The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Decked Out

by Neta Jackson

  I stifled a hysterical giggle. A wedding at a women’s homeless shelter? At least it wasn’t a justice of the peace.

  “I know it’s short notice, but we’d like to invite the grandparents. Could you give me their phone numbers?”

  “Uh, sure. Just a minute.” I kept the phone to my ear as I hunted for our address book, glad for something to do. The giggle threatened to surface. I’d love to see Denny’s upscale-New-York parents’ faces when they got the invitation to their grandson’s wedding: “You are cordially invited to celebrate with us at the Manna House women’s shelter.” Except it wouldn’t be a formal invitation, just a phone call. Still.

  “ . . . Edesa’s family won’t be able to come from Honduras, obviously,” Josh was saying. “But Delores is going to be ‘mother of the bride.’ And Edesa would like Amanda to be her maid of honor. Haven’t asked her yet, though. Wanted to let you guys know first.”

  I fumbled through the address book but had trouble finding the numbers. Everything was happening too fast! Too much! Too quickly! Thoughts bounced around in my psyche, bumping against my stew of emotions. Yes, Josh was trying to keep us in the loop. But, a wedding on Christmas Eve? Yesterday, the thought of catching up on gift buying seemed like a big deal. And . . .Amanda the maid of honor? Ack! Wearing what? How? . . .Wait. If Edesa was going to have a bridesmaid—

  “Who’s going to stand up with you, Josh?” Oh. Did I say that last thought aloud?

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about that. Since Edesa’s asking my sister to stand up with her, I thought I might ask José Enriquez. He’s the closest thing to a brother Edesa has here in the States—maybe the closest thing to a brother I’ll ever have too.”

  Hm. Amanda and José. Sounded like a plot to me.

  “You got those numbers, Mom? Actually, I’ve got a lot of calls still to make.”

  “Oh. Sure . . . Speaking of calls, should I tell Yada Yada? Are they invited?”

  Josh laughed. “Cool it, Mom. Edesa wants to do that. She’s Yada Yada, too, you know.”

  EXACTLY. EDESA REYES was my Yada Yada sister, had been for three and a half years. I loved her so much. When I first met her, she seemed an exotic creature, not African-American, but African-South-American. Fluent in English, but Spanish was her mother tongue. She had come to the States from Honduras to attend college—the first in her family—and she had a heart to help the poor and the homeless in practical ways: healthy living, good nutrition, mothering skills, whatever. And she was a delight! Her effervescent spirit brightened every gathering, like a child blowing bubbles.

  And yet, when I realized my son had fallen in love with Edesa, a woman three years older than he, everything got complicated. He’d given her an engagement ring when he was nineteen and she was twenty-two. Now he was twenty-one and she was twenty-four—not exactly teenagers. So why did it feel like they were rushing it? Was I holding Edesa at arm’s length, not yet accepting my son’s choices?

  Oh God, I groaned inwardly as I stowed my crutches in the backseat of Avis’s car after school later that week and climbed into the front. I feel like I got on the wrong train, and I want to get off! Why can’t I hear You, Lord? Are You in control here?

  “Are you okay, Jodi?” Avis asked as she pulled out of the school parking lot. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since Edesa called to say she and Josh are getting married next week.” She arched an eyebrow at me. “That’s kind of huge.”

  I snorted. “Yeah. Kind of.” I blew out a long breath. “To tell you the truth, Avis, I don’t know how I feel. Mostly overwhelmed. It’s all happening so fast! I feel like a spectator at a NASCAR race. Zoom, zoom, zoom. ”

  “Don’t blame you.” Avis was silent for the next few blocks. But as she pulled up in front of our house, she put the gearshift in Park and took my hand. “Just remember, my sister, God will work His purpose out for our children, even if things don’t go the way we’d like them to or follow our timetable. Josh and Edesa are two wonderful human beings who love God and want to serve Him. If you can’t trust the decisions they’re making, trust the One who is at work in their lives. And praise Him, Jodi. Praise God that He is working all things together for the good of those who love Him, even when we can’t see it.”

  I leaned over and gave her a hug. “Thanks,Avis. I needed that.” I opened the car door and started to get out, when I suddenly remembered something. “Oh no!” I looked back at her in dismay. “You said you might go to Ohio for Christmas! Is that for sure? Nony and Mark aren’t coming until after Christmas, and neither is Hoshi, which means they’ll miss Josh and Edesa’s wedding! But not you too! Argh! ” I wanted to cry.

