The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real (15 page)

I
t was odd to see Stu's sporty two-door next to our minivan in the garage the next morning when we got ready to leave for church. The Bennetts had been true urbanites and took public transportation everywhere, so we'd had the two-car garage to ourselves. Denny had just pushed the button to open the wide door when Stu came bopping into the garage, wearing a dressy, red wool coat and matching red scrunch hat over her long blonde hair. “Hey, great, I caught you guys! Mind if I ride with you?” She slid open the side door of the minivan and climbed in. “No sense taking two cars to the same place. Parking's terrible on Morse Avenue.”

And that was that. The Baxters had just become a family of five on Sunday morning.

Stu's chatter filled the few blocks to Uptown Community—how much she liked the apartment . . . how glad she was that she didn't have to live in an impersonal apartment building . . . how excited she was to begin her new job with DCFS next week. By the time Josh let us off by Uptown's front door, I was quite relieved to melt into the clumps of people surging up the stairs to the second-floor meeting room.

Florida and the kids were back—
yea, God!
I gave her a big hug—then realized only Cedric and Carla were with her. “Chris?” I asked. She rolled her eyes and grimaced. My heart sank. Like father, like son?

Peter Douglass was back too—hadn't seen him since the first Sunday in January. Rick Reilly, guitarist in the praise team, was leading worship today, so Peter and Avis were sitting together on the other side of the room from us. Couldn't help watching them out of the corner of my eye. Peter, looking dapper in a dark gray suit and open-necked black shirt, whispered to Avis from time to time, while she tried to stifle a laugh. Florida must've been watching them too, because she poked Denny and me from the row behind us just as we stood for the opening song. “Can't you guys invite those two over for dinner or somethin'?” she whispered at us.

Denny and I both grinned. If Peter Douglass intended to court Avis Johnson, he was going to have to pass muster with her Yada Yada sisters—and then some.

So after worship, Denny and I hustled over to where Avis and Peter were greeting several Uptown folks and edging their way toward the door. I gave Avis a hug. “Say,” Denny said to Peter, “we'd like to invite you for Sunday lunch sometime soon. You too, Avis.”

I could swear Avis rolled her eyes at me without moving a muscle. Peter glanced at her as if looking for a cue, but she was suddenly looking somewhere else. “Uh . . . I'm not sure when I'll be visiting next. Been taking in services down at Salem Baptist on the south side.”

“Now that's a big church!” Denny said. “Reverend Meeks, right? I've heard a lot about him—would like to visit sometime.”

Peter Douglass looked amused. “Not too many white folks do. I'm sure you'd be welcome, though.”

This conversation was veering down another trail. “About Sunday lunch,” I jumped in. “It doesn't matter when. Next week, two weeks, three—just let us know so we have something on hand besides tuna fish.We'd really like to have a meal together.” I smiled big at Avis, my meaning clear:
You too.

YADA YADA MET AT my house that evening, but we got a late start because everybody had to tromp upstairs to see Stu's new apartment. That gave me a minute to pull Delores aside for a huddle with Denny. “I know we promised you an answer about the
quinceañera
this week-end,” I told her, “but . . . are you sure you want to go through with it? Since you still haven't heard from your family after the earthquake, I mean.”

It was an honest question this time, not just a last-ditch attempt to get out of it. Denny and I had had time to talk over our options for the
quinceañera
that afternoon, and even though we had finally agreed to the possibility of a modest party, we both had this one reservation about going ahead.

Delores's eyes brimmed even while her warm smile pushed her cheeks into rounded dumplings.
“Gracias.
Thank you for thinking of us. But . . . life must go on,
sí
? I'm sure I will hear from them soon. So . . .” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, still smiling. “What do you want to do?”

“Well, okay. If you're sure.” I held up my hand, ticking off on my fingers. “Pastor Clark says we can use the big room at Uptown on a Saturday. And he's okay with José's band—just gotta have everything cleaned up by Sunday morning, of course. And maybe Yo-Yo can get us her employees' discount on a cake from the Bagel Bakery.”

Delores beamed. “What about the service? A prayer of blessing? Communion?”

