The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Caught (28 page)

So speak up on their behalf, Jodi.

I wanted to stop my ears. I argued with the Voice nudging my spirit.
I wouldn't know what to say! What if I embarrass them? People would probably dismiss what I said, anyway, because both couples are friends of mine . . .

The Voice in my spirit interrupted my thoughts.
Speak up, Jodi. Say what you think . . . what you know in your heart.

I stood up, my knees wobbly. Someone else was speaking, but I knew if I didn't stand now I'd probably chicken out. After the other speaker sat down, Pastor Clark said, “Jodi? ”

I kept my eyes on Pastor Clark. “Um, I'm not quite sure how to say this. But I don't think most of us know what it feels like to always be a minority. Those of us who are white are used to being the majority. But, praise God, sisters like Avis Johnson-Douglass and Florida Hickman put themselves here at Uptown—I'm not sure why. Maybe out of obedience to God. And Uptown has gladly received them. But I think” —I swallowed— “maybe we're kind of proud of ourselves because we've got a couple of black folks.Maybe that's enough for us. Sure, folks are welcome—as long as we don't have to
really
change, as long as we're still the majority.”

My voice started to waver. Denny's hand found mine and squeezed. I took a deep breath. “Uh, I may be going way out on a limb here, but I think it's especially hard for our African-American brothers to be ‘the only one,' or even two. But we
need
these men—brothers like Peter Douglass and Carl Hickman. And these families need to worship together. I think . . . it would strengthen these men and strengthen families like the Douglasses and the Hickmans to merge our church with New Morning, so we could truly be equal partners in the kingdom of God.”

I sat down and closed my eyes. There was no clapping. Only silence.My insides felt like slush.
Why did I do that? Oh God, did I hear You wrong?

And then I heard a strange sound. Like a . . . groan, or stifled cry.My eyes flew open. Peter Douglass was bent forward, head in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

25

L
abor Day . . . no kidding,” I muttered to Willie Wonka, who had graciously accompanied me to Bethune Elementary the next day,while Denny, Josh, and Amanda accepted an invitation from one of Denny's coworkers to go sailing on Lake Michigan. After yesterday's storm, the day was sunny and breezy—
“Perfect for a great sail!”
Denny had gloated. I noted that word,
breezy
, and was just as glad to have an excuse not to go. “Heeling up” on a sailboat always scared the bejeebers out of me.

Now the dog snored under my school desk while I arranged my new “supply cabinet” —six plastic, stackable dairy crates, which sell like hotcakes to college students and teachers who have their supply cabinets hijacked. I spent a lot of time decorating my Welcome Bulletin Board, wisely forgoing cutout bubble letters this year in favor of printing my students' names and their meanings with colored markers, which sped up the process. But I caught myself several times just staring out the window of my classroom, not even seeing the playground equipment, thinking about what had happened at church yesterday . . .

Actually, we'd taken two votes.Whether Uptown Community Church should merge with New Morning Christian Church, and whether we should donate money from the sale of our building (after paying off the mortgage) to New Morning's building fund.

It still felt unreal.
What happened?
Listening to the overall tenor of the discussion, I didn't think the merger would happen, no way, no how. But at the very end, Rick Reilly had said, “I see two ways to approach this vote.We can add up all the pros and cons and vote whichever list is longer. Or we can vote what God is speaking to our hearts and trust Him to work out the details.”

Both votes passed with the two-thirds majority required for major decisions.

Only after the final tally did Pastor Clark tell us that New Morning members had met the night before to vote on the same issue of merging.
Their
meeting had lasted till midnight! I heard Florida snicker behind me. But Pastor Cobbs had called our pastor early that morning to extend an official invitation to copastor Uptown–New Morning and bring our members with him. Nothing had ever been said about money.

That was when our so-called business meeting had erupted into clapping and tears and shouts of “glory.”

Denny thought what I'd said had helped people look at it a new way. I don't know; nobody said anything to me. Just Peter Douglass, and all he did was give me a big, wordless hug.

I shook my head and turned away from the window. Well, like Rick Reilly said, we'd have to work out the details later. And right now, I had a more immediate merger on my plate: thirty-one third graders piling into my classroom tomorrow.

THE NEXT MORNING I flew out the front door with my bulging school tote bags for the first day of school—and nearly collided with Becky Wallace, who was stooped over on the front porch tying the shoelace of her orange athletic shoes. She stood up. She was wearing hip-hugger slacks and a simple V-neck knit top. Cranberry and pink.

“Where are you going? ” I gasped. “You look fabulous! Except” —I giggled— “for the shoes.”

She blushed, adding color to her normally pale face. “Goin' to work! At the Bagel Bakery. Meant to tell you yesterday, but all you Baxters was gone all day. Guess Ruth roughed up Mr. Hurwitz. Anyway, he called Sunday, said he'd offer me a part-time job—twenty-five hours or somethin' like that. Can't give me benefits, but” —she grinned— “I got Sundays off.”

I hugged her. “That's great! I want to hear all about it, but I gotta run. First day of school, you know.”

“Hey, Jodi,” she yelled after me. “You look great too. Except for the shoes!” And she laughed.

Huh
.Well, I had to walk to school. I'd change to my clogs when I got there.

I got to school half an hour before the first bell rang.
Yea, good start.
I poked my head into the school office, where Avis, smartly dressed in a navy pantsuit with a red-and-white silk blouse, was talking to two of the secretaries about schedules. “Happy first day of school, Mrs. Douglass,” I said. “Here we go!”

