The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real (39 page)

An impassioned altar call for “salvation, rededication, repentance, or church membership” closed out the service, while the choir swayed and sang softly, “Just as I am without one plea . . .”
Oh my.
It'd been a long time since I'd heard that hymn. We didn't have altar calls at Uptown Community, though Pastor Clark had his own ways of inviting sinners into the kingdom.
“Just as I am
without one plea . . .”

Why had it taken so long for
me
to come to Jesus “just as I am,” without a lot of excuses?

I had a sudden, un-Jodilike urge to shout,
“Thank You,
Jesus!”
that God had brought me this far, even though it had taken a terrible accident—an accident that had taken my spleen and the life of a young boy—to open my eyes to a basic fact: I was just a sinner, saved by grace. But I kept my mouth shut and my hands clasped in my lap. Didn't want to find myself swept to the mourners' bench, surrounded by the deacons.

I'd come this far by faith—but not that far.

After the service, we stood in the foyer, shaking hands and ignoring the stares of giggling children who seemed quite puzzled why a mishmash of beige and brown visitors had come to their church with “Sister Skuggs” and “Sister George.” I must have been asked ten times if I enjoyed the service. I nodded and smiled and said yes, which was mostly true—though I'd gotten pretty rattled when a woman started screaming and jumping and crying during the B selection, prompting the “mothers” to surround her in a protective circle, fanning judiciously.

“Oh girl, that took me back!” Avis said, as she and Florida walked Stu and me across the street to our car. “I cut my teeth singing A and B selections in the choir. And the mother board—mm-mm. Still anchoring the black church.” She gave me a sly smile. “Maybe we need a mother board at Uptown Community.”

“Girl, ain't nobody old enough at Uptown,” Florida snorted, “ 'cept you.” She grinned at Avis. “You got a white dress?”

“Now
you
watch yourself, girl,” Avis warned, but she and Florida walked off laughing.

As Stu and I piled into her Celica and pulled out of the parking spot, I couldn't help feeling trapped in my own skin. Paul and Silas's service didn't take
me
back—except for “Just As I Am.”Wasn't sure I'd ever be able to “get down” with my black sisters. Or Latina sisters either, for that matter. Not really.

But the processional song (“
Traditional Spiritual
,” the bulletin had said) kept running through my mind, edging its way into my spirit:

We've come this far by faith
Leaning on the Lord!
Trusting in His Holy Word
He's never failed us yet! We're singing . . .
Ohhh-oh-oh-oh-ohhhhh-oh-oh-oh-ohhh!
Can't turn around
We've come this far by faith.

Now that was true. True for me, true for Florida, true for Hoshi, true for Stu—true for all of us in Yada Yada.

Can't turn around
We've come this far by faith.

DENNY AND THE KIDS had already snagged some lunch by the time we got home, Josh had gone off to play some basketball, and Amanda was on the phone in her bed-room. “Good time?” Denny asked, leaning against the doorjamb between dining room and kitchen as I put together a fried-egg sandwich.

“Yeah. Interesting. Pretty traditional Black Baptist, I think—except for wearing that doily on my head.” I gave him the eye. “Do not snicker; do not pass
go
; do not collect two hundred dollars. The old guard takes the head-covering thing seriously.”

I took my sandwich into the dining room and slumped into a chair. Wasn't sure I felt hungry. Maybe I needed a nap instead. But I dutifully bit into the wheat bread.

“Oh!” I mumbled, my mouth full. “One really good thing. Stu apologized to Chanda before service. Said God was dealing with her about the sin in her own life, and she had no business pointing fingers.”

One of Denny's eyebrows went up. “Really? Stu did that?” He nodded thoughtfully. “Amazing.”

“I know. It takes guts to own up to your own sins.” I swallowed a bite with difficulty and put down my sandwich, my own words ringing in my ears.
It takes guts to
own up to your own sins . . . to ask forgiveness of the person
you've sinned against.
Guts I seemed to lack when it came to facing Geraldine Wilkins-Porter, the mother of Jamal Wilkins and Hakim.

