34

Sorry we are late,” Nony said apologetically. “The boys were visiting their father.” A plain black head wrap hid her usually sculpted hair; the bright African prints were missing, replaced by an ordinary pair of beige slacks and black top. Her eyes seemed large; strain lined her face. Even so, she was beautiful. “Can the boys do their homework somewhere?”

I crooked a finger at Marcus and Michael. “Come with me. Amanda and Josh are studying too. You can hang out with them.”

Amanda, doing homework at the dining room table, gave both boys a big grin and made room for them at the table. Knowing Amanda, she’d probably haul out the makings for caramel popcorn balls given half an excuse. When I ducked out to go back upstairs, Josh, who was supposed to be studying for his last two finals, came out of his room and started shadowboxing with the boys, creating unrestrained youthful glee.

Wasn’t sure how much homework was going to get done, but maybe Josh and Amanda needed Marcus and Michael as much as the other way around.

When I got back upstairs, Yada Yada was singing. I squeezed onto Stu’s futon between Edesa and Delores, closed my eyes, and just listened.

If the sun says I won’t rise

If dark clouds fill my skies

Lord, just know that I

Will always give You praise . . .

Oh my. Could I sing this song if I were in Nony’s shoes? I peeked at Nonyameko. She wasn’t singing either. Her eyes were closed, and tears slid down her face. My own throat tightened. The words sank in deep.

No matter come what may

I’ll always give You praise . . .

The room was quiet when the final phrase died away, except for a few sniffles and blowing of noses. Then Hoshi spoke up quietly. “That seems—how do you say it?—a lot to ask. To praise God when evil things happen. It was hard when—” She stopped, suddenly flustered. She seemed about to say, “When Bandana Woman cut my mother’s hand”—and then realized Becky Wallace was sitting right there in the room. Hoshi blinked fast, swallowed, and recovered her composure. “It is very hard to feel like praising God when Dr. Smith is in a coma, day after day with no change, no response.”

Yo-Yo, at home on one of Stu’s floor cushions, nodded vigorously. “Yeah. Me too. I don’t feel much like praising. Feel more like throwing things.”

Murmurs of assent traveled around the room. Nony, curled up in another one of Stu’s wicker chairs, just shook her head, as though she couldn’t find a way to put her feelings into words.

“Nony?” Avis’s voice was gentle. “It’s all right. Say what you need to say.”

Nony rolled her eyes and gave a bitter laugh. “It’s not pretty, what I am feeling today. Today I am angry. So angry I—yes, Yo-Yo. I want to throw things.” She looked around the circle. “You are not surprised. You are angry too. Ah, but you are angry at the people who hurt Mark. Or maybe you are angry at God for letting this happen. Yes, I have been angry that way too. But today . . .” She laughed again, a strange, hollow sound. “Today I am angry at Mark. I am so angry with him! Angry that he had to wade right into the middle of that hate group, when he knew—he knew!—they were out for trouble. He—he risked our family, he risked our future to protest one stupid rally.” Her hands clenched; her voice trembled. “I am angry that he has left me alone, left my bed empty, abandoned our boys, who need their father . . .” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh Jesus. I don’t know how to praise You. I can’t. I don’t even know how to pray anymore.”

I stared at Nony. Was this the same woman, who just a few days ago had struggled with feeling guilty, saying what happened to Mark was all her fault? But now it was Mark’s fault? I thought I knew her, this woman whose heart and mouth were always full of Scripture, who fed on God’s promises like bread and butter, whose compassion for hurting people so far outweighed my own . . . but this Nony seemed like a stranger to me.

God’s Voice in my spirit put brakes on my tumbling thoughts. Pray for her, Jodi. Grief has to cycle through its seasons—heartache, fear, anger, helplessness . . . Just be there for her until the season of strength and courage.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I want to, God. Help me. I don’t know how.

No one said anything for a few moments. Then Adele started to sing in her rich contralto voice. “Say the Name . . . of Je-sus . . .” Recognizing the song from one of Clint Brown’s CDs, I joined in with the rest:

When you don’t know what else to pray

When you can’t find the words to say

Say the Name . . .

As the tender song trailed off, Delores cleared her throat. “Nony, my sister, es bueno you can say you are angry. No use pretending; God knows anyway. And He understands. But as the first song said, we must keep praising! It doesn’t have anything to do with feeling like praising.” Her eyes lowered to her lap, and her voice softened. “Believe me, I know. My Ricardo—something is not right. He is gone many nights. He will not say. He takes the dog. I tremble with fear. Darkness threatens to shadow our home. But I praise anyway. I fill my heart with praise. When I praise, there is no room for fear. It is the only way.”

I reached for Delores’s hand beside me and squeezed. Oh Jesus. What’s going on with Ricardo? No wonder Delores has seemed troubled lately. It sounded like even Delores didn’t know.