She looked up. “Oh. Jo—Mrs. Baxter,wait.” She excused herself and walked me out to the hall. “Jodi, I'm sorry about your storage cabinet. The janitor just moved it out when I asked him to move the desks in. But I want you to know that as soon as we can hire another teacher, we'll take some of your students and put together a third- and fourth-grade class.Might have to meet on the stage in the auditorium . . .” She frowned, as if sorting thoughts in her mind. “Anyway. Thanks for hanging in there.”

I opened my mouth, but she was already gone. Oh, well. I'd dearly love to know what she and Peter thought about the humungous decision to merge with New Morning, but this obviously wasn't the time. I unlocked my classroom, set out my lesson plans for the first day, and then tried to quiet the butterflies in my stomach.

Pray for your students, Jodi. By name. Cover your classroom in prayer.

Right. Today especially. I walked slowly up and down the rows of desks, each of which had a colorful nametag taped on it. “Lord Jesus, I don't know some of these children yet, except Carla Hickman. But You do. So I ask for Your blessing on Abrianna . . . for Caleb . . . for Orlando . . .” I touched each chair.When I got to Carla's desk, I stopped. “I pray a special blessing on Carla, Lord. She's starting a new school. She has to repeat. She's still adjusting to being back home with her family after foster care. Have to admit, Lord, I feel kind of anxious about Carla. Help us both, Lord, to get a good start.”

NOT SURE WHAT HAPPENED TO MY PRAYER, but when I brought my new class of third-graders in from the playground, Carla balked at the classroom door. Literally folded her arms across her pink knit top, stuck out her lip, and wouldn't come in.

Sorely wishing I had a teacher's aid this year, I asked the rest of the children to find the desk with their name on it and to sit quietly—
yeah, right
—keeping one foot in the door while I coaxed Carla. “Hey, sweetie. I'm really looking forward to having you in my class this year. We're going to have a good time.” Who was I trying to convince? Her or me?

The lip stuck out further. “This is a baby class. I'm s'posed to be in fourth grade. Everybody's gonna laugh at me.”

Help, Lord!
“Oh, sweetie. Nobody's going to laugh. Because nobody else knows—just you and me and Mrs. Douglass. It'll be our secret, OK? ” I knelt down, letting the door close with a
click
. “And I want to tell you something. People learn at different speeds, did you know that? Even adults! It doesn't really matter if you learn fast or learn slow. Everybody should learn at the level that's right for them. Why, even in this class, some kids are probably already reading at fourth-grade level, others might be still at second-grade level.”

“So why do
they
get to be in third grade? Why don't
they
have to repeat? ”

Well, that backfired.
The noise level inside the classroom was rising. “You know what? I don't know. All I know is that I think it's special that you're in my class. I think you'll make some good friends
and
we're going to have a good time.”
And you better get in here before I have to drag you in!

Carla just looked at me. “Maybe.”

“Maybe” was good enough for me. I opened the door and we walked in together, interrupting a sword fight with two rulers in progress between Demetrius and Lamar.

IT TOOK A GOOD WEEK for the Baxter household to adjust from the more relaxed summer schedule into our school year routine, which started with the daily challenge of one bathroom to accomodate four showers. Amanda started snatching breakfast on the fly in her hurry to catch the early bus to Lane Tech. (Denny snorted. “Wouldn't have anything to do with José Enriques attending this year, would it? ” ) Denny usually dropped Josh off at Software Symphony before heading for West Rogers High with the car, leaving me to walk the half mile to Bethune Elementary—which I didn't mind until the weather turned nasty.

Willie Wonka, poor baby, was lucky if we remembered to leave his food and water crocks full, and he probably spent the next eight hours heaving doggy sighs and feeling abandoned—all of which was forgotten, of course, when the first person got home. Usually me.Nothing like the joy of being smothered with doggy kisses and tail wagging in return for some rump scratching—and a quick exit into the backyard to take care of doggy business.

“What's going to happen when Wonka gets too old to hold his bladder all day? ” I murmured to Denny on Friday evening as we did supper dishes, being careful not to let Amanda hear me.

Denny cocked an eyebrow at me. “Keep him in the yard when the weather's nice. Cut a doggy door. I don't know.We'll deal with it when the time comes.”

I stroked Wonka's silky, floppy ears that had betrayed him, leaving him almost deaf.Wonka had been part of our family for the last sixteen years. I could hardly imagine the Baxter family without him.

The phone rang once, cut off short as it was picked up, then a yell tinged with disappointment. “Mo-om. It's for
you
.”

Chanda was on the line. “Sista Jodee! Mi got a computer now. Top of the line, high-speed Internet, all dat. Got e-mail too! Set up de account today.” She laughed. “Everybody will know it's Chanda when dey see mi address. Are you ready, Jodee? ”

“Sure . . . wait.” I scrambled to find a piece of scratch paper. “Um, why don't you just send it to me by e-mail. That's the best way.”

“Jodee, Jodee. Dat's why mi calling! Mi don't have
your
e-mail address—nobody's for true. Can you send dem to me? ”

I stifled my irritation. It was probably my own fault I ended up being the Yada Yada secretary. Maybe I should take it as a compliment, though sometimes it felt as if some of my sisters thought I just sat around waiting to take calls and send e-mails and keep the group up to date.

“OK, I'm ready . . . what? You're kidding!” I burst out laughing as I scribbled “[email protected]” on the scrap of paper. “OK, got it. I'll send you everybody else's. Welcome to cyberspace—oh, wait! Chanda? Chanda? ”

But she was gone.
Rats.
I wanted to ask about her mammogram. Last I'd heard she had an appointment for this week.

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