The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Caught (8 page)

“Yes! Yes!”
followed that prayer and then silence. Large in every-one's heart was the concern,
Would this baby make it?
I peeked through my eyelashes at Ruth. She was blowing her nose into a lace-edged hankie.

“Uh, God. I'm new at this prayer stuff.” Becky Wallace's eyes were squeezed shut. I guiltily shut my own. “But I wanna thank You for the sisters in this group and all the love they've poured out on me and Little Andy. I know I got a long way to go, Jesus, but thank You for bringin' me this far. And help me not to bum out on You.”

Now the prayers were mixed with laughter and hallelujahs.

“Me, too, God,” Yo-Yo chimed in. “But in the thanks department, I'm real glad Pete got to go to that Cornerstone gig, even if he does think they were heavy on religion. So thanks. And, if it's OK with You, I'd like some of what he got there to stick—oh.” Yo-Yo looked up, stricken. “Guess I wasn't supposed to ask for anything yet.”

By now we all had our eyes open. Even Avis laughed. “That's all right,Yo-Yo.Maybe it's time to bring our requests to God and each other.Who'd like to start? ”

I eyed Stu. I'd really like to hear about that family reunion.

But Florida jumped in. “Hickman household sure do need your prayers. Thought Chris was gettin' the message when we grounded him. But, then, what do I find in the backpack he carry ever' time he go out? Spray paint. Jesus, help me! Don't know what to do with that boy! Police gonna catch him for sure if he's taggin'.”

Delores cleared her throat. “José said he saw some drawing Chris did at Cornerstone.”

Florida smacked her head. “Don't tell me that boy got himself in trouble at Cornerstone too! Mercy! He just got himself grounded another two weeks—”

“No, no,” Delores protested. “A picture on a T-shirt. José said it was very good.”

“
Humph.
Don't know about that. His teachers complain 'cause he doodles all over his homework, turns in a mess.” Florida shook her head. “But what can I do? Can't take away his drivin' privilege 'cause we don't have no car.”

Adele snorted. “The boy's only fourteen anyway.”

Florida ignored her. “Still,we lookin' to move 'fore school starts, Jesus help us.We got all three kids crammed in one little bedroom. Chris sleepin' on the couch most of the time. But Carla growin' up, needs a room all by her own girl self.” As Florida talked, my eyes focused on the long scar that ran down the side of her dark face. She'd never mentioned it, and I'd never asked. The scar was wide, like it hadn't been stitched properly.
Oh, Flo.What happened to you?

“Where do you want to move? ” Stu asked Florida.

“North Side if we can. We'd be closer to church, closer to Carl's work. Fact is, I wanna get Chris outta that neighborhood. Them Black Disciples runnin' over the place. And you know Chris. Lookin' up to all they swagger and gold chains. He's ripe for the pickin'.” Her eyes were fierce. “But they gotta step over this mama first.”

“Yeah,” said Yo-Yo. “Toss Pete in there. Don't think he's runnin' with no gang, but he don't see nothin' wrong with smokin' weed, playin' around with pills an' stuff. Man! He oughta know what that stuff did to our mama. She still zoned.” Yo-Yo sounded like she was going to cry. She was only twenty-three and trying to raise her two teenage half brothers. I'd cry too.

“I think maybe we should stop right here and pray for our children,” Avis said. “Whether they're little or whether they're grown, all of our kids need a lot of prayer.My Rochelle needs our prayers right now too. Adele? You want to lead us out? ”

Avis! That's all you're going to say about Rochelle?

But Adele with her sixth sense—or maybe God's gift of discernment—picked right up on Avis's half comment and plowed right into a prayer for Rochelle. “Glory, Jesus! The Bible says God loves us like a mother loves her nursing child, so we know You understand about our kids who are grown. They still break our hearts, because we can't kiss their troubles and make it all better. They're grown but they need Somebody, Lord, who will walk with them, holding their hand when we can't. So I'm praying for Rochelle now, Jesus!” Adele Skuggs, owner and chief beautician at Adele's Hair and Nails, reached deep in her spirit and her voice rose. “You know she's got that baby and that good-lookin' husband. Whatever she needs prayer about is about them too—”

Ooo. Right on, Adele!