“Jodi? Jodi!” Denny's voice cut into my numb thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“Uh . . . yeah. Sorry.” I pushed the sandwich away.

Denny looked at me funny. “Ohmigosh, Jodi. I totally forgot to ask about your appointment with Dr. Lewinski on Friday.What'd he say?”

I hesitated.

“What? What'd he say?”

I smiled gamely. “Don't worry. I'm okay. He did some blood work, stuff like that. Says I'm kinda run-down, but nothing serious. Yet. But he's not surprised I've been sick a lot this spring. I don't have as much immunity with my spleen gone, you know. Thinks I
really
need to be careful with all the SARS cases cropping up in the U.S.Told me the surgeon general just issued a quarantine for all SARS patients to keep it from spreading.”

Denny's brow puckered. “Which means?”

I sighed. He wasn't going to like this. “Which means he doesn't want me to travel to New York over spring break. Told me to stay home, avoid big crowds, get lots of rest.” I could read dismay registering on my husband's face. “But I've been thinking about it all weekend, Denny. I think you and the kids should still go.Without me. Really!”

38

D
enny called a family meeting that night after the kids came home from youth group. But we could hardly get a word in edgewise. The kids had chosen to volunteer at the seven-day Cornerstone Music Festival over the Fourth of July as their mission project this summer. Excitement dripped from their pores. There'd been a big debate that night about inviting non-Uptown kids to join them at Cornerstone as part of their mission. “You know, like Yo-Yo's brothers and José—kids who've done stuff with us in the past,” Amanda explained.

Uh-huh. I could see why the debate. Pete and Jerry Spencer were basically likable pagans, while José Enriquez was a church kid with a Christian family. Who needed Cornerstone more? But who would be a responsible volunteer? On the other hand, if José went along, would Denny and I need to go along as chaperones?

I stifled a groan. I didn't need another “I Survived Cornerstone” T-shirt.

Denny finally put a lid on the Cornerstone babble and told the kids what Dr. Lewinski had said. That shut them up—for about two seconds. “But Mom!” Amanda wailed. “You don't look sick to me.”

“I'm not, exactly. Just not up to par. Doctor doesn't want me to risk picking up a nasty bug, especially with the SARS epidemic gathering momentum.”

Josh cut to the chase. “Does that mean the trip is off?”

Denny cleared his throat. “Well, that's what we need to talk about.”

“Absolutely not.” I glared at Denny. “It just means I'm not going with you.”

“Oh.” Relief and guilt tussled on Amanda's face. “It won't be the same without you, Mom.”

“Won't be the same without you either. All the phone calls will be for
me,
no punk rock—Christian or other-wise—blaring from your bedrooms, no dirty underwear cluttering up the bathroom. And the mint-chocolate-chip ice cream will actually still be in the fridge the day after I buy it.”
Not to mention I'll be as lonely as a single sock. But
hopefully not as useless.

So that was that, though Denny still looked dubious. As the kids disappeared into their rooms to finish up homework before bed, Denny turned on me. “Wait a minute. Didn't the doc say to avoid crowds? You
knew
that, Jodi—and yet you went to this Paul and Silas church in the city today! Isn't that a crowd of strangers?” He rolled his eyes in frustration. “What's up with that? What if you get sick while we're gone?”

I shrank in my chair.Guilty as charged. It hadn't even crossed my mind.

THE WEEK WAS SHORT, schoolwise. A professional development day on Friday gave public-school students a head start on their spring break, and my traveling trio decided to take off early Friday so they could be at the Baxter grandparents' for Palm Sunday. But it also meant only four days to wash clothes and pack three people for nine days, get the minivan tuned up and tires rotated, and make sure the car was packed with all the necessities to function without Mama Bear along—snacks, paper tow-els, wet wipes, first-aid kit, water jug.

Might have gone without a hitch if the U.S. Army hadn't pushed into Baghdad and claimed control of the city by midweek. But it was almost impossible to keep everybody on task when images of jubilant Iraqis toppling an ego-size statue of the dictator were being shown over and over again on national TV.

