her mother’s letters. “Would you like to read them now? I don’t mean read them aloud. Just read them to yourself. We don’t mind waiting.”
Penny reached for her reading glasses. “Sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
Penny put on her glasses and pulled her chair back so that she was drenched in sunbeams. Her eyes raced down the page.
Elina ordered another pot of tea.
I quietly pulled out my camera and snapped a picture of Penny blazing her way through a Milky Way of words. Her mother’s words. A treasure she once thought unattainable.
I saw Penny’s tears before she spoke. “Listen to this:
Baby Penny is sleeping through the night at long last, and so am I. She is a precocious baby. I think she will grow up to have strong opinions, like her mother. The truth is, I can’t get enough of her. Every sound, every expression, every wiggle has captured my heart. She is perfect, and I have to admit that I would make all the same choices again just to see this miracle of life find a place to grow in this world.”
Penny looked up, her lower lip quivering.
No words were needed between the three of us. Penny kept reading to herself as Elina and I sipped our tea.
“These poems,” Penny said without looking up.
Elina nodded.
I obviously was the one who sat outside the circle of understanding.
Penny looked at me. “You have to hear this one, Sharon. My mom liked Christina Rossetti’s poetry. She quoted a poem in this letter to Marketta when I was only two years old. My dad was dead. There she was, alone. Listen to this:
I was a cottage maiden
Hardened by sun and air
Contented with my cottage mates,
Not mindful I was fair.
Why did a great lord find me out,
And praise my flaxen hair?
Why did a great lord find me out,
To fill my heart with care?
He lured me to his palace home—
Woe’s me for joy thereof—
To lead a shameless shameful life,
His plaything and his love.
He wore me like a silken knot,
He changed me like a glove;
So now I moan, an unclean thing,
Who might have been a dove.
Penny sat, so immersed in the light that it seemed to glow like embers at the ends of her thick, brown hair.
“There is so much I didn’t understand,” she said softly. “So much I would do differently, if I had my childhood to live over. Despite all her obstacles, my mother made a good life for the two of us. She overcame more than I ever realized.”
“Did you read the part about your winning the debate contest at your school?” Elina asked.
“Yes. That was in this one. I was a freshman in high school when my mom wrote this to Aunt Marketta in a Christmas card. Are you ready for this? Her opening line is, ‘Penny has surprised me again.’ ”
I laughed. “Small wonder.”
Penny grinned and continued, “ ‘Penny came home with an award from school for her debate team. Her presentation was on returning sacred lands to Native Americans, and she won first place for the district.’ ”
Penny looked up. “I remember that speech. Guess I was naturally persuasive even way back when.”
“Read the next part,” Elina said.
“ ‘Sometimes I look at Penny, and I think she is a collection of all that was best in Hank mixed with our mother’s deep strength. She has my independent spirit, so we’re having difficulty agreeing on anything. We have many arguments, but I love her fiercely, and I pray for her every day. In my heart, I secretly adore her.’ ”
I reached over and gave Penny’s hand a squeeze. “Your mother adored you.”
Penny looked up, blinking. “She loved me fiercely.”
“And,” Elina added, “she prayed for you. Every day.”
Penny sighed.
The three of us sat in our silent sunbath, soaking it in, immersed in thoughts that expanded our minds beyond the galaxies, beyond our years. In my mind’s eye, I caught a refracted memory. I saw the way the tall candles at the church in Helsinki had given off a reflection in the goblet of wine. The blood. The bread. Broken. All of us broken in some way. All of us invited to come. To receive His eternal life, to cast our nets on the other side of the boat, and to capture all those shimmering bits of glory.
“You know what?” Penny pushed her glasses up on top of her head. “I need some air.” She stood, blinking away tears and reaching for her coat. “Don’t rush. I just have to go outside.”
Elina and I pooled our money to pay the bill. We finished our tea and joined Penny on the noisy street in front of the café. Elina wrapped her arm around her cousin and gave her a hug.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Penny nodded. Raising her head with strength and dignity, she said, “Onward! Where should we go first?”
The night before we had read in the tour book about the collection of museums and shops at the harbor. We joked about stopping in at the pub at the bottom of Church Street even though I couldn’t remember the bartender’s name. Then, of course, we would have to take lots of pictures at the barbershop on Penny Lane and find an actual sign that said Penny Lane. That was my goal for the day—lots of pictures.
Tonight we would take a train back to Elina’s home, catch a few hours’ sleep, and then make another airport dash to catch our flight home in the morning. This was our last hurrah before we jumped back over the moon.
Since Elina wasn’t answering, I said, “Penny Lane.”
“What?” she answered.
I laughed. “No, not you. Penny Lane. The street Penny Lane. Our first stop should be Penny Lane. Let’s grab a taxi and ask the driver to take us there while we still have this glorious sunshine.”
Elina held up her hand to hail a cab. We climbed in and took off going the “wrong way” on a narrow street. The driver seemed to be winding us all around town. We wouldn’t know if he was ripping us off or not since Penny Lane could have been the next street over from the café, and we would never know.
