Ruth was only slightly pacified when assured that we’d all come back to the church for cake. “Just pour some water on Yo-Yo’s head,” she muttered, “and let’s eat.” Still, Ben dragged her down the stairs along with the rest of the congregation to pile into cars parked along Morse Avenue and on the side streets. Most of the teenagers elected to walk to the lake since it was only a few blocks to Loyola Beach.
I thought Avis and Peter might sneak away in his black Lexus, but no, there it was in the beach parking lot when we pulled in. Avis had actually done a quick change back in the women’s restroom and was wearing a gold and black tunic with harem pants and a black shawl—one of her favorite casual outfits. Peter still kept looking at her as if he wanted to eat her up.
It took thirty minutes for everyone to gather on the beach, but the weather was still holding. Billowy thunder-heads piled up on the horizon, yet there was no wind, the clouds overhead had broken, and the noonday sun brightened the water to a turquoise green. Seagulls screeched and swooped over the water, then did two-point landings on the sand, probably figuring that “people” equaled “food.”
Denny strolled over to talk to Mark and Nony, and Mark seemed easy in his manner. Guessed he wasn’t too annoyed at Denny for the “sabbatical” suggestion. But I doubted that he’d told Nony what Denny had said.
Carla ran past me just then, chasing the seagulls, her beaded braids bouncing, making the birds fly up a short distance before they landed again. Carl Hickman squatted down on his haunches, grabbed his daughter as she flew by, and tickled her till she cried, “Stop, Daddy!”
Florida hovered beside me. “See that? I been thinkin’ maybe I died and gone to heaven. That man came home every night last week wearin’ self-respect like a new suit of clothes. Even Carla feel the difference in our house. Didn’t throw a single tantrum all week.Well, okay, one.” She pulled on my sleeve. “Hey, they gettin’ ready to start.”
We all gathered around Pastor Clark and Yo-Yo in her lavender overalls, standing with their backs to the water. Uptown’s pastor explained that Yo-Yo was not a member of our church but participated in a prayer group that involved several Uptown members. “Not that it matters,” he said. “We don’t baptize people into a particular church. We baptize them into the family of God, the universal church of Christ that proclaims Jesus is Lord.” He turned to Yo-Yo. “Would you like to say something before we proceed?”
Yo-Yo, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, stared at her toes as if hoping a pocket of quicksand might swallow her. But she finally lifted her spiky blonde head and man-aged a quirky grin. “Hey, everybody. Yeah, I wanna thank Ruth and Ben Garfield, you know, for bein’ the parents I never really had. Took Pete an’ Jerry under their wings ’fore they got too big for their britches.”
Yo-Yo’s teenage brothers, wearing baggy pants and oversize athletic shirts, got slapped upside the head by a few snickering teenagers nearby.
“An’ I wanna thank Yada Yada, all of ’em, for lettin’me ride along with this crazy prayer group all year.Today’s our anniversary, ya know . . .” Whatever she said next was drowned out by whoops and hallelujahs and “praise Jesus” from all the Yada Yadas scattered among the crowd at the edge of the water, and our friends and families laughed. But Yo-Yo seemed unfazed and just repeated herself when the noise died down. “An’ I ’specially wanna thank Becky Wallace over there . . .” She jerked a thumb toward where Stu stood with Becky, clad in one of Stu’s bulky sweaters and a pair of slacks that covered her ankle monitor. “ ’Cause she ain’t patient like these other nice Christian ladies. She tol’ me to make up my mind an’ get off the fence—either be a Christian or be a pagan like she is.”
No! Yo-Yo didn’t say that! I shot a glance at Becky, sure she’d be mortified being identified as a pagan in front of a bunch of church folks, even if those were her own words. But a grin—the first one I’d seen since the DOC guys dropped her off a week ago; maybe the first one I’d ever seen—spread out under the shapeless brown hair. Close behind me I heard Adele mutter: “Get that girl into my shop. That hair needs help—bad.”
I strained my ears. Yo-Yo was still talking, her voice almost swallowed by the great outdoors. “Also, Becky’s one person who knows what it’s like to sit in jail and be free again. An’ I guess that’s why I want to be baptized today, ’cause we both know being a pagan ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’m tired of my insides bein’ in jail, an’ I want Jesus to make me free.”
“Thank ya, Jesus!” Florida shouted, and for half a minute even the teenagers joined the clapping and amens.
Denny slid an arm around me and gave me a slight squeeze. “That girl just preached,” he murmured, his voice full of admiration.
Pastor Clark then asked Yo-Yo the baptism questions about confessing her sins and believing that Jesus is the Son of God and accepting His forgiveness because of what He did on the cross. Yo-Yo, never one to follow protocol, blurted, “Yeah, I got it. If not, Avis over there will explain it to me.”
It was time to go into the water. Pastor Clark beckoned to Denny, and the two men took off their shoes and rolled up their pant legs. Yo-Yo did the same. Clinging to each other, the trio started into the water. “Aaaiiiieeee!” Yo-Yo screeched, hopping up and down. “It’s freezing!”
Laughter spread through the crowd, comfortably warm on the shore in our light jackets and sweatshirts. Some of the teenagers and children took off their shoes and waded a few feet into the water, just to prove it wasn’t too cold for them. But the trio in the water kept walking—up to their knees . . . up to their thighs . . . almost up to Yo-Yo’s waist. They finally stopped, turned around, and the two men held Yo-Yo’s arms and shoulders in a good grip. Even from the shore we could see Yo-Yo rolling her eyes and making faces at the frigid lake water, though it was hard to hear what Pastor Clark was saying to her. But I caught “. . . in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit”—and then Pastor Clark and Denny quickly lowered Yo-Yo backward into Lake Michigan and brought her up again, dripping wet.
