The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real (46 page)

Oh Lord.

All the Yada Yada families were present in full force—even Ricardo Enriquez and José, dressed in the embroidered short jackets and large silver belt buckles they'd worn for Amanda's
quinceañera.
Amanda made a beeline to sit with José, and I let her go. We were just one big family this morning, anyway.

I was worried that Yo-Yo would chicken out because of the rain, but as Pastor Clark announced the opening scripture from Proverbs 18, the Garfields arrived with Yo-Yo and her two brothers trailing behind them . . . and I wanted to burst out laughing.

Yo-Yo was wearing a brand-new pair of lavender overalls.

“The name of the Lord is a strong tower,” Pastor Clark boomed, covering my giggle that escaped. “The righteous run into it and are safe.” Then the praise team launched into the Don Moen worship song based on that same verse: “The name of the Lord is . . . a strong tower!”

The name of the Lord is a strong tower!
What a wonderful theme for Avis's wedding and Yo-Yo's baptism. I'd been thinking of the meaning of Avis's name—“refuge in battle”—as who
she
was to me and to Yada Yada. But a deeper meaning probably went right along with this proverb: Avis herself took refuge in “the name of the Lord,” which probably accounted for her peaceful heart and spirit of praise.

Pastor Clark served Communion as usual on the first Sunday of the month, but as we all settled back in our seats, he still held up a cup and a hunk of bread. “As you all know, we share the sacrament of Communion each month to remember the broken body and spilled blood of Christ as atonement for our sins. There are other sacraments with great meaning for the church—and one of these is marriage, a picture of the relationship between Christ and His bride, the church.” In spite of himself, Pastor Clark betrayed the seriousness of his words with a wide grin. “Avis Johnson and Peter Douglass have asked us all to participate with them as they join their lives together in the sacrament of marriage. So if the guest musicians can give us some music, we need a few minutes to get ready.”

Avis's and Peter's self-conscious smiles turned to puzzled glances. Obviously, they thought they were just going to stand up, say their vows, and sit down.
Ha!
Think again, Avis.
Florida caught my eye across the room and gave me a thumbs-up as Ricardo and José Enriquez stood in the back of the room and began picking the tune, “Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring,” on their acoustic guitars. As the music played, Ben Garfield, Ruth, and Delores disappeared into a side room and came out carrying a traditional Jewish
huppah,
which looked very much like a squared-off garden trellis decorated with silk ivy. A collective “Ooooh” from the congregation greeted them as they set it in place and then covered the top and sides with a colorful quilt . . . the friendship quilt.

Avis's mouth dropped open, but she obediently stood up as Pastor Clark motioned her and Peter forward. One of her grandbabies—Conrad's namesake—ran up and gave her a small bouquet of white roses to hold, and he got a big kiss, which he wiped off immediately as he ran back to his mother. Avis and Peter stood under the
huppah
as Pastor Clark gave a short wedding homily based on several “joy” verses, then asked Avis and Peter for their vows. I don't think there was a dry Yada Yada eye as Avis spoke her own words to Peter: “Peter, first of all you are my friend . . .” Tissues came out and noses blew all over the room.

Pastor Clark also asked them to repeat the traditional vows “to love and cherish till death do us part.” As Avis and Peter exchanged rings, Ricardo and José came forward with their guitars and serenaded the startled couple with a traditional Latino love song. Another Yada Yada surprise.

Grinning from ear to ear, Pastor Clark finally pronounced them husband and wife. “You may kiss your bride!”

Okay, what happened next wasn't exactly Sunday morning decorum—more like pumped-up fans at a foot-ball stadium—and the cheering and clapping and whistles went on for a good five minutes. Peter took advantage of the pandemonium and got in two or three extra kisses.

“Jump de broom!” Chanda cried, conscripting Uptown's janitorial push broom into service. Others took up the chant: “Jump the broom! Jump the broom!” And to my dying day, I'll never forget the poised principal of Mary McLeod Bethune Elementary sailing over that broom on the arm of her new husband as Avis Johnson
Douglass.