“—and whatever is hurting Rochelle is hurting Avis and Peter too. So, Jesus, we ask You right now to take charge of this situation . . .”

I was breathless.Did Adele know what this was about? No, she couldn't! But before she finished, she'd prayed up and down for Chris Hickman, for Pete Spencer, and threw in most of the other Yada Yada kids for good measure.

RUTH DIDN'T LOOK PREGNANT—YET. She'd always been a bit thick in the middle, and her usual dark dresses had little shape. In fact, as I hugged her good-bye at the end of Yada Yada, I couldn't help wondering if she was mistaken. “You all right, Ruth? You didn't say much tonight.”

“Puh! What's to say? I talk too much about this baby, people start to argue with me. ‘You? Pregnant? A bad joke. Must be cancer.
Oy gevalt
, at your age. Poor Ben.' ” She snorted. “Better to keep my mouth shut.”

A car horn outside pumped three long brassy notes. “Yo-Yo! ” Ruth yelled out my front door. “Tell Ben to keep his shirt on! I'm coming, I'm coming!” Then she patted me on the arm. “Thanks for asking, Jodi.You, I don't mind. And . . . we need prayer.” She bit her lip. “A lot of prayer.”

We hugged a long moment, and then she was gone.

Chanda was the last to leave. “Sista Jodee! Can you give me a ride home? ”

“Ack! Chanda, Denny has our car.” I yanked open the screen door. “Maybe the Garfields haven't left yet.” But the taillights of the big Buick were already winking away. I stifled an expletive or two. Why didn't Chanda grab a ride with Adele or Avis when she had a chance?

I faced Chanda. “Sorry, Chanda. No car. Denny took Amanda to a movie.”

“When dey be back? ” Chanda flopped down on our couch. “Mi can wait.”

It was all I could do to keep my mouth from dropping open. The nerve of this woman! I wanted to clean up after Yada Yada, then relax and read a book or something. Not babysit Chanda George. Then I had a revelation. Stu! Stu lived upstairs. Stu had a car. I'd just run up and ask if she could—

“Wanting to talk 'bout someting, anyway.” Chanda dug around in her oversize bag. “Mi hoping you and dat mon of yours know someting about dese time-share vacations.” She pulled out a wad of glossy pamphlets and a business-looking folder.

I parked my Stu idea and sank down on the couch beside Chanda.
You're a selfish brat, you know that, Jodi Baxter? Money or no money, Chanda is a single mom and probably very lonely. How much time do you actually spend with her, anyway?
I took one of the folders. Hawaii beckoned.

“Now dat—” Chanda's eyes shone. “Dat's mi free vacation to Hawaii! Hawaii, Sista Jodee! Airfare, t'ree nights, two meals a day—all free! What you tink about
dat
? ”

That I didn't believe it for a minute. “What's the catch? ”

She looked confused. “Catch? ”

“That's it? You won a free vacation? Or is there something else? You said something about time-share.”

“Yes, yes, dat vacation be mine. Easy as squish big mosquito. Just go to dis reception an' listen to all dey facts about ‘time-share' vacations, den pick up mi free tickets. No obligation, dey say. First time free!”

Reception. Slow death by sales torture was more like it.

The back screen door slammed. A moment later Amanda poked her head into the living room. “Hi,Mom.Hi,Ms. George.” Then she ducked back out again.

“Hey, babe! We're home!” Denny's voice from the kitchen. Waylaid by the refrigerator, no doubt.

I smiled at Chanda. “Car's back. I can take you home now.”

“No, wait.” She laid a hand on my arm. “What mi wanting to ask, Sista Jodee . . . dis reception be coming up dis week. Dat's when mi get dem tickets to Hawaii.But . . .” She looked sheepish beneath her crown of stylish corkscrew curls. “Dey talk so fast, Jodee. Mi cannot understand all dey say. So mi asking, could you come with me? So mi don't miss anyting.”