“Thank ya, Jesus!” Florida shouted again, and someone started the group on shore singing, “Tell me, how does it feel to come out the wilderness?” as the trio headed back toward shore.
“Wait!” someone shouted. I was startled to see Becky Wallace pull away from Stu’s side and head for the water. At the water’s edge, she kicked off her shoes and waded in, heading toward the shivering Yo-Yo. The singing died away as everyone gaped. What in the world?
For a nanosecond, I wondered if Becky had figured out a good escape—just head into the water and keep swimming. Or drown the ankle monitor. But she stopped as she met up with Pastor Clark, Denny, and Yo-Yo, saying something and gesturing with her hands. She and Pastor Clark talked intensely for a few minutes. Then the two men looked at each other, and I saw Denny nod.
All four of them turned around and headed back into waist-deep water.
Several of us realized what was happening all at once. Becky Wallace wanted to be baptized! Chanda began jump-ing up and down. “Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Oh, Jesus!” I heard “Glory!” and “Thank You, Jesus!” But Stu caught my eye, and without saying a word, we both kicked off our shoes and waded into the water. That sister needed some sisters around her while she did the bravest thing I’d ever seen—though wading into the water took guts, too. Ai-yi-yiii! It was cold!
Pastor Clark waited for us until we got there, and to my surprise, Denny stepped aside and beckoned for Stu and me to take his place at Becky’s side. She gripped our hands like a lifeline as Pastor Clark said in a loud voice, “Becky Wallace, on your confession of faith and desire to follow Jesus, I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” And down she went. Back up she came, eyes squeezed shut—but the smile on her face was like its own sunshine.
As Pastor Clark released her, Stu and I enveloped Becky Wallace—thief, felon, ex-con, housemate, sister—in a big, wet hug. With our arms tangled around each other, I had a sudden vision of a new meaning for Becky’s name, which meant “bound” or “tied.” Laughing, I said in her ear, “Becky, you are now all tied up in the love of God!” I wanted to say more, but I heard splashing and squeals behind us. Turning my head, I saw half the Yada Yadas wading into the water to hug Becky, grimacing at the cold water.
Chanda was the first to get there. She gave Becky a hug—then to my shock, she dunked herself and her bright yellow Easter suit completely under the water and came up holding her head. “Gonna wash that mon right out o’ my hair!” she belted out, as if auditioning for the Broadway musical itself. “Oh Lord, dat mon is gone an’ this sista is glad. I’m free! I’m free!” And she began to jump up and down, splashing the rest of us.
We all started to laugh. The next thing I knew, Stu went down under the water and came up, long hair streaming down her back. She gave me a wet hug. “Oh God, Jodi,” she whispered in my ear. “I’m free too!—from living a lie, from lying to myself. I’m so glad . . . so glad.”
I saw Hoshi in the water, hugging Becky Wallace. My heart twisted. I could hardly bear it. Hoshi—who had been rejected by her own family because she chose to fol-low Jesus—was hugging her new sister in God’s family, the same woman who had sent Hoshi’s mother back to Japan with a hand full of stitches and a heart full of anger.
Could I forgive like that? Oh God! Your redemption is so great!
Back onshore I heard a squeal and saw Peter Douglass sweep Avis into his arms and start wading into the water. “You would’t!” she screeched, clinging to his neck, yet he just kept coming, a silly grin on his normally sober features. And then he dumped her in the water.
She came up spluttering—but in half a second, she was splashing him, laughing, and splashing harder. And that’s when it happened. The rest of the Yada Yadas, Amanda and José, Yo-Yo’s brothers, the Jesus People teenagers in their tattoos and nose rings, Florida’s squeal-ing kids, Nony in her African-print tunic and head wrap, and an assortment of other Uptown folks and teenagers—all in the water, churning up a huge hallelujah water fight! Even Pastor Clark got a good soaking—and managed to give it back to a few of the teenagers himself.
Sopping wet, hardly aware of the frigid water, I stepped back as if watching the scene in the water from a faraway place.What had just happened here? Two young women had just been baptized. Redeemed from their own efforts. Set free to be new women. And the rest of us . . . we were being redeemed too. Florida—turning a new page in the life of her family. Chanda—seeing “Dia’s daddy” for the faithless moneygrubber he really was.Nony—carrying her vision for a redeemed South Africa in her heart. Avis—redeemed from the ache of loneliness she’d lived with since her beloved Conrad had died.
And me. Jodi Marie Baxter. Redeemed to be . . . me! Not the good girl I thought I was for so many years. Not the hopeless sinner I discovered myself to be. But the woman God created me to be—helped along by sisters so different from myself, who weren’t afraid to knock off the rough edges of my pettiness and self-righteousness and judgmental spirit. Yet who accepted me just for myself.
Already wet, I raised my arms toward the sky, yelled, “Thank You, Jesus!” and fell backward into Lake Michigan. The cold water closed over my head. But before I could get my feet under me, I felt a strong hand pull me up out of the water. I blinked my eyes open.
Denny.
“Lightning,” he said. “Storm’s coming this way. We need to get out of the water.” He grabbed my hand and headed for shore.
I looked back. The sky had darkened. Jagged bolts of lightning skipped across the horizon. Yes, a storm was coming. So?
The Yada Yada Prayer Group—and the Baxter family—had weathered storms before. And we would again.