When he came to an abrupt halt in front of an unimpressive street of shops, I noticed the name painted on the window. “This is the barbershop,” I said, as if suddenly I was the master of Beatles trivia. “Tony Slavin’s.”
We climbed out and stood in front of the white shop with black trim, looking at each other. I noticed a large black and white poster of the Beatles in the shop window next door. The sign painted in black across the top of Tony Slavin’s read, “Ladies & Gentlemen’s Hairdressing.”
“I’ll take a picture of the two of you,” Elina offered.
The cabbie asked if he should wait. We told him yes and then asked him to take a picture of the three of us. He was the quietest of any of the cab drivers we had encountered on our journeys. If ever we wanted an energetic cab driver, this was the moment. I missed our nightclub-promoting cabbie from Helsinki. This cabbie was old and missing an eyetooth. He wore a frayed tweed cap, which he had pulled down over his forehead while feathers of gray hair stuck out the sides.
“Can you take us to Penny Lane?” Penny said as we got back in the cab.
“This is Penny Lane, love.”
“Yes, but isn’t there a sign or something that says Penny Lane?” Elina said. “Would you drive us around slowly until we find a sign?”
“I know just the place.” He popped the car into gear and made a tight U-turn in the middle of the street. All three of us were taking in an eyeful of narrow houses lined up on either side of the bumpy street.
The driver pulled onto the side of the road and pointed
across the street. At a curve in the road, a brick wall that stood about five feet high was marked with a white sign. In straight, plain letters the sign declared, PENNY LANE.
“Perfect!” Penny was the first one out of the cab.
I was right behind her. This is what I had hoped for. As I got closer, I realized the brick wall was thick with green moss growing over the top and moving its way into the crevices. The brick wall was old. The sign was old. It was splintered and worn by weather and showed evidence of faded graffiti.
“Look at that,” Penny said, standing close to the sign. “It’s falling apart like the rest of us.”
“An era gone by,” Elina said with a touch of sadness. “I was just thinking about how this will mean nothing to my children when I tell them. We’re fast becoming the older generation, aren’t we?”
“But, look!” I said, pointing to the sign. After the bold, black letters, was a small number 18 in red. “That’s us. Eighteen forever on the inside.”
Penny laughed and posed next to the sign, pointing to the number eighteen. I snapped a picture.
The cab driver shuffled over and took a picture of the three of us. Then Elina convinced him to come get in the shot. I took a picture of Elina and Penny on either side of the bemused cabbie.
“Now one of just Sharon and Penny,” Elina said.
Penny and I looped our arms around each other and tilted our heads just right so that the magic number 18 appeared in the opening between our necks. I felt the sun coming at us at an angle, pressing warm sunbeams across our foreheads.
“Hold it right there!” Elina said. “Oh. Wait. I have to change the film. Don’t move.”
Penny and I held the pose.
“Sharon?” Penny said.
“Hmmm?”
“You know how you said you wanted to surprise me by getting me to Penny Lane for a birthday present?”
“Yes.”
“Well, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Now I’m trying to figure out what to get you for your next birthday.”
“You already bought me the blue sweater set in Finland.”
“I mean for your next birthday. And the one after that, and the one after that.”
“How about if we just say that this whole trip covers all my birthdays from here on out?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Okay, the camera is almost ready,” Elina said. “Oh. Wait. The film didn’t catch. Just a minute.”
“Sharon?”
“Hmmm?”
“You know what you are?”
“No, what?”
“You’re my best friend.”
“And you’re my best friend, Penny.”
“You came on this trip with me.”
“You invited me on this trip.”
“Yeah, but you came. You did it. You stayed with me. There should be a word for women like you.”
“There is. It’s friend.”
“No, more than a friend,” Penny said. “More than a best friend. You’re brave. Daring. Close. Caring. Deeply spiritual and forever eighteen on the inside.”
“Kindred spirit? Soul mate?”
“No, it’s different than that. You’re like a sister, but you’re—”
“Okay,” Elina called out. “The film is all set. Smile!”
“Wait!” Penny held up a hand to the camera. She turned to me. “I know what you are.”
“What?”
“You’re a sisterchick.”
“A sisterchick?” I laughed.
“Yes. Definitely. You’re a sisterchick. My sisterchick.”
“That makes you the original sisterchick.”
“I can live with that.” Her face broke into a wide grin. “I can live a really long time with that.” Turning back to the camera, Penny said, “Okay. We’re ready, Elina.”
I opened up my heart and laughed freely as Penny Lane punched her strong arm into the air, right there on Penny Lane, and shouted, “Sisterchicks forever!”
Epilogue
Kiitos Cottage
Maple Leaf Lake, Washington
October 18, 2003
For almost a week I’ve been blissfully sequestered here at our little cabin that fronts Maple Leaf Lake. I guess you could say this cottage is what Penny gave me for my birthday the year after Helsinki and all the years that followed.
