The front door of the Baxters’ first-floor apartment stood wide open behind the screen as Avis climbed the steps of the two-flat, arriving a few minutes early for the five o’clock Yada Yada Prayer Group. At that precise moment the other door facing the porch—leading to the second-f loor apartment—burst open and Leslie “Stu” Stuart bounced out.
“Avis!” The willowy social worker grinned. “Hey, I didn’t get a chance to say congrats about you and Peter filling in as interim pastors at SouledOut. Are you good with that? With your job and everything, I mean? Oh. Here come Ruth and Delores. Hi, you two!”
Stu pulled open the screen door to the Baxters’ apartment and held it as Avis and the other two women walked into the small entryway. Ruth Garfield, their own “Jewish mother” who’d finally birthed twins at fifty, and Delores Enriques, a pediatric nurse at the county hospital, joined the other Yada Yadas in the living room. Surveying the chattering women, Avis smiled. The group had changed a bit from when they’d started seven years ago, with a few new faces and a couple others moving on. But walking into a group of Yada Yadas always felt like coming home.
Jodi Baxter bustled into the living room carrying a pitcher of iced tea and a stack of plastic glasses, followed by her daughter-in-law, Edesa, with a steaming teapot and mugs on a tray. “Hot or cold, your choice,” Jodi said. “And it’s sweet tea, made by our own Florida Hickman, Memphis born and bred, so I don’t want to hear any snide remarks about how white girls make iced tea.”
“Ooh, touchy, aren’t you.” Stu laughed, took the pitcher, and began pouring glasses of sweet tea.
“Edesa.” Avis gave the young woman a hug as soon as she’d set down the tray with the teapot and mugs. “I’m surprised to see you tonight—we don’t get to see you much at Yada Yada anymore. How’s your prayer group at the House of Hope going?”
“Oh, mi amiga. Thank you for asking. Even though we are having a good time at the House of Hope, it’s . . . different. I miss my Yada Yada sisters, so I have to come from time to time just to soak up all your faces. Besides . . .” Edesa lowered her voice. “Josh is joining some of the men over at Hickmans’ tonight to pray with Carl, so it was a good time to come. And Gracie is being entertained by her adoring Auntie Amanda.” Her face lit up with a wide smile. “And . . . congratulations, Pastor Avis!”
Avis shook her head. This was getting embarrassing. “Sister Avis is just fine.” Half the Yada Yadas attended SouledOut, so the word was out. But she wasn’t officially a pastor yet and wanted to make that clear. The role was temporary, anyway.
When the last woman had arrived—Chanda George, mother of three, hometown Kingston, Lotto winner, sometime philanthropist, and usually late—Estelle Bentley called everyone to come together and opened the meeting with a prayer. Avis had functioned as leader of the group from its inception, but recently she’d been encouraging Estelle to take over the role, seeing gifts sparking in the middle-aged woman that needed to be fanned into flames.
As usual, they spent the first twenty or thirty minutes in worship, someone starting a song, another offering a prayer of praise and thanksgiving. Back and forth. No prayer requests yet. Long ago Avis had realized they needed this time to set aside the whirlwind of duties, problems, stresses, work, and worries, and get their focus centered on Jesus. Who He is. Creator. Savior. Lord. Healer. Defender. Protector. Friend.
Then they were ready to share their heart burdens with one another and bring their requests to God.
“Florida,” said Estelle, “I hear the brothers are praying with Carl tonight. How’s he doing since his accident?”
Yes, Estelle’s husband would have gotten a call to show up at the Hickmans’, because it was Peter who’d called some of the brothers to go pray with Carl that evening, after Florida told them at church that Carl had had another setback. A minor blackout, when he couldn’t remember what he’d been doing for the past hour. Still dealing with pain in his neck. Anxious about getting back to work.
“But he’s come a long way, thank ya, Jesus, an’ we still expectin’ full healin’. Just pray for me too, sisters, ’cause sometimes havin’ him underfoot makes me want to give him another bop on the head.”
