The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Caught (35 page)

OK, I needed that.
My mad melted, and I joined the circle at the front as hands were laid on bent heads and shoulders. I heard tears along with the prayers. For some reason, I thought of the tears the prostitute cried over Jesus' feet: No words were adequate really, just washing away the dust of our road together, aware of our own fallenness. At the same time, tears of gratitude—gratitude for all God had done already and was going to do.

I WAS STILL TRYING TO SORT OUT MY MIXED FEELINGS about the members who'd parted ways with Uptown as I headed up to Stu's apartment later that day for Yada Yada—and ran into Josh and Edesa dragging up the front steps from their long weekend at Manna House. Josh looked like he'd hardly slept the last two nights. “Hi,Mom,” he mumbled. He gave Edesa a tired hug. “Bye, Desa.” And he disappeared into the house.

Great timing.He'd be zonked by the time I got home from Yada Yada, and we still hadn't celebrated his birthday yet. I peered at Edesa closely. “Josh looks like he just crawled off the Sahara.What about you? Should you even be here tonight”

She smiled briefly, but the usual sparkle was missing. “
Sí.
I'm all right. I got more sleep than Josh did. But . . .” Edesa shrugged, slim hands thrust into the pockets of her jeans, overnight backpack slung over one shoulder of her jean jacket. “Two nights at the shelter was difficult, with the
niños
crying at night. But I have an apartment waiting for me. I used to think it was small, but I won't complain again. I heard many sad stories. Some of those women . . .” She bit her lip. “They have no
casa,
no place to go.”

I gave her a hug and opened Stu's screen door to get us inside. The temperature, which had only hit fifty that day, was starting to fall and I didn't have a jacket on; I thought I was just going to bop out my front door and up to Stu's apartment. But just then a North Surburban YelloTaxi pulled up and Chanda climbed out. “You go on,” I said to Edesa and waited for Chanda.

“Where's the Lexus? ” I teased as I followed her up the stairs. Chanda didn't answer. “Chanda? You OK? ”

She threw me an irritated glance over her shoulder. “Why should mi be OK, Sista Jodee? Dey going to carve mi up like de pumpkin heads at Halloween, dat's all!” And she stalked into Stu's living room, plopping herself down on Stu's futon couch.

I followed. “Chanda,” I whispered. “You need prayer, and that's why we're here—to pray.” She nodded, puddles in her eyes, and helped herself to some apple slices and caramel dip on the coffee table.

By the time we'd cleaned off Stu's plate of apple slices and caramel dip, almost everyone had arrived—even Nonyameko and Hoshi this time. Good. I wanted to ask Nony about the mood at New Morning.Were people there leaving too?

Yo-Yo was the last to arrive. “Ruth says Happy New Year to y'all,” she said, flopping on a floor cushion. “Beth Yehudah is celebrating Rosh Hashanah, ya know.”

Becky snorted. “Never heard of Rosh Hashanah till I started workin' at the Bagel Bakery. Still don't get why Jews got their own new year.”

Yo-Yo made a face. “Ask Ruth next time. She'll talk your ear off.”

Everybody was there who was going to be there, but Avis made no move to start us off. In fact, she seemed off in the ozone some-where. Finally Delores said, “Avis, if it is all right with you, I will begin with prayer,
sí
? ”

And she did. I loved to hear Delores pray, peppered with Spanish words and phrases, as if she was most comfortable praying in her primary language. “. . . and we invite Your presence tonight,
Espirito Santo
. Lace our hearts together and make us one people.
Gracias, Jesús.
Amen
.
”

That
prayer was right on the money,
I thought.

Somebody started “Blessed be the name of the Lord!” which we sang with gusto: “The name of the Lord is . . . a strong tower! ” Afterward Nony opened her Bible and read the verse in Proverbs 18 it was based on: “The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe.” So we sang it again: “The righteous run into it . . . and they are saved!” Even Chanda.

