The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real (26 page)

Florida broke the silence. “Now you know I ain't been a lot of places, but I think I got one thing figured out. People and problems—they pretty much the same every-where, know what I'm sayin'? Maybe God is callin' you back to Africa, Nony; I don't know. I jus' know what's wrong over there is wrong here too. Maybe you can do somethin' about that while you waitin'.”

Nony stared at the floor.When she spoke again, her voice was small, defensive. “I know. But God has given me a special burden for my homeland—”

“Girl, you carry that burden like you gotta carry it all by yourself! An' that ain't the way it's s'posed to be!” Florida started paging through her Bible. “Ain't there some verse in here about lettin' God carry our burdens?”

I knew that verse—but could I find it? I flipped to the concordance in the back of my Bible, but Delores beat me to it. “First Peter, chapter five,” she said. “‘Casting all your cares on Him, for He cares for you.”

“The apostle Paul said to ‘carry one another's bur-dens,' ” Nony said stubbornly.

Yo-Yo snorted. “What is this, Battle of the Bible?”

I shook my head. “No, 'cause they're both right.” My heart ached for Nony; I knew how much she and Mark struggled with this issue. Maybe they just didn't have to be so stuck. “I . . . I know the burden you carry for your people comes from your heart, Nony, and I believe God put it there.” Nony's grateful look made me braver. “But you just said you don't know what to do.What Florida's saying is maybe you don't have to be in South Africa to do something about AIDS, or even to help your people. Start now. Here. In Chicago.”

“Like ‘bloom where you're planted'?” Yo-Yo asked. “Is that in the Bible?”

“Somebody say yes,” Ruth jibed. “Then maybe she'll read the Book for herself looking for it!” That cracked the sober silence and got a laugh. Even Nony smiled and blew her nose.

Stu spoke up for the first time. “I know a lot of organizations that could use—”

“I'm sure you do,” Adele cut in. “But I think Nony's got the point and needs some time to think about it. Maybe we can all pray on it with you, Nony.”

“Yes, please,” Nony whispered. “Would you, Adele?”

And so Adele prayed as those next to Nony reached for her hands, a prayer full of compassion for our sister Nonyameko and her longing to “go home” to South Africa, thanking God for the burden He'd put on her heart and asking God to make it plain how He wanted to use her right here, right now. “And, Jesus, show this prayer group how we can help carry that burden with Nony,” Adele added. “There's a lot of hurting people out there—plenty enough to go around.”

“Amen to that!” said Florida.

Spontaneous praise started to bubble up around the group, even from Nony, but MaDear's piercing voice rose above the rest. “Adele! I gotta pee! Adele!” Her voice dropped to a mutter. “Where is that girl? Cain't never find her when I need her.”

Adele scurried over to her mother in the scuffs she wore around the house. “You guys go on—this is goin' to take awhile.” She pulled her mother up out of the chair, and mother and daughter shuffled out of the room.

I couldn't believe it! The perfect opportunity had dropped right in our lap.

“Sisters, wait. Before we move on . . .” I leaned for-ward and in a low voice recounted my experience on Saturday of taking MaDear out for a walk and the idea God had planted in my spirit. “If we all took a turn get-ting her out, even once a month, that'd be . . . what? Two to three times a week!”

Yo-Yo shrugged. “I could do it once a month.”

I nodded. “Some of you live farther away; it'd be a sacrifice . . .”

“Sí,”
said Delores. “But that is what it means to carry each other's burdens. And if we carry it together, it's not such a big burden.”

“Offering to sit here at home so Adele can get out in the evening—that would be good too,” Ruth added.

And so we decided.We conspired not to tell Adele, but we agreed to coordinate somehow so we didn't all show up at the shop the same week. I expected Stu to offer—but it was Hoshi who raised her hand.

“I will keep the calendar for all,” she said in her ever-better English. “It is my honor to be able to serve some-one's mother since . . .” She looked down at her hands and did not finish. But Nony, having regained her composure, reached out and laid a hand over Hoshi's. I winced. How easily I forgot the rejection Hoshi felt from her own mother. There had been no letter, no phone call, nothing since that fateful visit when Hoshi had told her parents she had decided to be a Christian. The same visit when Hoshi had brought her mother to the Yada Yada Prayer Group, and we'd all been terrorized by Becky Wallace—the Bandana Woman—who'd wanted our money and jewelry to support her heroin habit.

By the time Adele came back with MaDear, we were talking about whether to write a letter to the parole board at Lincoln Correctional Center on Becky Wallace's behalf. A few sisters admitted frankly they'd forgotten about it and hadn't been praying about what to do.

Yo-Yo cradled her knees with her arms. “Yeah. It's easy to forget the dudes in prison—outta sight, outta mind.”

“Dudette, in this case,” I said in jest, but no one laughed.

“What do you think, Yo-Yo?” Stu prompted. “You spent time in prison.Wouldn't you have been grateful for early parole?”

“You bet! 'Cept I wasn't at Yada Yada the day the chick robbed all you guys. The victims . . . you the ones gotta decide if you wanna step up to the plate. This is just as much about you as about her.”

Silence again, except for the
ping, ping
of MaDear's buttons.What did Yo-Yo mean exactly, that this was “as much about us” as about Becky Wallace?
Arrgh!
Why did Avis have to be absent tonight? We could use some of her wisdom about now.

But she wasn't.
Grow up, Jodi. Be honest about your
own thoughts and feelings. That's all you can do.

I didn't much relish looking like a fool, yet I broke the silence. “Okay. I have to admit that my feelings toward Becky Wallace have changed since we've been to see her and talked with her in person. Part of that is knowing she's safely locked up at Lincoln. I get nervous thinking about her back out on the street, in
my
neighborhood. I like her best right where she is.”