Laughter carried into the prayer as Delores prayed for Carl and Florida and for the whole Hickman family.
Adele Skuggs wanted to praise God for some new clients at Adele’s Hair and Nails. “Ain’t been easy keepin’ my shop in the black in this recession. But God is good. Things are lookin’ up.”
Yo-Yo Spencer, guardian of her two younger brothers, asked prayer for Pete, deployed in Iraq. “An’ now Jerry’s talking about signin’ up when he graduates high school in June. I know I been wantin’ to kick both of them outta the house for years. But now I wanta take it back. Think God does reverse prayers?”
When it was Avis’s turn, she asked the sisters to pray for the STEP program at Bethune. “We still need more tutors and volunteers, especially since the program begins the very next week after school’s out. Pass the word, all right?”
Avis caught Jodi mouthing something at her “. . . closing Bethune?” Avis shook her head. Even though that possibility had come out right here in this room when they were planning Pastor Clark’s memorial service, it wasn’t time for more public knowledge.
“Sista Avis!” Chanda was waving her hands at her. “What mi hearing ’bout naming you pastor at SouledOut? Why mi always de last to hear tings?”
Avis did her best to share what had happened that week. “And keep in mind that the congregation needs to approve. But whatever happens, I do know Peter and I need your prayers, because our plates are already full with his business and my job at Bethune Elementary. But please, don’t call me ‘Pastor Avis.’ I’m just ‘Sister’ to you and everyone else, like always. Same for Peter.”
“What? Sister Peter?” Chanda’s eyes went wide.
That broke everyone up. Avis’s side ached from laughing. Good. Might keep everybody from taking this whole “interim pastors” thing too seriously.
Edesa spoke up. “I need some wisdom, mi amigas. I had an interesting conversation with one of the Crista University students on Memorial Day. She and her friends came to the youth group picnic at Lighthouse Beach. Maybe Josh has asked them to help with the teens, I’m not sure. But this young woman just graduated from CCU with a master’s degree in education, seems very smart. Plus she’s quite passionate about ecology—‘saving the earth’s resources’ was the phrase she used.”
“Got a burr in her pants, you mean, if you talkin’ ’bout that Kathryn Davies,” Florida put in. Avis tried not to laugh. She couldn’t have said it better herself.
“What I want to know,” Florida huffed, “is why these white college kids show up in they raggy jeans at church? They tryin’ to identify with us ‘poor’ folks or somethin’? Seems downright insultin’ to me! And what’s with the Dumpster food she think we wanna eat—”
“Flo!” Estelle gave Florida the eye. “Let Edesa finish. She was bringin’ somethin’ up for prayer. So hush a minute.”
“I’m just sayin’.” Florida sat back in her corner of the couch, arms crossed.
Edesa frowned thoughtfully. “Florida’s got a point. Kathryn got all excited when I told her I had my degree in public health. Said she’d love to teach a class on nutrition for neighborhood families on welfare, wondered if I’d consider doing it together. She’s got this thing about food issues—part of her ‘living green’ mind-set. She said, ‘If only poor people understood nutrition!’ As if a little class about eating habits would solve all their problems with poor health.”
“Tell me about it.” Yo-Yo rolled her eyes. “When my mom was all strung out on drugs and me an’ the boys didn’t know where the next meal was comin’ from, we wasn’t exactly thinkin’ about the four basic food groups.”
Edesa smiled. “Exactly. Just having something to eat is basic. Getting enough. Getting it regularly . . . you get the idea. Worrying about organic food and balanced nutrition isn’t first on the agenda. I’m sure Kathryn is well meaning, but I’m afraid she’s long on knowledge and short on experience . . . not that I’m putting down education!” she hastened to add. “I’m the first one in my family to get a college degree, and I’m so grateful I’ve been able to go to school here.”