Pastor Clark finally called for a semblance of order long enough to say, “Well, that's half our worship service today. But I've just been told that the sun is out—for the next five minutes anyway.” General laughter. “I'd like to suggest we go immediately to the lake for the second half of our celebration—the baptism of Yolanda Spencer.”

Yo-Yo ducked as all eyes turned toward her.

“What? Now?” Ruth spluttered. “But what about the wedding cake?” She bustled over to the pass-through window and slid it open. “See? Made special for Avis and Peter. Not so cheap either!”

45

R
uth was only slightly pacified when assured that we'd all come back to the church for cake. “Just pour some water on Yo-Yo's head,” she muttered, “and let's eat.” Still, Ben dragged her down the stairs along with the rest of the congregation to pile into cars parked along Morse Avenue and on the side streets. Most of the teenagers elected to walk to the lake since it was only a few blocks to Loyola Beach.

I thought Avis and Peter might sneak away in his black Lexus, but no, there it was in the beach parking lot when we pulled in. Avis had actually done a quick change back in the women's restroom and was wearing a gold and black tunic with harem pants and a black shawl—one of her favorite casual outfits. Peter still kept looking at her as if he wanted to eat her up.

It took thirty minutes for everyone to gather on the beach, but the weather was still holding. Billowy thunder-heads piled up on the horizon, yet there was no wind, the clouds overhead had broken, and the noonday sun brightened the water to a turquoise green. Seagulls screeched and swooped over the water, then did two-point landings on the sand, probably figuring that “people” equaled “food.”

Denny strolled over to talk to Mark and Nony, and Mark seemed easy in his manner. Guessed he wasn't too annoyed at Denny for the “sabbatical” suggestion. But I doubted that he'd told Nony what Denny had said.

Carla ran past me just then, chasing the seagulls, her beaded braids bouncing, making the birds fly up a short distance before they landed again. Carl Hickman squatted down on his haunches, grabbed his daughter as she flew by, and tickled her till she cried, “Stop, Daddy!”

Florida hovered beside me. “See that? I been thinkin' maybe I died and gone to heaven. That man came home every night last week wearin' self-respect like a new suit of clothes. Even Carla feel the difference in our house. Didn't throw a single tantrum all week.Well, okay, one.” She pulled on my sleeve. “Hey, they gettin' ready to start.”

We all gathered around Pastor Clark and Yo-Yo in her lavender overalls, standing with their backs to the water. Uptown's pastor explained that Yo-Yo was not a member of our church but participated in a prayer group that involved several Uptown members. “Not that it matters,” he said. “We don't baptize people into a particular church. We baptize them into the family of God, the universal church of Christ that proclaims Jesus is Lord.” He turned to Yo-Yo. “Would you like to say something before we proceed?”

Yo-Yo, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, stared at her toes as if hoping a pocket of quicksand might swallow her. But she finally lifted her spiky blonde head and man-aged a quirky grin. “Hey, everybody. Yeah, I wanna thank Ruth and Ben Garfield, you know, for bein' the parents I never really had. Took Pete an' Jerry under their wings 'fore they got too big for their britches.”

Yo-Yo's teenage brothers, wearing baggy pants and oversize athletic shirts, got slapped upside the head by a few snickering teenagers nearby.

“An' I wanna thank Yada Yada, all of 'em, for lettin'me ride along with this crazy prayer group all year.Today's our anniversary, ya know . . .” Whatever she said next was drowned out by whoops and hallelujahs and “praise Jesus” from all the Yada Yadas scattered among the crowd at the edge of the water, and our friends and families laughed. But Yo-Yo seemed unfazed and just repeated herself when the noise died down. “An' I 'specially wanna thank Becky Wallace over there . . .” She jerked a thumb toward where Stu stood with Becky, clad in one of Stu's bulky sweaters and a pair of slacks that covered her ankle monitor. “ 'Cause she ain't patient like these other nice Christian ladies. She tol' me to make up my mind an' get off the fence—either be a Christian or be a pagan like she is.”

