The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Caught (21 page)

Ben, waiting on Yo-Yo to get in the monster Buick, snapped, “Ruth's not coming. Even if you lived in a basement. Doctor's got her back on bed rest.”

Yo-Yo, Edesa, Florida, and I looked at each other. How did we miss this new development?

BUT BEN WAS RIGHT. I called Ruth the next day when we got home from Second Sunday Potluck, and she said, yes, she'd been ordered back on bed rest at her last prenatal appointment if she didn't want to miscarry. “A few sick days I've still got. So I call the office;my boss has a snit. Can the man find anything when I'm not there? Make his own phone calls?
Oy.
Helpless as a
goyim
in a Yiddish restaurant.” She sighed. “I was hoping to use all my sick days when the baby—uh, babies arrived.But I don't know, Jodi.My job might be kaput when all this is over. One more thing to upset Ben.”

For the first time since she'd announced she was pregnant, Ruth sounded discouraged. And frankly, I didn't know how to encourage her without stomping all over Ben's concerns. The tension between Ruth and Ben made my head ache.

What are friends supposed to do in a situation like this, anyway?
I thought, riding with Stu and Becky toward Yo-Yo's apartment a couple of hours later, half-listening to their chatter in the front seats.

“Kinda cool to see more people from New Morning at the potluck,” Becky said. “What? Roll up the window? But it's hot! —Oh.” She fiddled with the power window as Stu turned the AC on full blast. “Preacher Cobbs's wife even asked me my name, called me ‘Sister Becky,' like I was a regular saint.What's that people call her? First Rose somethin'? ”

“First Lady Rose.” Stu pulled her Celica into the parking lot of Yo-Yo's apartment building. “I think it's a black church thing. Sign of respect for the pastor and his wife, I guess.Would take getting used to, though.” Stu came from the school of first-name egalitarianism. No titles.

“Huh.” Becky chewed on that a while. “Guess it's good Pastor Clark ain't married if Uptown and New Morning do that joining thing. Can't see
two
‘first ladies' in the White House, the doghouse, or any house.”

We were still laughing about that as we punched Yo-Yo's door bell, then trooped into her barely furnished apartment. “Hey, Becky.” Yo-Yo gave Becky a high five. “Glad your PO gave you the OK to pray with Yada Yada.Guess the penal system finally figgerin' out that religion helps.”

As I hugged Chanda, Delores, Edesa, and Nony, who had already arrived, my mind strayed to Yo-Yo's comment. Funny. Didn't think of my faith as “religion.” Other people had religions: Muslims,Buddhists, Hare Krishnas. Christians and Jews were supposed to have a
relationship
with God. Big difference in my mind. But Yo-Yo had a point. Excons who went to prayer meetings—Yada Yada or otherwise—probably lowered the recidivism rate.

Yo-Yo's furniture consisted of one ancient couch and several mismatched dining room chairs, which meant more of us had to join Yo-Yo on old bed pillows on the floor. Besides Ruth, several others were missing. Florida, who never skipped, was too over-whelmed with unpacking. ( “Mi still not unpacked,” Chanda sniffed. “What de big deal? ” ) Florida hadn't been to church either.
“We still callin' Chris's friends, tryin' to find him,”
she'd told me on the phone, her tone rippling between worry and fury.
“That boy! Lord, give me patience!”

Adele wasn't coming; she'd had an upset with MaDear.

“And Hoshi stayed home with Mark and the boys so I could come,” Nony said. “I wish . . .” But she didn't finish. Just picked at her nail polish.

Avis arrived last—with her daughter Rochelle. “I'm sorry I didn't call ahead. Rochelle is staying with us for a few weeks. I told her she'd be more than welcome.” A smile tickled Avis's face. “Peter's babysit-ting Conny. It'll be good for him.”