  Avis grimaced. “Hm. I hadn’t put that together yet. We were thinking of driving down on Christmas Eve, depending on the weather. What time is the wedding? I don’t think Edesa said. If it’s the morning or early afternoon . . . ” Her brow furrowed for a few moments, then she reached over and patted my arm. “Don’t worry.”

  Don’t worry . . . Don’t worry . . . Seemed as if my Old Jodi responses of worry-first-pray-later had come out of mothballs. Where was my joy? Where was my faith? I made my way up our shoveled walk on my crutches, but tested my weight on the injured foot as I went up the front steps. Not too bad. Getting better. Thank You, Jesus. Jesus, I know I haven’t been thanking You enough . . .

  I paused at the mailbox and dug out a fat handful of bills, catalogs, and Christmas cards from organized people. Christmas cards. One more thing on my should-have-done-but-haven’t list—

  Something fell out of the pack of mail in my hand and fell to the porch. Oh, great. I’ve got to bend over . . . wait a minute. What’s this? I picked up the two small plastic cards. What in the world?

  My stolen credit cards. Returned.

  12

  I showed the cards to Denny later that evening as I heated up leftover corn chowder for supper. He frowned. “Weird. This doesn’t make sense.”

  I “I know. At first I thought, ‘Hey, another Good Samaritan found my cards and returned them! There must be more honest people in this world than I thought.’” I tested the soup. Hot enough. “Then I realized that’s impossible. There’s no address on the cards!—not like my driver’s license in the purse.”

  Denny carried the soup pot to the table. “Unless the same per-son who returned your purse also returned the cards.”

  “Yeah. Thought of that too. Which means the person who found my purse kept the credit cards and then had a change of heart. Or what about this?” I paused for effect. “The person who returned my purse is also the purse snatcher.”

  “Huh. I suppose the thief could have had a change of heart.”

  I snorted. “Not much of one. My money and credit cards were gone, remember? Until now, anyway. Big deal. We canceled the cards that night.”

  Denny frowned again. “So why return them? Doesn’t make sense.”

  I giggled. “Which is where we started.” I grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s pray and eat. I’m starving.”

  But the returned cards worried me. If it was the purse snatcher, then the thief had remembered my address and had been to my home—twice.

  THE WEATHER GUY predicted snow for Friday, the day Amanda was supposed to drive home from U of I with a carload of other students. We already had two new inches of the fresh stuff when Avis dropped me off after school—just enough to slow traffic to a crawl . . . with more to come. I called out, “Amanda?” as I let myself in, but the only sign of life was a flashing light on our answering machine. I pushed Play.

  “Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad. We’re on our way, but it’s like a parking lot on the freeway. We’re . . . hey, where are we?” I heard her talking to someone else in the car, then she was back. “Close to Kankakee, I guess. Don’t worry. Ought to make it home in time for the wedding next weekend, though . . . just kidding! See you tonight. Bye.”

  I pushed Replay, just to hear her voice again.

  For some reason I felt weepy. Was I that worried? No . . . well, maybe a
little. But if I was honest, coming home to an empty house every night was the pits. Which was ridiculous. Good grief, Denny would be home soon.

  So why did I feel so lonely?

  I missed Willie Wonka.

  Not until our old brown Lab died had I realized how much I talked to him when the rest of the family wasn’t around. He’d always been there to greet me when I came home from school, wriggling his whole body with joy. He followed me around the house, listened to me unwind, wagged his tail when I talked about supper options. (“Whaddya think,Wonka—chicken fettuccine or waffles?”) Sure, I enjoyed time by myself to think, to read, to pray—but time by myself withWillie Wonka lying on my feet was a comfort I couldn’t quite put into words.

  Maybe it was time to get another dog . . .

  I shook off the thought. Get over it, Jodi! You and Denny have been over this before. You both work, a dog would be home alone all day . . .

  I sighed. Time to get off my duff and make a welcome-home supper for Amanda. Chicken and dumplings—one of her favorites.