“I don't know. Denny? What do you think?”

Denny pulled his eyebrows together. “I'd like to give that some serious thought. The more I think about this, the more I like it—a public recognition of my girl becoming a young woman. It could be—oh.” He cleared his throat. “Hi, Amanda.”

Amanda in search of a snack had appeared in the kitchen doorway. “What are you three whispering about?” she asked suspiciously. “Mrs. Enriquez?” Suddenly her face broke into a grin. “You're going to let me have a
quinceañera,
aren't you? Thank you! Thank you!
Gracias!”
She threw her arms around her father's neck, then Delores's and mine in quick succession.

“Uh, Amanda?” I untangled myself from her choke-hold. “Don't get ahead of yourself. And you interrupted. Give us a few more minutes, okay?”

She grabbed the cordless and flew back into her bed-room, probably to call José.Well, we hadn't denied it.

We could hear the Yada Yada sisters clomping back down Stu's front stairs and coming into our entryway, talking and laughing. Delores laid a hand on my arm.
“Un momentito.
Edesa and I would like to make a dress for Amanda, a special dress for her
quinceañera.
You will let us do this, please?”

Denny and I exchanged glances. A dress was one thing I'd been worried about, but we didn't want this party to be a big expense for the Enriquez family.Yet I could tell Delores meant it, and I didn't want to offend her.

“If you . . . oh, Delores.” I wrapped my arms around her. “Of course. Thank you. That will be
very
special.”

The two of us hustled back to the front of the house, while Denny took himself into our bedroom with a book for the duration. It was times like this I wished we had a larger house with a family room or finished basement or
something
where the rest of the family could hang out when the living room was in use. Oh, well. Maybe in another life.

“We have a lot to thank God for tonight,” Avis said, as the Yada Yada sisters settled on the couch and the various chairs around the room. “Also a lot of concerns that need our prayers.” She seemed back in her usual form. The pain and uncertainty I'd seen when she'd talked about her cousin that day must be banished to some deep place in her spirit. Did she regret letting me see her doubt—or was it anger?—at God's silence?

I took in the room at a glance—was everyone here tonight? Yo-Yo camped on a floor cushion per usual . . . Adele overflowed a straight-backed chair from the dining room, her arms crossed as if saying,
Maybe I'm here, maybe
I'm not . . .
Hoshi and Nony, our two “internationals,” sat on the couch on either side of Stu . . . Florida . . . Ruth . . . Delores . . . Edesa . . . hmm. Only eleven. Someone was missing.

“But before we begin our praise and prayer,” Avis continued, “we promised last time to answer Yo-Yo's question about baptism. I think it was, ‘What's blood got to do with it?' ” That got a laugh. Even Avis grinned.

“Yeah.” Yo-Yo nodded her spiky hair. “What Florida said about washing in blood. I mean, that is
so
weird.”

“It's a good question, and I'm glad you asked.” Avis began with the Old Testament concept of a blood sacrifice to atone for the sins of the people. “Sin separates us from God and leads to death,” she explained. “The blood sacrifice of an unblemished lamb was God's temporary provision, a substitution, making a way for His people to be reconciled with God. Yet it was only temporary. All along He planned to send His Son to be that perfect sacrifice, to take our penalty for sin on His own body. That is what Jesus' death on the cross was all about—taking the punishment for our sin, so that we can be reconciled with God. He spilled his blood, He died a cruel death—and then God raised Him from the dead!”

Yo-Yo's brow wrinkled. “What's that got to do with dunkin' people in the water—that baptism thing?”

I wasn't the only one who smiled.
Oh God, I love Yo-
Yo—I really do.
She didn't let any of us get away with platitudes or pat answers. In fact, her questions made me think. Did
I
really understand all the truths I took for granted about my faith?

“Jesus died and was buried in the earth; then God raised Him up to new life.
That's
what we celebrate in baptism. When we go under the water—like being buried—we show that we have died to our old self, pro-claiming that our sins are washed away by the blood of Jesus.When we come up out of the water—like Christ's resurrection—we are proclaiming that we have a
new
life . . . eternal life.”

“I don't get it.We still die. People dyin' all over the place.”