Rochelle cast her eyes down as if embarrassed.Didn't blame her. After all, her abrupt arrival two weeks ago had disrupted our
last
Yada Yada meeting.To our credit, though, everyone said “sure” and kept the greetings low-key, not making Rochelle's presence a big deal. She settled on a floor pillow near her mother, a vision even in slim faded jeans, sleeveless top, and toe sandals. Her hair was a long, thick fall of kinky curls with rusty highlights. Her nutmeg skin showed little sign of the bruises she'd had two weeks ago. But her sad eyes were a window into the bruises in her heart.

Delores, who'd come straight from work at the county hospital, leaned over, gave Rochelle a hug, and whispered,
“Dios le bendiga.
God bless you, my daughter.”

Avis cut through the usual chatter. “Sisters, let's spend a few minutes in worship before we share requests. Try to lay aside all the pulls and tugs for our attention, and consider who it is who hears our prayers.
Immanuel,
God with us.
Jehovah-Jireh,
our provider.
Jehovah-Rapha,
our healer.
Jehovah-Shalom,
our peace.We have so much to be thankful for, in spite of the concerns we have.” She began to pray aloud, just worshiping; others joined in. But without Florida and Adele, and with a subdued Nony, our worship seemed more restrained than usual. Or maybe it was just me. Funny how I let how others worshiped influence my own expression to God.

Well, I wasn't going to let it. I grabbed my Bible and opened it to Psalm 139, paraphrasing as I read along, adding my voice to the other prayers. “Lord, You know all about me. You know when I'm resting and when I'm working. You even know what I'm thinking—”

“Ouch,” Yo-Yo muttered. Chanda giggled. The other prayers dropped to a murmur. I seemed to have the floor.

“Everything I do is familiar to You. You know what I'm going to say even before I say it, and You protect me from every side. How can I even begin to understand how wonderful You are? —”

To my surprise, another voice cut in. Nony, her Bible closed, took up the familiar psalm straight from her heart. “Where can I go from Your Spirit, O Lord? Where can I flee from Your presence? If I go up to the heavens, You are there; if I make my bed in the depths, You are there too.”

For some reason, Psalm 139 broke open our worship.We sang “thank You” hymns and songs, read Scripture, added prayers . . . until Avis herself brought worship to an end. “Nony? How can we pray for you? ” she asked gently.

Nony's face was wet. “Oh, sisters. I am tired of bringing my sorrows to you. I feel so selfish. Mark is improving little by little—for that, I do thank God. But it will be a long time before our family is back to normal, before we can think of other things. And . . . I feel so useless. Like God has put me on a shelf. I wanted to help my suffering people in South Africa, and now I'm just . . . a nursemaid.” She smiled ruefully. “See? I told you my thoughts are selfish. Pray for me, my sisters, that I would grow in patience. That I would learn to wait on God.”

I reached out and held Nony's hand.
Good grief, Lord, I'm the one who's selfish. How easy I get caught up keeping my own household running and forget to call Nony and Hoshi.
I still had a couple of weeks before school started. Maybe there was something else I could do.

“Yeah, you can pray that waitin' thing for me too,” Becky chimed in. “Y'all know I been goin' nuts just hangin' around Stu's house. Drivin' Stu nuts too—”

“Amen to
that
.” But Stu's smile took away any sting.

“—but the good news is, Yo-Yo and Ruth put in a good word for me at the Bagel Bakery, an' I got an interview tomorrow. Y'all can pray about that. Kinda nervous.” Becky seemed embarrassed at the “Yea, Becky!” and “You go, girl!” comebacks.

“Uh, speaking of Ruth . . .” Yo-Yo stuffed her hands into the bib of her overall shorts. “Tell ya the truth, I don't know how to pray 'bout her. Sometimes . . . I dunno. Almost agree with Ben.Not sure she should push this pregnancy. Heck, the lady's almost fifty!” She made a face. “Sorry. Tryin' to clean up my language . . . but she's already been in the hospital twice. I thnk Ben's scared. Grouchy ol' goat is still the closest thing to a father I ever had. He's been real good to me an' the boys. He's got his reasons for thinkin' like he does.”

I tensed. Yo-Yo was practically saying Ruth should end the pregnancy! I expected a flurry of protests, with Bible verses flying through the air. But there was only silence. I was shocked. Was everyone in Yada Yada thinking the same thing?