Penny and Dave bought this cozy place nine years ago. Jeff and I have been fixing it up. We named it Kiitos Cottage, and Penny had the name carved on a redwood plaque, which now hangs over the front door. The picture of Penny and me in front of the Penny Lane sign is on the right-hand wall as you enter.
At Penny’s insistence and on her dime, her cousin Elina and Elina’s husband, Arnie, came to visit her a few years ago. Penny couldn’t convince Marketta and Juhani to come, so two summers ago Penny and her whole family returned to Finland. Above the fireplace is a picture of Penny and Marketta on Porosaari. They’re both holding up fish.
To the left of that is another photo of a fish. This one is of Joona from the hotel in Helsinki. He took Penny up on her invitation to come visit sometime and came to the U.S. with a few friends. They spent a week here at Kiitos Cottage, and Joona caught the largest fish anyone has ever pulled from Maple Leaf Lake. He sent Penny the photo. On the picture frame are the words, “Joona and the Whale.”
Every year, on the weekend that falls closest to my birthday, Penny and I meet here for what our husbands call our “sisterchick weekend.” We don’t fish. We talk, eat, and laugh. Not always in that order.
I came early this year so I could write our Finland story. The words have tumbled out as I’ve lowered the bucket deep into the well of my abundant life.
I’d almost forgotten about the wailing nine-month-old who vomited on me. Now I see that incident as a moment that God used to start a new thing in my life. You see, as my children grew older, my heart kept going out to young mothers.
I guess I went from an emerging chick to a mama hen because I started a group called Mom’s Monday Mornings. Every week mothers come with their children to our wonderfully practical, multipurpose church for a time of prayer and encouragement. During the past seven years we’ve involved over a thousand moms and their wee ones. Many of the moms weren’t connected with a church, just like Dave and Penny when they first came to Chinook Springs. Dozens and maybe hundreds of women, along with their families, have been loved into God’s kingdom.
I guess we don’t really choose the things we’re good at doing, even if it’s as simple as loving new moms and their babies. But we choose whether or not to do something lasting with it. Being in charge of Mom’s Monday Mornings energizes and fills me in an extraordinary way. Even with all the challenges and setbacks we’ve had, I know I could do this for another ten years. Easy. And with joy.
One thing I know is true about finding out what you are gifted to do: Satan divides. God multiplies.
God has multiplied my love for others, especially those in the small circle of my life. Sometimes I think Jeff and I couldn’t grow any more in love with each other, but each year brings us closer.
Penny said it’s the same with her and Dave. They had a really awful two years right after Finland. The root of the problem seems to have been their schedule—or lack thereof. Both Penny and Dave were working too many hours. All three of their children were on soccer teams and had full social calendars.
I’m certain Marketta’s prayers and motherly counsel kept Penny steady through that difficult season. Marketta advised Penny and Dave to cut back their work hours, meet once a week for lunch, and “kiss twice a day, whether you feel like it or not.”
Penny says after following that advice, their marriage bloomed like a field of wildflowers. They are closer now than ever.
I’ve thought many times about what would have happened to Dave and Penny had she not gone to Finland. She wouldn’t have resolved her identity struggles before coming into a stretch of marriage struggles. She wou
ldn’t have had access to dear Marketta’s loving support and wisdom. She would have felt terribly alone. I think God gave Penny a thimbleful of blood when she needed it most.
When I look back, I realize how many shimmering bits of glory fill our lives now. I’m amazed at how much has happened to both of us after we cast our nets on the other side of the world.
Monique and Penny have become strong friends and see each other whenever Monique comes to San Francisco on hotel business.
Our children are all doing well. Our seven little ones who overwhelmed us in that church nursery so long ago are now grown. Penny became a grandma last summer when her Nicole had a baby girl.
“Our first little sisterchick!” Penny wrote on the back of the photo she sent me.
My Kaylee has been married a year but no babies on the way yet. My relationship with Kaylee took a wonderful turn after Finland. I told her my season of being her facilitator was over, and now she and I were two women figuring out how to be friends. She cried a few glistening tears and slowly began to trust me with her life’s complexities, which for several more years came wrapped in layers of wild emotions. By the time Kaylee was eighteen, we were closer than I ever was with my mother. And definitely closer than I was with my mother-in-law.
I’m happy to say that the Lovin’ Gloria shop God opened in my heart stayed open. God kept all the shelves stocked with exactly what I needed to love this woman who never loved me back.
Gloria became seriously ill about six years ago. I went to her house every day to care for her and to make dinner for Grandpa Max. Her illness lingered, and she became bedfast. She and Max moved in with us, and I loved on her good for eight months until she had a seizure that sent her into a deep, dark place where she only sang the low notes. Grampa Max and I were with her when she quietly passed away. I’ve often felt grateful that I made peace with Gloria before she was called upon to make peace with God.
Our son Ben had a rough stretch after the flagpole incident when he broke his wrist. God kept His hand on this “son of my right hand.” But Gloria was the one who ministered to him with cakes during his down times and sent him boxes of cookies when he went off to college. Last summer Ben married a fiery, red-haired girl. I adore her.