The song died away.We all looked at Avis. Finally Adele
harrumphed.
“Sister Avis. You got something we need to pray about? ”

Avis looked so surprised it was almost comical. “I'm sorry. I . . .” She shook her head, then allowed a big sigh. “I'm sorry. I just—”

“Girl! Quit apologizin'!” Florida cut her off. “You see anybody in this room ain't got problems? Just spit it out. We're listenin'.”

Another sigh. “It's Rochelle again. She showed up an hour ago with Conny, just as I was leaving to come here. Dexter came back; another big mess, I guess. I probably should have stayed home to find out what's going on, but Peter insisted I keep going and he'd take care of it.” She grimaced. “I'm just a little worried what ‘take care of it' means.”

33

W
e will pray right now.
Venido!
Come!” Delores waved us out of our seats to gather around Avis. “Nonyameko. Pray protection for Avis's daughter and the baby
.”

Nony led out with pieces of Psalm 91: “O Lord, we say on behalf of Rochelle and little Conny, that
You
are their refuge and fortress, their God in whom they trust! Cover them with Your feathers; under Your wings they will find refuge.
Your
faithfulness will be their shield and rampart—”

Yo-Yo poked my leg. “What's a
rampart
? ” she whispered.

“It's, uh, some kind of wall, I think,” I whispered back. “I'll look it up.”

As we found our seats after our prayers, Delores pointed to the door. “Avis, go home. That's where your heart is right now. It's all right.”

We all murmured assent. Avis hesitated about two seconds, gathered her stuff, and slipped down Stu's front stairs.

Delores spread her hands. “So, now,who else needs prayer? ” She smiled. “We are ‘warmed up,' as you say here in the States.”

“Mi be needing de prayer big-time!” Chanda blurted. The puddles lurking in her eyes spilled over as she recounted the visit to the cancer doc and the upcoming surgery later that week. “He—he tink it might be de cancer,” she hiccuped. “Won' know till he get in dere—mi might wake up wit'out me breast!” She really blubbered then as several other Yadas passed her tissues. “Why God be letting dis 'appen to mi? ” she wailed. “Everting goin so good for we now! Dis not s'posed to be! Oh pray, sistas! De devil be attacking me body—an'what mon want a 'oman wit only one breast? Ohhhhhhh . . .” And fresh tears flowed.

Hoshi and Stu, sitting on either side of Chanda on the futon, murmured words of comfort and held her hands as she cried. But no one prayed. What was going on? I was hoping someone else would pray, because I wasn't sure how—or for what. For healing? Well, sure. That it was a misdiagnosis and not cancer? Still a possibility. But I wasn't sure about what Chanda said.Was God “letting” this happen? If so, for what reason? Was it an attack from the devil? Or just “bad things happen to good people too” ?

The Voice in my spirit seemed to whisper in my ear.
God doesn't waste anything.He uses everything to accomplish His purpose. So pray.

OK. That's right. It was our job to pray and God's job to answer in His own way. So I prayed aloud for Chanda, asked God for healing, asked for a good report of no cancer. But I also prayed that God would work His purpose out in Chanda's life. “Bring her closer to You in this time, Lord,” I prayed. “Closer, closer, closer . . .”

I was surprised at the hearty amens from others as I closed my prayer.

Our prayers continued—for Ruth and her unborn babies, we praised God for Becky's new job, prayed for the merger of Uptown and New Morning churches, for continued healing of Nony's husband from his severe head injury, patience for Adele as MaDear slipped further into senility, for the high school students who had stopped by the lemonade stand . . .

That last prayer from Edesa jiggled my private stash of good intentions. I had told God I needed to apologize to Yada Yada for pushing the lemonade stand idea so hard without adequate confirmation and preparation. As the prayers tapered off, I told myself I should really do that tonight—though Avis wasn't here now, and she'd had the most reservations.

But Hoshi's soft, cultured voice broke into the momentary silence. “Lord Jesus, I want to pray for the girl named Sara in my honors history class. She sits by herself, doesn't talk to anyone, yet she is obviously very bright. She seems so alone.Give me an opportunity to show her Your love—as Nonyameko and Dr. Smith did for me.”