19

S
tu cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “Uh, I know Ruth's being real stubborn, maybe even stupid about not getting any of the tests they want to do because of her highrisk pregnancy. But I just want to say that I, um, I . . .” She cleared her throat again, struggling to find words.

My skin prickled. Leslie Stuart
never
had trouble saying exactly what she thought. But last spring Stu told me she'd share her story with the rest of Yada Yada “when the time was right.” Only Florida and I had been with Stu the weekend we discovered the secret she had carried for so long.Was she going to—?

“—I mean, we all know Ruth has always wanted a family but had all those miscarriages, and the foster girl she wanted to adopt was returned to the parents. But I mean, at a deeper level
I understand
. You see . . .” Stu took a deep breath. “I once
chose
to end a pregnancy. I had an abortion, and it is a decision I have regretted every day of my life since. I . . . thought I knew what was best for me at the time, but . . .
nothing
hurts like knowing you threw away the life of your own child.” Tears slid down Stu's face and dripped off her chin.

“Oh,
mi amiga.
God knows,” breathed Delores, handing her a tissue. Becky's eyes were wide with shock.

Stu mopped at her face but didn't stop. Her tone became fierce. “Ruth has lost several children—
not
by her own choice. You think she's going to choose to end
this
pregnancy, risky though it is? I, for one, understand why she's willing to take those risks.
All
the risks. I would give anything,
anything,
even risk my life, if I . . . if I . . .” She mopped the flood of tears again. “. . . if I could hold my baby David in my arms for even one hour.” Stu buried her face in her arms, her shoulders shaking. Delores wrapped her arms around her.

My own face was wet with tears.
David. “Beloved.”
The name I'd suggested for her aborted child, a name she'd embraced like salve to a wound.

The room was quiet, except for a few sniffles . . . and then Avis began to hum. The tune seemed familiar, but for a moment, I couldn't place it. And then Nony began to sing the words quietly. “A saint is just a sinner who fell down . . . and got up.”

There. Stu's secret was out. I was glad. The look on Stu's face as we joined in the song reminded me of a parched field after a good rain.

We spent a lot of time praying for Stu and Ruth and Becky and Nony, throwing in other concerns and thanksgivings on top of them. Delores said José had applied to Lane Tech College Prep High School. “Pray he will be accepted.”
Huh. Wonder whose idea that was.
But Ricardo's threat to take José out of school had galvanized Delores to do just the opposite: send her firstborn to college.

Chanda said she was heading for Hawaii the following week. “T'ree days and t'ree nights, all
free!
” she giggled. “I'm taking de boy, but you can pray about me girls. Me sister gone back 'ome to Jamaica, so mi needing somebody take care o' dem.” She looked directly at me, and I had a feeling . . .

Sure enough. Chanda grabbed me as Yada Yada broke up and began to disperse. “Sista Jodee! What about your Amanda? I pay her good to come take care of my girls.Mi hear she de best baby sitter in Chicago.” Chanda laughed appreciatively.

Aha. She wanted Amanda!
But my relief drained out the sieve of reality. “Ah, I'm sorry, Chanda. Amanda has a nanny job the whole month of August. Otherwise, I'm sure she'd be glad to . . .What? ”

A gleam still shone in Chanda's eye. “Den, what about she mama? Such a short time; only t'ree days—”

“Five, Chanda. It takes a day to get there and a day to get back from Hawaii.”

“Oh.” She shrugged. Then she smiled slyly. “Well now, mi knows you don' want to leave dat Denny mon to sit at mi 'ouse. So mi girls, dey could come to your house, eh? Mi pay you too!”

“Ah, uh, I . . .” My mind scrambled. Surely I had something to do next week. Our anniversary! No, that was this week. Amanda's birthday, that was it! But we had said just cake and ice cream this birthday, even if it was her “sweet sixteen,” since she'd had a huge Mexican
quinceañera
at fifteen-and-a-half. “I need to check my calendar, Chanda.” And buy some time.