The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Caught (7 page)

I tried to concentrate on the call to worship Avis was reading from the book of Isaiah. “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!” But I kept stealing peeks at Avis's daughter. Beautiful—like Avis. Visiting? But she hadn't come just today—at least, sounded like she and the baby were there when I called Avis last night. And where was the husband? Couldn't remember his name. But he'd been a looker, for sure. Like he'd walked out of the pages of
GQ
. He and Rochelle had seemed cozy enough at her mom's wedding; maybe he was just out of town on business or something. But why was Rochelle looking so sad? She didn't sing, though to me it was almost impossible not to get sucked into the powerful words of the first praise song . . .

We will lift up our hands!
We will lift up our hearts!
We will lift up our eyes beyond the hills To where our help comes from!
Our help comes from You . . .

But Rochelle didn't lift up her hands or her eyes, not even an eyelash.

Pastor Clark based his sermon on the same Isaiah passage Avis had read. “Forget the former things. . . . See, I am doing a new thing!” He didn't say as much, but I wondered if he'd chosen this text because of the idea floated at the men's breakfast a couple of weeks ago about possibly merging with New Morning. That would certainly be a “new thing” ! Still wasn't sure what I thought about it. But he did talk about the spiritual danger of always looking at the past or getting too comfortable with our present circumstances, because God was in the business of continually transforming our minds and hearts and lives to line up with His purposes.

A pretty radical message for Pastor Clark, a widower who probably could have retired several years ago and who reminded me of Mister Rogers, comfy old sweater and terrible tie to boot. Frankly, I thought he deserved to slow down, take it easy, not be talking about gearing up for “a new thing” God wanted to do.

Nice deflection, Jodi,
said the Voice in my spirit.
Don't worry about how this applies to your pastor.How does it apply to you?

I almost snorted.
You talkin' to me, God?
Dumb question. Of course He was. But I wasn't quite sure of the answer. Seemed like God had had me on a fast track of “new things” ever since Yada Yada came into my life.

Before the closing song,Pastor Clark reminded us that since New Morning was still using our building for worship that afternoon, they had been invited to “come early, bring a dish, and join us for our monthly potluck” —which could make a nice ridge between the two services, at least on second Sundays. It was a good idea, but as it turned out, only a handful of New Morning folks showed up for the potluck. Avis and Rochelle, I noticed, disappeared rather quickly after worship and didn't stay.Well, I'd catch Avis later today at Yada Yada.

Denny and I sat across from an older black couple, Debra and Sherman Meeks. She was a teacher like myself but taught special ed kids in another school district. Her husband seemed a good ten or fifteen years older and took frequent breaths from an inhaler. Debra said something about “we both have grandkids.” A second marriage?

Denny and Sherman talked about the state of the Cubs and the White Sox—what else? —while Debra and I chatted. “I love your seven-layer salad!” Debra had a serious serving on her paper plate. “Never get this unless I go to a church potluck. I'm too lazy to make it myself.” She, on the other hand, had actually cooked—a wonderful pot of “dirty rice,” that spicy jumble of hamburger and rice I'd only seen on the menu of the local Dixie Kitchen. The way the teenagers were snarfing it up, she wouldn't be taking home any leftovers.

Florida, Stu, and Becky Wallace sat at another table with two single women from New Morning. The kids, on the other hand—including Florida's two youngest and Little Andy—just roamed the room in a pack, grazing as they went, sitting down, hopping up, running around, and hopefully getting fed. Somehow.

We were digging into somebody's banana cream pie when Stu came by and plopped a basket on the table. “Chair fund,” she called out cheerily, unloading another basket on the next table. I peeked in the basket. A dollar and some change.

I made a face. “We may be sitting on these dreadful chairs a long time.”

Debra threw back her head and laughed. “You said it, not me.”

I grinned. I kinda liked this lady.

Other New Morning people started to arrive to set up for their afternoon service as we put away the last of the tables.We greeted each other with
hello–good-bye
smiles, though I hugged Debra and Sherman and said, “I'd like to come to another New Morning service sometime.” I braced myself for
“Why not today? ”
but I knew there was no way, not with Yada Yada meeting at my house tonight.

But all Sherman said was a gentle, “Likewise.” And he winked.

Denny was quiet on the way home. “What? ” I prodded.

He shrugged. “Just wondered why Pastor Cobbs and his wife from New Morning didn't come to the potluck. The people aren't going to come if the leaders don't.”

ACCORDING TO OUR RATHER LOOSE SCHEDULE, it was Nony's turn to host Yada Yada for our bimonthly meeting.But given the fact that Nony's house had just been turned into a convalescent home, we automatically skipped to the next name on the list:mine.

Under normal circumstances—meaning, the kids typically went to youth group Sunday evening—that usually left only Denny and Willie Wonka to hole up in the back of the house with an ancient thirteen-inch snowy TV. But the church bulletin said, “No Youth Group Tonight” since the teens had just returned from Cornerstone a few days ago.Guess Rick Reilly needed more time to recuperate.

Couldn't blame him.

I was just about to run upstairs and ask Stu if we could meet at her apartment instead, when Denny announced he was taking Amanda to a movie, and Josh said he'd be back in time for breakfast. “Just
kidding,
Mom,” he said when my mouth dropped open. “I'm going to hang out at Jesus People awhile tonight. Some of the guys I met at Cornerstone invited me. Can you drop me off at the el, Dad? ”

I watched my trio head for the garage.Well, that worked out. But since when did Josh's jeans look as if they'd been ripped to shreds by a grizzly bear?

The doorbell rang, and the Yada Yadas started drifting in. Delores Enriques and Edesa Reyes, who usually came by el, were the first to arrive. Delores said, “Edesa,
mi amiga
, you play hostess at the front door. I will help Jodi in the kitchen.”