7

I
punched my pillow and flopped over.Too hot to sleep, even with the window fan on high. Were we the last people on the planet without air-conditioning? Had to be at least eighty-five degrees and 100 percent humidity—at midnight! I glanced resentfully at Denny, bare-chested, mouth open in sleep.
Would it break the bank to get a small air conditioner for our bedroom window? Huh? What would it be—a hundred bucks?

Fear licked at my sweat. Now wasn't the time to buy an air conditioner. Not if I was about to lose my job. “Oh, God,” I moaned and flopped again.My oversize Bulls T-shirt, damp and wrinkled, wadded up around my middle.

“
Uhhnnn,
Jodi,” Denny mumbled beside me. “Quit rocking the boat.”

That did it. I slid out of bed, padded into the living room, where the fan in the bay window was going full blast, and pulled the recliner around until it lined up with the mechanical breeze. Maybe I could fall asleep out here. As I sprawled in the recliner, Willie Wonka's nails clicked on the wood floor; then his cold nose touched my hand.

I scratched the top of the dog's noggin. “Sorry I got you up, Wonka.” For some reason, the dog's gentle affection made my eyes puddle.
OK, God. I know it's not just the heat. I'm scared. I don't want to lose my job! I like teaching!
Didn't I? OK, so there were some months I threatened to quit every other day. No-show parents at parent-teacher conferences. Kids who spoke English as their second language and could barely read. A too-crowded classroom, where half the kids might qualify as ADHD. But overall, teaching at Bethune Elementary had been God's gift to me.Nonreaders becoming readers, late bloomers blooming, aha moments of learning. A few special children, like Hakim Porter,who had worked his way into my heart, only to have to let him go. And Avis Johnson-Douglass, the best principal a teacher could ask for.Not only a great boss, not only the worship leader at my church, not only the person who'd invited me to that Chicago Women's Conference a year ago where we met all the other Yada Yada sisters—but also one of my best friends.

Or so I thought.

“Avis!”
Fear and frustration welled up in me, along with new tears.
“You can't do this to me!”
I meant to be yelling in my head.
Good grief.
Did I yell out loud? I sat up, held my breath, and listened, but all was quiet at the back of the house. Relieved, I sank back into the recliner.

Good grief is right, Jodi,
said the Voice in my spirit.
Are you back in prayer kindergarten? Whatever happened to ‘Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything—with thanksgiving!—present your requests to God. And the peace of God will guard your heart and your mind'? You don't even know anything for sure, but you're already hightailing down the road of anxiety.

Using my rumpled T-shirt, I wiped the tears off my face. It was true. I was working myself into a state and I didn't even have the facts. And—I swallowed—even if I did lose my job, had God brought me this far to leave me now? Somewhere in the back of my brain, I could hear the words of that processional, the one the choir at Adele's and Chanda's church had sung the Sunday Yada Yada visited.

We've come this far by faith
Leaning on the Lord!
Trusting in His Holy Word
He's never failed me yet . . . I'm singing
Oh, o-o-o-oh, o-o-o-oh! Can't turn around
We've come this far by faith . . .

GOD'S PEACE MUST HAVE PUT ME TO SLEEP because I was still in the recliner when I woke up the next morning, mere minutes before the alarm went off in our bedroom. And I did feel peaceful for most of the day after the Baxter men left for their summer jobs. After walking Willie Wonka, I put on some gospel music to help me tackle the pile of mending that filled an entire laundry basket; had to turn it off to take a phone message for Denny from West Rogers High. Even delivered iced tea to Becky Wallace, who was down on her knees in the backyard weeding the flower garden.

“We shoulda planted some tomatoes in that real sunny spot.” She rocked back on her heels, wiping the sweat off her face with her arm as she took the glass of iced tea. “Maybe next spring.”

Would Becky still be here next spring? Surely—

She squinted up at me. “Hey. I got some good news.”

“What? ” I sank down onto the grass. That's what I needed. Some good news.

“Know how I been tryin' to find some kinda job I can do at home till I get this monitor off my ankle? Telemarketing or stuffin' envelopes—somethin' like that.”