34

Denny said he didn’t want a big hullabaloo for his birthday, not so soon after losing our dog. So even though Stu and Estelle offered to come downstairs to help us celebrate on April first, I said no thanks, we were putting off his birthday until the weekend, and then we were going out to dinner, “just family.”

It had been a strange week. The tears had dried up, but the hollow feeling in our lives remained. No Willie Wonka to trip over when we came in the door. No click-click-click of his nails on the hardwood floors. No muzzle pushed into our laps as we watched TV or sprawled in the recliner. And especially no kissy-face ritual when Amanda came home from school.

But I couldn’t let Denny’s actual birthday go past unnoticed, even though we’d put off going out until Friday. So while he was at the JDC Thursday evening, I made a chocolate tunnel cake. It even came out of the bundt pan in one piece, shiny and firm, belying its gooey center. I lit candles in the living room, put the cake on our old oak coffee table that was “fashionably stressed” after years of snacks and feet—with and without shoes—and made a pot of decaf coffee.

“What’s this?” he said, coming into the living room after his long day, dropping his briefcase and loosening his tie. He lifted an eyebrow suspiciously. “You promised no April Fool’s jokes this year.”

“No joke. Just cake. I promise.”

The front door banged. “I smell chocolate,” Josh said. He stopped at the living room door. “I thought we weren’t celebrating Dad’s birthday till tomorrow.”

“Well, um, I cheated. Get your sister. We’re having cake.”

A funny peace settled over the living room as the four of us dug into the cake by candlelight. “Mm,” Amanda said, ignoring her fork and breaking her slice into gooey pieces, licking her fingers after each bite. “You haven’t made this for a long time, Mom—oh!” She looked at her father guiltily. “We didn’t sing ‘Happy Birthday.’ ”

He gave a dismissive wave. “That’s okay. Just eat.”

“But can we say happy birthday? Even if, you know, we’re kinda sad?”

Denny chewed thoughtfully. “Sure. Because I am happy, you know.”

“You are? But—”

“Well, I’m sad because we’re missing Willie Wonka. But, I’m happy we got him when you were just a pup, snickerdoodle”—he reached over and pinched Amanda’s nose—“because it was fun watching you two grow up together. And I’m happy because my wife, who’s put up with me for twenty years—”

“Twenty-one,” I corrected. “Twenty-four if you count dating.”

“—and my two best kids—”

“You only have two kids,” Josh pointed out.

Denny ignored the interruptions. “—are here with me right this moment, eating ‘tunnel of fudge’ cake. It doesn’t get much better than that.”

“Da-ad.” Amanda rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious. Who knows if we’ll all be together next year? Actually . . .” Denny put down his empty plate and leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, looking around our small circle, “. . . Willie Wonka’s death marks the end of an era for the Baxter family. I realized that was true, ’Manda, when you put your Snoopy dog in the box with Wonka’s body and said, ‘Guess I have to grow up now.’ ”

She made a face. “Yeah. But I was kinda mad. I didn’t want any ol’ stuffed dog if I couldn’t have my real one.”

Denny reached for our daughter and pulled her close to him on the couch, wrapping one arm around her shoulder. “But it’s true, you know. You’ve had a rough time this winter. José broke up with you. MaDear died. Now Willie Wonka’s gone. Familiar props have been knocked out from under you.”

“But José came back! Well, not really. He said he’s missed me, wants us to still be friends. Not like, you know, before—all tight and exclusive and stuff. But . . .” Amanda shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m glad we can be friends.”

Denny smiled at her. “Exactly. I think God knows you’re strong enough to forge ahead even without the familiar props. In fact, tonight at the JDC, our study group came across this verse.” He fished in his briefcase for the Bible he’d taken that night, and flipped pages. “Okay, here it is. First Corinthians, chapter thirteen: ‘When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. But when I became a man’—you know, grown—‘I put childish things behind me.’ ”

He looked up. “Oscar and I talked to the boys that part of growing up is learning to face up to the consequences of mistakes and bad decisions. But it’s also learning to overcome disappointment, even the loss of friends or family. Life isn’t always fair. Bad things happen. But life keeps rolling. We have to keep rolling, too. Roll with the punches, roll with God’s help.”

“Can I see that?” Amanda reached for her dad’s Bible and studied the page. Then her eyes widened. “Look at the next verse! It says, ‘Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.’ ” She looked up thoughtfully. “It’s kinda saying we don’t always know why things happen, but we will someday—because God knows everything about us.”

I watched my husband and daughter, gratefulness squeezing my heart. Amanda had cried, “Why, Mom? Why?” I didn’t feel badly that I didn’t have any answers that night. That wasn’t the night for answers. But tonight, she was listening. Listening to the Word.

Josh cleared his throat. “Uh, can I cut in? I know you guys have been waiting for me to grow up, leave the nest, whatever.”

I hid a grin. Well, yeah.

“But what you said, Dad, about God sometimes knocks the props out from under us . . . guess that sums up what I’ve been feeling. When Dr. Smith was attacked by those racists, well, that knocked the rosy color off my world, that’s for sure. But I kept doing this, doing that, thinking I wanted to save the world, college could wait, all that stuff, until . . . well, the fire, you know. Kinda burned up my self-confidence.”

The candles were starting to drip wax on the coffee table. But I couldn’t take my eyes off my son, sandy hair falling over his ears and curling down onto his neck, blue tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his T-shirt, both knees of his jeans ripped. Jesus was right. It was what was on the inside of a person that counted with God.

“But Edesa and I, we’ve been talking, and she kinda showed me God takes things away sometimes, so all we have left to lean on is God. Funny thing, though, those women and kids at the shelter—they lost a lot more in that fire than I did. But women like Estelle and Precious, they still had something I didn’t . . . confidence in God. Ya know?”