I opened my mouth to say I already had iced tea and pretzels in the living room, but the mother of five children firmly propelled me down the hall, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. “Jodi!” she hissed. “It is Edesa's birthday in three days. Are we doing anything for her tonight? ”

“Tonight? No! I didn't know!”

She wagged her head. “
Perdóneme.
I was hoping you knew. Things are still so crazy at our house that I didn't—”

I touched her arm. “Is Ricardo still saying José has to drop out of school? ”

Delores rolled her eyes. “I will be in my grave first! What did we come to this country for? So our
niños
could get a good education! José wants to go to college! And he's going to go, if I have to . . .” She made a face. “Never mind.What about Edesa? ”

For a moment,my mind scrambled . . . and then I slowed down. “Next time we meet.We'll do it then.We'll have more time to do it right.”

The round face brightened. “You are right, Jodi!
Sí, sí,
we must do it right. That girl, she is a jewel.” She hustled back toward the growing clamor in the front room. I followed with a pitcher of ice water and paper cups. Even though Delores and Edesa came from different countries—Delores from Mexico, Edesa a “black Honduran” —the two women were more like mother and daughter. And
my
daughter was crazy about Edesa and all of Delores's children. Especially José. I sighed. What if Amanda and José got married someday? Delores and I would be—

Whoa, Jodi. Those kids are only fifteen. OK, almost sixteen. But we are
not
going there.

I counted noses in the living room. Almost everyone. Adele Skuggs . . . Ruth and Yo-Yo . . . Stu and Becky from upstairs . . . Hoshi (but not Nony, no surprise there) . . . Florida . . . Chanda . . .

Avis was the last to arrive. She looked a bit frazzled, had even forgotten her earrings—though she did have her big Bible that looked like it was ready to fall apart if she sneezed. I pulled her aside. “Avis, are you OK? ” I whispered. “What's with Rochelle and the baby? Surprise visit? ”

She didn't smile. “Could say that. The same day we got home from Ohio, Rochelle showed up with Conrad, saying she's frightened. Dexter's gotten verbally abusive, has threatened her physically several times. At least that's what she's saying. Dexter, on the other hand, has been calling frantically, begging her to come back, saying it's all a huge misunderstanding.”

“Oh, Avis. That's got to be tough.”

She nodded grimly. “Understatement. I'm really worried about Rochelle. She cries all the time. But our apartment is
not
set up for three generations. I mean, I love Conny. But he's upset too; he cries for his daddy. It's getting on Peter's nerves.”

I could well imagine. Avis and Peter had only been married for two months. Ruth would be quick to point out that in Jewish culture, newlyweds were supposed to have a whole year before going to war or taking on the world.

Avis rubbed her temples, as if she had a migraine coming. “This hasn't been the best week for something like this to happen. I've had two meetings with the local school council, because the school board is threatening major budget cuts this year. But I've been so distracted, I can hardly wrap my mind around work.”

“Avis! Jodi!” Ruth's voice whipped around the corner of the living room like a lariat, catching us and pulling us in. “A prayer meeting we are having or what? ”

But I held on to Avis's arm for another moment. “Budget cuts? What kind of budget cuts? What are you going to have to cut? ”

Avis looked at me strangely. “I . . . don't know yet, Jodi. But we do need to pray.”

6

S
omething about the way Avis looked at me made me nervous. Budget cuts? Was she implying she'd have to trim the size of her staff? I trailed after her and perched on the arm of the couch as she opened her Bible to get Yada Yada started. But my mind was scanning through the teachers at Bethune Elementary. There'd been three new hires since I'd come on staff two years ago—but all three had left at the end of last year.

My heart sank. Nope. I was still the newbie. If she had to let someone go, it'd be “last hired, first fired.”

Oh God. I can't lose my job! Avis wouldn't—would she?

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to focus on what she was saying. “Many of us are facing major challenges right now.” Avis glanced around the group. “Ruth is pregnant—”

“At
her
age.” Yo-Yo snickered. Sitting on the floor in front of Ruth, she promptly got a whack on the back of her head. “Ow! ”

Avis's mouth twitched and almost smiled. But she went on. “Nony, of course, is caring for Mark,who came home from the hospital this week—”

“Thank ya,
Jesus! Thank
ya!” Florida wagged her head. “Mmhm.”

“—but still has a long road of rehabilitation ahead.”

“Have mercy,
Señor,”
Delores breathed.

I could tell Avis was struggling to stay on point. Would she mention that her own household had just doubled overnight?

But she flipped pages in her big Bible. “Before we share what's on our hearts and pray for one another, let's first line up with the Word of God. Paul's letter to the Philippians, chapter four, verse six says, ‘Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.' ”

Familiar words. Seemed as if I needed to come back to this particular scripture like I needed three squares a day. I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
OK, God, I get it. I shouldn't get uptight before I even know what's what about the budget cuts. Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with my job . . .

Fat chance.
Worry niggled at my prayer.
You're toast, Jodi Baxter.

But I pressed on.
But You said we can bring our requests to You, so please, God—

“—with thanksgiving,” Avis said. “So before we bring our requests to God, let's spend a few minutes thanking Him for Who He is and for all He's done for us.”

OK. So I was jumping the gun. I shifted gears and joined the litany of thanks offered there in my living room by a chorus of female voices. “You are awesome, God! We love You!” “God, You are God all by Yourself, and You all about takin' our messes and makin' things straight—hallelujah!” “Thank You, Jesus, for Chanda's new house.” “Ooo, yes, Jesus! I tank You!” “Thank You, Lord God, for all the ways You provide for us—jobs and income and food on our tables.” (I snuck “jobs” in there.) “And thank You for Ruth and Ben's baby—”