  But as I hobbled around the kitchen in my walking boot, defrosting chicken parts in the microwave and hunting up carrots and celery and onions, I couldn’t stop blubbering. Jesus, I sniffled, it’s Christmas and nothing feels right. I miss Willie Wonka and I miss Nony and Hoshi . . . and, and I’m so frustrated that we don’t have time to plan a decent wedding for Josh, with invitations and a shower . . .

  I tackled the bag of carrots with a peeler, sending the peels flying, and then butchered two large onions until it was hard to tell whether the tears running down my face were the onions or me. And it’s really hard not to be mad at Josh and Edesa for all this topsy-turvy, hurry-scurry. Well, okay, not exactly mad, but I’m really annoyed. Why can’t they wait till January, or spring break, or next summer?

  I stopped to blow my nose, washed my hands, and resumed browning the chicken. And I was really hoping Nony and Mark would come back to stay, and we’re hardly going to have time to see them at all, and they’re going to miss Josh and Edesa’s wedding . . .

  I chucked the vegetables into the pot with the chicken and broth, and banged the lid on top. Now what? Oh, the dumplings. I grabbed the bin of flour on the counter, but in my haste, it tipped over and spilled flour all over the counter and onto the floor.

  “Argh!” I grabbed the broom and tried to sweep up the flour. “And it’s only one week till Christmas and I don’t have anything decorated or bought or wrapped!” The mess on the floor was spreading. “And those stupid kids who snatched my purse and made me sprain my ankle ruined my whole month!”

  A cold breeze made me whirl around. Denny hesitated in the open back door, briefcase in hand. “Um . . . maybe I should drive around the block again.”

  At that exact moment, the front door banged at the other end of the house. “I’m ho-ome! Mom? Dad? Hey—where’s the Christmas tree? Aren’t we going to have a tree this year?”

  Amanda! I frantically shooed Denny toward the front of the house, giving me another minute to sweep up the mess.

  “I was waiting for you to get home, ’Manda!” Denny’s voice trailed his footsteps. “Your mom’s still grounded. How about the two of us picking up a tree right after supper?”

  BY TEN O’CLOCK that night, we had a “Charlie Brown” Christmas tree standing in our front bay windows, complete with colored minilights and the ornaments collected over the years. A little on the short side and a lot on the scraggly, but hey, it was a tree.

  I felt better after dumping my frustrations on God’s lap—after all, King David did it all the time in the book of Psalms. But while Denny and Amanda were out scouting for a tree, I’d also taken a cue from David the psalm writer—and Nonyameko, who’d taught me to pray the Scriptures—and reaffirmed what I knew about God.

  Propping my Bible open to Psalm 62 while I made hot chocolate for the tree gatherers, I’d prayed along with David: “My soul finds rest in You alone, God. My hope comes from You! You alone are my rock and my salvation. You are my fortress!—I will never be shaken. . . . I will trust in You at all times. I can pour out my heart to You, for God is my refuge.”

  I’d winced at that. I’d poured out my heart, all right . . . more like ran at the mouth. But I practically sang verses eleven and twelve: “One thing God has spoken, two things have I heard: that You, O God, are strong, and that You, O Lord, are loving.”

  Wow. Oh, wow. Strong. And loving. Yes, God was bigger than all the circumstances that had knocked me off-balance. He’d work it all out. And I knew that however things worked out, it was because of His love . . .

  “Mom?” Amanda’s voice brought me back to the glittering tree. “You gonna give Josh his ornaments for a wedding present? This will be his and Edesa’s first Christmas.”

  “Ha! He’ll have to come take them off the tree himself. Besides, they don’t even have a place to live yet, much less set up a Christmas tree—oh, yikes, Denny. Speaking of people in transition . . . Becky Wallace is moving tomorrow! Will you and some of the other guys be able to help her after the men’s breakfast?”

  Denny kicked back in the recliner with his hot chocolate. “Yep. Carl Hickman got a crew together. She doesn’t have that much stuff. And I just recruited Ms. Amanda here from the big metropolis of Champaign-Urbana, where the women are strong and the men are good-look—”

  “Da-ad!” Amanda whacked her father with a limp Christmas stocking. “That’s Minnesota.”

  Denny grinned at me over her head. It was good to have Amanda home.