“Thank ya, Jesus!” Florida blurted. “You’re a good God, and don’t let us forget it. Ol’ devil wants to make us blind to Your love and goodness, wants to make us think all the misery he sendin’ our way—not to mention all the mess we cook up for our own selves—somehow is Your fault. But we know You are the Light of the world, King of kings, and Lord of lords! An’ he ain’t nothin’ but the prince of darkness. Light stronger than darkness anytime. Don’t even have to wrestle. Light just gotta show up and darkness gotta go. Thank ya! Thank ya!”

Florida’s prayer opened up a regular flood of praise and prayers, several speaking at once. Even Nony’s head nodded now, her lips whispering, “Yes, yes. Help me, Jesus.” We ended up gathering around Nony and laying our hands on her, as Avis got out her little bottle of oil and anointed her forehead. Someone pushed Delores into the center of the circle, and Avis anointed her, too, as we prayed for God’s light to shine through the darkness.

After the prayers, Nony blew her nose and mopped her wet face. “Thank you, my sisters. Thank you so much for helping me touch the hem of His garment, when I couldn’t get through the crowd of pain and anger on my own. My heart feels”—she smiled sheepishly—“maybe not healed, but more at peace.”

A puzzled look crossed Yo-Yo’s face. Becky’s too. I wanted to giggle. I could almost hear their minds trying to plug “hem of His garment” into their own frame of reference. Well, maybe that was a story Becky and I could read together from the Bible at our back porch rendezvous next week.

We moved on to other prayer requests. But I was only half-listening. Snippets from our conversations that evening kept running into each other. Love is a spiritual weapon. Praise chases away fear. Light is stronger than darkness. Pray for our enemies. An idea began percolating in my head. It became so strong I had a hard time waiting till Yo-Yo finished what she was saying.

“—or maybe it’s Ben we should be prayin’ for. He got Ruth lined up with the doc next week.” Yo-Yo grinned. “Whether he can wrestle her into the car and make her go, that’s a diff’rent story.”

We had to laugh. Dear, opinionated Ruth was one stubborn lady.

I jumped in. “Um, this isn’t exactly a prayer request, but it’s about praying. What about doing a prayer walk?”

Half the group looked interested. The other half had Prayer what? plastered on their faces. “Go on,” Avis said.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about what we said tonight, about light and darkness. Jesus is the Light of the world, right? By lifting up the name of Jesus where there’s darkness, the things that need darkness to survive get chased out, right? And the Bible says that we aren’t supposed to hide that light in a corner; we’re supposed to let it shine where darkness is hiding evil—or something like that.”

Delores, Adele, and Avis began flipping pages in their Bibles. “Mm-hm.” Adele thumbed her well-worn King James Version. “Matthew five and fifteen says, ‘Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.’ ”

Delores had her finger in the Gospel of John. “ ‘Light has come into the world, but men loved darkness because their deeds were evil.’ ”

Avis read from Ephesians. “ ‘Live as children of the light . . . Have nothing to do with fruitless deeds of darkness but rather expose them.’ ”

Wow. All that support for what I wanted to say, straight from the Bible. “That’s it. But I was thinking, just praying here at Yada Yada is a little like hiding the light. We need to take the light to where the darkness is. Like the campus of Northwestern. All those incidents that have been happening up there? The hate literature, the swastika somebody painted, White Pride holding that rally? What if we did a prayer walk around the campus, praying for God’s protection from those deeds of darkness?”

I WAS SURPRISED how excited Yada Yada got about my idea for a prayer walk. In fact, before we went home, people were suggesting we split up and some of us do our prayer walking on campus, and some of us pray God’s protection over the Sisulu-Smiths’ home and neighborhood. On one hand, doing it next weekend made sense, but Saturday seemed too far away. We finally decided on this Thursday at six o’clock, whoever could make it after work.

Even Nony said she’d come if she could.

Denny was home from the hospital by the time I got downstairs, digging into some nacho chips and salsa at the dining room table. He looked wrung out. “It’s hard keeping up a one-sided conversation with a guy in a coma,” he admitted. Ben Garfield had showed up after dropping off Yo-Yo at Yada Yada, so that helped.

He listened while I told him about our discussion at Yada Yada, about love being a weapon of spiritual warfare, about taking light into the darkness, about our idea for a prayer walk. I even got out my Bible and read some of the verses.

I didn’t notice Josh leaning against the archway between the hallway and dining room until he said, “Mom? Read that one again about exposing deeds of darkness.”

How long had he been there? “Um, sure. It’s Ephesians five, starting at verse eight. ‘Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth) and find out what pleases the Lord. Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them.’ ”

He nodded thoughtfully, propped against the archway, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “That’s what Dr. Smith was doing at the rally, wasn’t it? Exposing deeds of darkness.”

Denny and I glanced at each other. Denny cleared his throat. “That’s right. He was.”

Josh walked over and held out his hand. “Can I see that?” He took my open Bible and walked away toward his bedroom.

“What are you going to do?” I called after him, thinking there was something different about Josh. Couldn’t put my finger on it.

“I dunno. Maybe nothing. Maybe something.” His bedroom door clicked shut.

I suddenly realized what was different about Josh. A shadow of sandy hair covered his head—longer than his hair had been since he first shaved it off last fall.

Was Josh growing out his hair?