No! Yo-Yo didn't say that!
I shot a glance at Becky, sure she'd be mortified being identified as a pagan in front of a bunch of church folks, even if those
were
her own words. But a grin—the first one I'd seen since the DOC guys dropped her off a week ago; maybe the first one I'd
ever
seen—spread out under the shapeless brown hair. Close behind me I heard Adele mutter: “Get that girl into my shop. That hair needs help—bad.”

I strained my ears. Yo-Yo was still talking, her voice almost swallowed by the great outdoors. “Also, Becky's one person who knows what it's like to sit in jail and be free again. An' I guess that's why I want to be baptized today, 'cause we both know being a pagan ain't all it's cracked up to be. I'm tired of my insides bein' in jail, an' I want Jesus to make me free.”

“Thank ya,
Jesus!”
Florida shouted, and for half a minute even the teenagers joined the clapping and amens.

Denny slid an arm around me and gave me a slight squeeze. “That girl just preached,” he murmured, his voice full of admiration.

Pastor Clark then asked Yo-Yo the baptism questions about confessing her sins and believing that Jesus is the Son of God and accepting His forgiveness because of what He did on the cross. Yo-Yo, never one to follow protocol, blurted, “Yeah, I got it. If not, Avis over there will explain it to me.”

It was time to go into the water. Pastor Clark beckoned to Denny, and the two men took off their shoes and rolled up their pant legs. Yo-Yo did the same. Clinging to each other, the trio started into the water. “Aaaiiiieeee!” Yo-Yo screeched, hopping up and down. “It's
freezing
!”

Laughter spread through the crowd, comfortably warm on the shore in our light jackets and sweatshirts. Some of the teenagers and children took off their shoes and waded a few feet into the water, just to prove it wasn't too cold for
them.
But the trio in the water kept walking—up to their knees . . . up to their thighs . . . almost up to Yo-Yo's waist. They finally stopped, turned around, and the two men held Yo-Yo's arms and shoulders in a good grip. Even from the shore we could see Yo-Yo rolling her eyes and making faces at the frigid lake water, though it was hard to hear what Pastor Clark was saying to her. But I caught “. . . in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit”—and then Pastor Clark and Denny quickly lowered Yo-Yo backward into Lake Michigan and brought her up again, dripping wet.

“Thank ya,
Jesus!”
Florida shouted again, and someone started the group on shore singing, “Tell me, how does it feel to come out the wilderness?” as the trio headed back toward shore.

“Wait!” someone shouted. I was startled to see Becky Wallace pull away from Stu's side and head for the water. At the water's edge, she kicked off her shoes and waded in, heading toward the shivering Yo-Yo. The singing died away as everyone gaped.
What in the world?

For a nanosecond, I wondered if Becky had figured out a good escape—just head into the water and keep swimming. Or drown the ankle monitor. But she stopped as she met up with Pastor Clark, Denny, and Yo-Yo, saying something and gesturing with her hands. She and Pastor Clark talked intensely for a few minutes. Then the two men looked at each other, and I saw Denny nod.

All four of them turned around and headed back into waist-deep water.

Several of us realized what was happening all at once.
Becky Wallace wanted to be baptized!
Chanda began jump-ing up and down. “Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Oh, Jesus!” I heard “Glory!” and “Thank You, Jesus!” But Stu caught my eye, and without saying a word, we both kicked off our shoes and waded into the water. That sister needed some sisters around her while she did the bravest thing I'd ever seen—though wading into the water took guts, too.
Ai-yi-yiii!
It was
cold
!

Pastor Clark waited for us until we got there, and to my surprise, Denny stepped aside and beckoned for Stu and me to take his place at Becky's side. She gripped our hands like a lifeline as Pastor Clark said in a loud voice, “Becky Wallace, on your confession of faith and desire to follow Jesus, I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” And down she went. Back up she came, eyes squeezed shut—but the smile on her face was like its own sunshine.