  WE PULLED UP in front of the Hickman-Wallace home by ten o’clock the next morning. I came along, figuring I could clean out Becky’s refrigerator or take care of Little Andy. A crew of guys from the men’s breakfast at SouledOut Community Church was already standing on the porch, bundled up in knit hats and leather gloves, their breath frosty in the sharp chill. One lean figure saw us getting out of the minivan, ran over, grabbed Amanda from behind, and swung her around.

  “Josh!” she screeched. She wiggled out of his grasp and gave her brother a bear hug. “Why didn’t anybody tell me you’d be here too?”

  “’Cause I didn’t tell anybody. Decided to come to the men’s breakfast last minute, ended up at Becky’s move. Hey, Mom. How’s that ankle?”

  “Better. No crutches, see?” I wiggled my walking boot with the half sock over the toe.

  “Hey, y’all!” Florida yelled from the front door. “Come on in here, get yourself warm. Carl should be back with the truck in two minutes, ’less he gets waylaid at Dunkin’ Donuts.”

  We piled into the Hickmans’ front room, where Florida had laid down newspapers and towels to soak up the slushy snow on our boots. Besides Carl Hickman and my husband and son, Ben Garfield and Peter Douglass had shown up too—a group of men Florida and I had dubbed the “Bada-Boom Brothers” ever since they started meeting for prayer and support before the men’s break-fast at SouledOut once a month. Ricardo Enriquez, Delores’s husband, couldn’t make it, but no surprise there. He drove for a trucking company, and his routes varied.

  Carl Hickman came in just then, stamping his boots. “Hey, Carl,” Denny said. “You going to pull the truck around to the alley, load from the back?”

  Carl shook his head. “Nah. Outside steps are icy. Figured it’d be easiest to bring stuff down our inside stairs, but you gonna need to move your car so I can pull the truck closer to the house. Flo, where’s Chris and Cedric? Didn’t I tell those two we needed that walk shoveled?”

  I left the men to figure out logistics and clumped slowly up the stairs to Becky’s second-floor apartment at the back of the house. “I hope this girl knows what she’s doin’,” Florida mumbled, right on my tail. “Sure been nice havin’ her an’ Little Andy in that apartment—one of our own Yada Yada sisters, someone we don’t have ta worry about.”

  I snickered; couldn’t help it. “Yep. Ex-cons come highly recommended.”

  “Don’t you be snickerin’, Jodi Baxter. There but for the grace of God go a whole
bunch of us—includin’ you.”

  Ouch. That was the truth. I could have been given a prison sentence for vehicular manslaughter. Yo-Yo had done time, caught forging checks to feed and clothe her half brothers. Florida was an ex-drug addict . . . “Sorry, Flo. My comment was uncalled-for.”

  “Guess I have to forgive ya, ’cause you too big to wash your mouth out with soap—Chris! Cedric!” She pounded on her boys’ bedroom doors as we passed. “Get your sorry behinds downstairs and get that walk shoveled!”

  The door separating Becky Wallace’s tiny apartment from the rest of the Hickman house stood open. “Hello!” I called. “Becky? What can I do to help? Where’s Andy?”

  Becky appeared in sweatshirt and sweatpants, flushed and bright-eyed. “Hey, Jodi. Uh . . . Stu and Estelle are over at the new place, cleaning. Yo-Yo’s cleaning the bathroom. Little Andy’s building a fort someplace downstairs with Carla—leastwise they stole half my blankets . . . Here.” She handed me a roll of strapping tape. “Maybe you could tape up that stack of boxes over there.”

  I was glad to have something useful to do. Yo-Yo and I chatted as a clump of movers appeared and started carrying furniture down the stairs and out the front door. When it came time to move boxes, Carl organized everybody into a line to pass the boxes hand-to-hand down the stairs and out onto the porch; then he reorganized the line from the porch to the truck.

  The truck was loaded before eleven-thirty.

  Florida was everywhere at once, rounding up strays like an urban cowboy. “All right, everybody, take a break. We got some Popeye’s chicken here an’ some potato salad. Who’s got Stu’s cell phone number? Tell her and Estelle to get themselves over here for some lunch . . . ”

  I’d loaded my paper plate with a juicy chicken thigh and a mound of Florida’s mustard potato salad when I realized Josh had disappeared. I’d just come out of the kitchen—he wasn’t there. But his boots were still in the front hall. Curious, I slipped back up the stairs and made my way down the short hallway to Becky’s empty apartment.