There. I'd said it.

“Good for Jodi,” Adele said. “At least you're being honest. Have to admit, I feel the same way. Haven't been to see this woman, seen too many strung out just like her, don't hold nothin' against her now that I got my ring back—though I really don't want that woman back in my face.”

I nearly fell off my chair.Adele Skuggs agreed with
me
?

“Maybe ever'body who was there that night should say what they feel,” said Florida. “Get it all out on the table. Then see what God wants ta do with it. Me? You know how I feel. There but for the grace of God goes Florida Hickman—oh! Thank ya, Jesus!” And we waited a few moments while she did some crying and praising. She brushed away tears with the back of her hand. “God gave me another chance, so who am I to stand in the way of someone else getting their chance? I say, let's write the letter.”

I could've felt chastised by Florida's answer, but for some reason I didn't. She said we should each say how we feel. I was glad I went first, though, because if I had to follow Florida I probably would've tried to figure out the “right” thing to say.

Ruth spoke up next. “Is asking for early parole the right thing? Is she ready? That's what I'm wondering, it is.”

Delores and Edesa passed, since they hadn't been there that night either. All eyes turned to Hoshi.

“My sister,” Nony said gently, “if anyone was a victim that night, it was you and your mother.” That was the truth. I could hardly imagine subjecting my own mother to what Mrs. Takahashi—a visitor to this country—had been through that night. And the fallout for Hoshi . . . Her parents blamed it all on her forsaking the Shinto religion.

Hoshi nodded thoughtfully. After ten months of Yada Yada, she was still the quietest one among us. She had not wanted to visit Becky Wallace at first—who could blame her!—then surprised all of us by going to the prison a few months ago and telling Becky Wallace that she forgave her. The petition on B.W.'s behalf had actually been Hoshi's idea, but I could sure understand if she was having second thoughts.

“For the last two weeks, I am thinking about sending this petition.” Hoshi's voice was surprisingly assertive. “I don't know about ‘is she ready.' Maybe that is for the parole board to decide? But what Yo-Yo said is true—this is just as much about us. In Asian culture, we do not focus just on the individual, but on the responsibility of the whole community. So I've been asking myself: Have I really forgiven her? How far does that forgiveness go? What role does my forgiveness—our forgiveness—play in redeeming this woman to once again be part of the community?”

How far does that forgiveness go?

We all looked at each other. Nony said, “I think I have my answer. I would like to sign such a petition or letter or however we want to do it—and then pray over it, commit it to God, whose Word is a lamp unto our feet and a light unto our paths. Because Scripture says that if we commit our works unto the Lord, our thoughts will be established.”

“You preachin' now, sister!” Florida crowed. Heads nodded around the circle.

“Then it's agreed?” said Stu. “If so, we should write a letter tonight and sign it while we're all together—this shouldn't wait two weeks till Yada Yada meets again.” She jumped up. “Adele? Can I use your computer for a few minutes? I'll just type up something brief, and we can sign it tonight.”

“But we don't even know who to send it to,” I protested.

But Adele and Stu were already on their way to Adele's bedroom, where she kept her computer. “Details,” Stu called over her shoulder.

Again we all looked at each other.What now?

“Let's wait to pray until Stu gets back with the letter,” Nony suggested. “Hoshi, do you want to take names of volunteers for—you know.” Nony glanced toward MaDear, who was still poking through the buttons.
Ping
. . . ping . . . ping.

I dug out my calendar from my tote bag and volunteered for a Saturday—no way could I babysit MaDear during the week, not with lesson plans. But it wouldn't be that hard to add it to my Saturday errands.
Reading
. . . would she like someone to read to her?

Adele and Stu came back in five minutes with a draft of a letter. Stu cleared her throat. “ ‘To whom it may concern: We the undersigned, all belonging to a women's prayer group that was victimized by Becky Wallace'—I'll have to insert her prison number here—‘on September 1, 2002, are writing to request that Ms. Wallace be considered for early parole in accordance with the state's desire to reduce prison crowding. Several of us have visited Ms.Wallace on three different occasions and believe she deserves this opportunity to straighten out her life. She also has a two-year-old son who needs his mother. Sincerely . . .' and I left room for our signatures.”

“Addresses and telephone numbers too,” Nony said.

And so we signed. The only other “victim” not present was Avis. I offered to take it to her at school the next day for her signature and return it to Stu to mail.

“Anything else before we pray?” Nony asked. Stu and Delores waved their hands. “Stu?”

“Just a reminder,” Stu said. “We agreed to visit St. John's Lutheran next Sunday. I'll e-mail everybody the address and time, okay?” I grabbed my calendar again and saw I'd already written it in: first Sunday in March.

Delores was next.
“Perdónenme,
I know it's time to pray—but I have the most wonderful idea, and I don't want to forget. Avis and Peter—it's beginning to look serious,
sí
?”

That brought knowing snickers and joking comments began to fly. “Whassup, Delores?” Yo-Yo pushed.

Delores's dark eyes were bright with excitement. “Edesa and I, while we sewed the dress for sweet Amanda, thought it would be wonderful to make a
manta
for Avis—a friend-ship quilt—and give it to her when she gets married.”

“When?”
I burst out laughing. “Oh, you guys are rushing her now. Shouldn't we wait for an announcement or something?”

Delores shook her head. “Those two, they're past the age for a long engagement. If they decide to do it—
bam!
—two weeks and they're married.We wouldn't have time to put together a quilt.”

“I dunno nuthin' about quiltin',” Yo-Yo protested. Murmurs around the room agreed with her.

“You don't have to,” Delores said, grinning ear to ear. “Here's my idea . . .”

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