As we ended our prayers, I leaned toward Hoshi to ask, “Tell us more about Sara,” but never got a chance, because just then Stu and Becky came waltzing into the room carrying a frosted cake with candles blazing. “Happy birthday to youuuuu . . .” they sang.Others joined in as Becky thrust the cake in my face. “Happy birthday, dear Jodeeeeeeeeeeee . . .”

I was dumbfounded. My birthday seemed like weeks, maybe months ago, overshadowed by Josh's
un
-birthday.

“Blow!” Becky hissed. “Them candles ain't gonna last all night.”

Did I have a wish? Couldn't think of anything on the spot, so I just blew. Out they went. “That's not forty-four candles,” I joked.

“Yes it is,” Becky insisted. “See? Those make a 4 and the rest make another 4.”

Stu handed me a computer-made card with a flourish. “To our very own naming expert.” She grinned. “Your name.”

The card said
Jodi Marie
in a beautiful flourish on the outside, and the words
Grace
and
Rebellion
on the inside. The second word startled me so much I didn't even see the little love notes and signatures of my Yada Yada sisters all around the inside of the card. Was that the meaning of Marie? Why had I never looked
that
up?

I offered a wry grin. “Guess we oughta be careful what we name our kids, huh? ”

“I
told
Stu not to include your middle name.” Becky glared at her housemate.

“Hang on to your booties,” Stu said. “I thought Jodi would get it—see? Without ‘grace' you're just ‘rebellious'—”

Florida snickered. “Now you're sayin' it.”

“—but the meaning of
Jodi
—‘grace'—changes everything!”

Yo-Yo nodded. “Hey, that's kinda cool.”

I managed a smile, still a bit taken aback. “Uh-huh. Guess you're right, that's who I am without God and who I am
with
God.” I looked at the card again. “Aw, these notes are sweet.”

After Becky cut the cake and passed it around—her
third
chocolate cake creation—people started drifting home. But before Nonyameko and Hoshi left, I pulled Nony aside. “Nony, how do people at New Morning feel about the merger next week? Several people are leaving Uptown because of it.” I knew my anxiety was leaking, but I was starting to wonder:
Are we doing the right thing?

Nony, slipping into a simple black jacket with gold buttons, made a face. “I have to confess, Jodi. We have not been going to worship at New Morning.”

She must have seen the alarm in my eyes, because she chuckled. “Only because Mark has not been able to manage the steep stairs at Uptown. Once New Morning begins to meet regularly in their new space, we will come.” Her eyes twinkled. “Next week, right? Mark is very excited about our two churches becoming one.”

I nodded. At least
somebody
was excited. I gave her a hug, catching a whiff of an alluring perfume. Sandalwood or something. “Thanks, Nony. See you Sunday then.”

Stu made me take the rest of the cake downstairs to Denny and the kids. I set it on our dining room table and stared once more at the inside of the handmade card. What was my mother
thinking
when she gave me “rebellious” for a middle name? !

WE FINALLY KINDA SORTA HAD A BIRTHDAY DINNER for Josh on Monday night. I baked a chicken with an apricot jammustard glaze and made mashed potatoes, and Denny picked up a French silk chocolate pie at Baker's Square on the way home. Josh said, “Sweet!” when he opened the CD case from us and made a huge fuss when Amanda gave him three
autographed
CDs from bands they'd heard at Cornerstone. “You got these autographed? Wow,Amanda.” Then he clutched his chest. “You mean you've had these stashed away since last July? When I could've been listening to them for three whole months? Oh, you're cruel! Cruel!”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Mom, he's adopted, right? ”

I handed him a package from my parents and a card from Denny's. “Aha,” Josh said, pulling out a long, knitted winter scarf which looked alarmingly identical to the one my mother had made for me, except longer—much longer. He wrapped it around his head like an untidy turban and opened the next gift, a book about “how to keep your faith in college” and signed, “Love, Grandpa.”