Stu caught me in the basement stuffing a load of jeans and sweats into the washing machine the night Baghdad fell,muttering dark threats because Josh hadn't signed up for his SATs yet. “Jodi Baxter! What are you doing washing Josh and Amanda's clothes at their age? In your condition!”

I bristled. She made it sound like I was nine months' pregnant or nine months shy of kicking the bucket. “They do their own wash . . . sometimes. But tonight they're all glued to the TV. And I'm
fine.
”

“Right. You're fine. So doggone fine your family's going off to New York and leaving you home to ‘rest.' Here. Let me do that, and you go upstairs and get those two teenage misfits off their butts and down here.”

Sheesh!
Who was Leslie Stuart to tell me how to run my family? Except, dang it, she was right. I snorted. “Tell you what. I'll do this and
you
go upstairs and get my two misfits off their duffs. That'd shock 'em.” I started to giggle . . . and then I started to cry.

“Hey.What's wrong? I'm sorry—”

“No, no, I'm okay. Really.” I wiped my face on a dark T-shirt and stuffed it in the washing machine. “Just feel-ing sorry for myself. Nine days without Denny and the kids feels like . . . like pulling isolation for bad behavior at the county jail.”

“Hey. I'll be here. Do you want to have dinner together or something next week when I get off work? I could cook one night, you the next, something like that.” She smiled ruefully. “Fact is, I'm in isolation all the time.”

I stared at her in the dim light from the swaying bulb overhead. “Sheesh, Stu.What a jerk I am. Spoiled, too, I guess.”

She shrugged. “That's okay. I'm used to it. But I wouldn't mind the company.”

“Sure. That'd be great.” Suddenly the week ahead didn't seem like such a black hole.

Stu poured a capful of detergent and dumped it on top of the jeans. “Speaking of jail, I wonder what's happening with the parole board? I sent that letter, like you said.”

“You did?”
I said that?
“Well, uh, that kind of thing takes time. They've got lots of parolees to consider.”

“Yeah, guess so. But I was thinking that maybe some of us should make another visit. Maybe this Saturday?”

I shook my head. “Count me out, Stu. Denny had a fit that I went to Paul and Silas after the doc said to avoid crowds. I'm sure Lincoln Correctional would be off the list. But you could ask some of the sisters who are already on the visitors' list.”

DENNY AND THE KIDS took off early Friday morning in the Dodge Caravan, trying to beat the morning rush hour. After the invasion of Baghdad, the terrorist alert level nudged up to orange—but what did that mean? Nothing to Josh and Amanda. Yellow, orange, red—nothing short of a nuclear bomb on Chicago would have stopped them heading for New York with CD players, earphones, and duffel bags. I did barricade the back door with my body, and the four of us stopped long enough to hold hands in the kitchen and pray for “traveling mercies,” as my dad used to say. Then kisses and hugs and wet licks from Willie Wonka . . . and they were gone.

Me—I had to go to school as usual. I thought about using Dr. Lewinski's order to avoid crowds as an excuse to ditch professional development day, but I realized that wouldn't fly since I already mingled with these teachers and staff on a day-to-day basis. Besides, it was required. However, just before leaving the house, I made a rash decision and clipped Willie Wonka's leash to his collar. He needed a walk, and he could just walk to school with me. If Avis didn't like it, she could send me home. Poor Wonka was so pooped by the time we got to school he curled up under my desk and snored through the whole day. Avis never even knew he was there.

My third graders would have loved it. An old dog at school!

True to her word, Stu brought supper Friday night—Chinese takeout. Then she spent most of the evening on the phone finalizing the trip downstate to the prison the next day. Turned out that only Yo-Yo and Hoshi could make it. Carla was still spending every other weekend with her former foster parents, but
this
weekend she was home. As Florida put it to Stu: “No way I'm gonna be gone and Carla end up wishin' she was at their house, see what I'm sayin'? Carla an' me—we're goin' shopping for an Easter dress.”