“Yes. This I want to know too.” Hoshi leaned for-ward with sudden interest.

Avis's voice was passionate. “Yes, these bodies will die. But our real selves, our souls, will live forever.”

“With a
new
body, thank ya, Jesus!” Florida put in. “Tired of this ol' thang. Mm-hm . . .” She began to hum, then broke out in a song. “Gonna put on my dancin' shoes . . . down by the riverside . . .”

Adele added her full contralto, then the rest of us joined in—“Down by the riverside!”—and for a few minutes the living room was rocking.

When Florida and Adele settled down once more, Yo-Yo spoke up. “Got one more question. What if you don't get baptized? I mean, what if some terrorist blew up this house right this minute? What about us who ain't baptized?”

Avis's voice was gentle. “It's not baptism that saves us, Yo-Yo. The thief on the cross who acknowledged Jesus as the Son of God was told, ‘Today you will be with me in paradise.' Baptism is a matter of obeying the Word of God, which says, ‘Believe and be baptized.' Even Jesus was baptized by his cousin, John the Baptist, as a testimony, uh . . . a public demonstration of his faith.”

“Huh.” Yo-Yo nodded, her forehead still wrinkled. She had no more questions.

I wanted to ask,
“So, do you want to be baptized?”
But I caught myself.
Don't keep rushing ahead of the Holy
Spirit, Jodi.

Avis shut her Bible. “All right? Why don't we begin with some praise to the Lamb of God, our Savior.” And true to form, she simply began to murmur words of simple praise, inviting others to join with her.

The praise got pretty loud with Adele back in the group, her voice carrying us along even when others had paused to think or pray silently or just take a breath. Yet I still heard the doorbell . . .
ding-dong.
The front door.

I looked up—and saw Hoshi's almond eyes fly open, and her face tighten with fear. Several others too, opened their eyes and looked around uncertainly—memories of that Yada Yada prayer meeting last September suddenly aroused, when a knife-wielding burglar had been innocently announced by that same
ding-dong.
I heard Avis say, “Sisters, God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and a sound mind. Let Jodi take care of it . . .” And she continued to pray.

Let Jodi take care of it . . . great.
At least we kept the door locked now during meetings. I headed for the front door and was relieved to see Denny coming down the hall in his slippers—he'd heard the doorbell too. He peeked through the peephole that allowed us to see someone standing on the front porch . . . and grinned at me.

“Just Chanda,” he whispered, giving me a peck on the cheek before disappearing.

I unlocked the door and pulled it open. “ 'Bout time you lettin' me in!” Chanda protested, darting into our entry as she waved a taxi away. “It be only t'ree degrees out dere!” She was grinning as she peeled off her winter jacket and tossed it on the coat tree. “All de sistahs here? Ooo girl, 'cause I gots some hot news.”

A taxi? That wasn't like Chanda, who lived close to the bone on her earnings cleaning houses on the North Shore. Guilt nibbled at the edges of my mind—should we have picked her up? But she didn't call or anything . . .

Chanda made a beeline for the living room. Avis was wrapping up the praise time with a closing prayer, and Chanda danced on her feet, hardly able to wait for the “amen.” As the Yada Yada sisters lifted their heads, she blurted out, “I won! I won
big
!” And she jiggled her feet and turned around in a little victory dance.

All of us just stared at her. Finally, practical Ruth snorted. “Won
what,
Chanda George?”

Chanda stopped bouncing, but her grin threatened to knock off both ears. “De
lottery
—dat's wot! Don't you all be watchin' de news ever' night? No takers for de big pot, come now weeks and weeks. It be growin' an' growin,' jess waitin' for dat lucky number—till
today
.” She thrust up her arms, holding her fingers in a victory salute like a politician on election night. “Hal-le-
lu
-jah!”

I could tell others in the group were having a hard time believing her. I wanted to ask, but it was Yo-Yo who gave voice to our collective thought. “Okay. How much did you win?”

Chanda wiggled her eyebrows. “Don't know yet—dey gotta take out dey taxes an' all dat stuff. But . . . it gonna be a
lot
o' dem zeros!”