“That’s all right, honey,” Adele put in. “We know what you mean. I could hang out my shingle, listenin’ to all the troubles people pour out while sittin’ in my beauty chairs. And they get a lot of advice too—because I’m long on experience.”
“Humph. Rich you’d be, too, if you charged them what it cost me for marriage counseling with my first two husbands.” Ruth made a face. “Did it do any good? Not so you’d notice. Which is why Ben is husband number three.”
Again, the room convulsed with laughter.
“Hush now,” Estelle scolded, nodding at Edesa to continue.
“Anyway . . .” Edesa threw up her hands. “I am talking too much. Forgive me, mi amigas. Please pray for me. I need wisdom to know how to respond about this class idea of hers. If I say no, she might go ahead and try to do something herself. But I don’t want to come across as—how do you say it?—a know-it-all. So also pray that her energy and idealism get channeled in the right direction, before she gets hurt—or hurts others.”
Avis felt a pang. She was . . . what? Twice as old as Edesa? Probably had been a Christian twice as long too. And yet the lovely young woman from Honduras was asking Yada Yada to pray for the CCU student. What was wrong with her? Too concerned about her own daughter, who wasn’t much older than those students, to pray for them.
She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Might as well pray for me, too, when you’re praying for Kathryn and her friends. As some of you know, they’re subletting the apartment right below us in our three-flat and, I confess, I haven’t been as friendly as I should. I just get . . . annoyed.”
Florida sputtered but eyed the ceiling, as if trying hard to keep her mouth shut.
“Ah. Maybe you are just the person that girl Kathryn needs,” Delores said, nodding her head. “An older woman, wise, a mentor . . .”
Avis shook her head. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. But I’m not exactly feeling like a good mother figure. I—” Avis had to press her hand to her mouth for a moment to keep her lips from trembling. “I’m sorry. I know you all have prayed for Rochelle, but I haven’t shared very much with you. The fact is, my daughter is currently estranged from me. I haven’t talked to her since Valentine’s Day. She wanted to move in, hadn’t been doing well, but Peter was against it. We took her to Manna House, but she didn’t stay . . . and she’s been missing ever since.” Along with the ruby earrings, Avis thought, but that didn’t feel like essential information right now.
“But what about dat grandson, de Conny boy?” Chanda looked shocked.
Avis shook her head. “Haven’t seen him for three and a half months. It’s tearing my heart out. I’m afraid I’ve been so worried about them, the students downstairs have felt like an intrusion in my life.”
The room was silent for several moments. Then Estelle said, “Well. That’s what we do best here at Yada Yada—pray. When we don’t know what else to do. Pray as you will, and I will close when we have prayed for all the requests mentioned tonight.”
They prayed for the next half hour. Even without any immediate answers, Avis felt some of her burden lift. It had felt good to be honest about her non-relationship with the students, as well as the estrangement with Rochelle.
Though she hadn’t been completely open about everything—like the comments she’d overheard in the restroom a week ago and the “look” Mary Brown had given the other woman after Pastor Cobbs had recommended her and Peter as interim pastors. Had she only imagined that it meant anything? It was such a touchy black-white thing . . . How could she bring up her discomfort without hurting some of the white sisters in this group? Or talking about an elder’s wife behind her back?
Lord, I’m going to have to leave it with You for now.
The Yada Yada group disbanded with hugs and good-byes as they stepped out into the late twilight of early June. Warm, mild, no rain—
“Avis?”
Avis felt a touch on her arm and turned to see Delores Enriques’s round, kindly face. “Yes?”
“Perdón, mi amiga. But I still feel in my heart that God has a reason to move those students into your building. No coincidences with God, sí? You always used to say.”
Avis allowed a wry smile. “Mm. No coincidences.”
“So, I’m thinking, why don’t you and Peter just invite them for supper sometime? Not a big deal. Just let them into your life a little bit.” Delores made a tiny pinch with her thumb and forefinger. “Remember, God can do a big miracle with just a few fish and loaves of bread.”