My eyes blurred. Amanda was watching her brother with her mouth half open. Denny pulled out his handkerchief.

Josh threw out his hands. “But I think God’s telling me He can guide a rolling stone better than a stick-in-the-mud. So I went ahead and enrolled at UIC for the fall semester, you know, the Chicago Circle campus. Maybe international studies, not sure yet. Relating across cultures, that kind of thing. But staying in Chicago means I can get involved with the youth outreach at SouledOut on the weekends—maybe even sit on that advisory board for the new Manna House shelter.” He cast an impish look at me. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m gonna look for an apartment or somethin’.”

“Sounds good, Josh. Real good.” Denny lifted an eyebrow. “But you were going to tell us this . . . when?”

Josh grinned. “Hey. Happy birthday, Dad.”

I CRAWLED INTO OUR QUEEN-SIZE BED, propped myself up with both pillows, and watched Denny pull off his tie, then his belt, then his shoes. He saw me watching him and grinned. “Best birthday I’ve ever had.”

I nodded. It had been a magical night—the kind of magic created when God breaks into our everyday world with angels making announcements and stars bringing wise men. The kind of magical night when you’re just grateful you were present to see God at work, even though you didn’t have anything to do with it.

Well, maybe the chocolate cake helped. Got us together, anyway, unplanned and unrehearsed.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said. “What you said about life keeps rolling. So when stuff happens, we have to roll with the punches and keep going with God’s help.”

He raised a quizzical eyebrow at me as he finished undressing and pulled on his sleep shorts and T-shirt.

“I mean, not just ‘keep going,’ but moving outward. You know, like Mark Smith applying again to that university in KwaZulu-Natal. Nony is so excited—not just about the possibility of going back to South Africa, but because Mark is ‘rolling’ again, moving forward, instead of telling himself he can’t.”

Denny crawled into bed beside me and stole his pillow back. “Yeah. God is good. Real good.”

Which was true, though I could hardly imagine Yada Yada without Nony. She was the one who taught us about praying the Scriptures right back to God, claiming His promises, something I was still learning. But . . . I couldn’t let myself think about losing Nony right now.

I propped myself up on one elbow and faced Denny. “But that’s going to be a big change for Yada Yada. And it’s not the only one! Hoshi graduates in June. What’s she going to do? Especially if the Sisulu-Smiths leave and sell their house. That’s been her home for the past year. And our family is facing big changes too. Like you said, in a way Wonka’s death marks the end of an era for our family. Our kids are growing up. Josh will be moving out, Amanda graduates next year . . . that whole empty-nest thing.”

“Mm-hm.” Denny breathed out a sleepy sigh. “And your point is?”

I hesitated. Was I really ready to take the plunge? But wasn’t that what God had been saying to us tonight? Time to uncircle the wagons. Time to get rolling!

“The point is . . . I think I want to do that drama thing with the kids at the JDC. If the position is still open.”

“YOU GONNA DO WHAT?” Florida said before worship started on Sunday morning. Daylight Savings had dragged us out of bed an hour earlier that day, but the fact that it was Palm Sunday and the beginning of Holy Week helped ensure that the majority of SouledOut members made it by the new time.

“I’m applying to the Nancy Jefferson School at the JDC as a drama coach volunteer.” I grinned. “The English teacher got mono or something.”

Florida stared at me. “Since when you a drama coach? I thought you taught third grade. An’ one thing I know, they ain’t got no third graders at the JDC. Huh. Not yet, anyway.” She wagged her head. “But I tell ya, Jodi, they got some kids up in there young as ten. Breaks my heart.”

Now it was my turn to stare. “Ten!” Ten was fifth grade.

“Yeah,” she said glumly. “Those gangs are recruitin’ shorties at a younger an’ younger age—then these babies end up holdin’ drugs for the big dudes, or smugglin’ weapons, or even usin’ ’em to make themselves feel big an’ bad. Maybe it’s good they get caught; keeps ’em off the street for a while anyway. But I dunno, the JDC ain’t all it s’posed ta be—oh! Hey there, Nony. Hey, Mark.”

We both got warm hugs from the Sisulu-Smith family, who had just come in. “Yada Yada tonight at my house, sisters?” Nony shrugged off her coat. “Help me pass the word that we are still collecting money for that gift certificate for Sara. Hoshi found out Sara just had a birthday in March—but thinks our idea would still work as a belated birthday gift.”

Carla Hickman’s age group was busily handing out palm fronds, and Avis set her big, falling-apart Bible on the small wooden stand that served as a pulpit, ready for the call to worship. “Talk to you later,” I whispered to Flo, then took a palm frond and scurried to my seat beside Denny. But my mind was backpedaling. What did Flo mean, the JDC isn’t all it’s supposed to be? What am I getting myself into? Have I leaped before I looked?

But Avis’s strong voice pulled me into the reason we had gathered that morning. “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!”

We all repeated her words: “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!”

Little Andy’s voice piped up, “She s’posed to say, ‘Good mornin’, church.’ ” Becky Wallace’s face turned a bright pink as the other children tittered.

Avis smiled. “Imagine for a moment that we are worshipers on our way to the temple in Jerusalem. And then the whispers start. ‘Jesus of Nazareth is coming!’ . . . ‘You mean the Healer?’ . . . ‘Could He be the Messiah?’ Excitement mounts. And then they see Him coming down the road, riding a humble donkey. ‘He’s coming! He’s coming!’ Suddenly people are breaking off palm branches to wave.” Avis began to wave the palm frond she held in her hand. “Others take off their cloaks and lay them in the road. The children began to sing; soon the cry was heard all along the road into Jerusalem—”

As if on cue, the praise team and instruments launched into a song: Hosanna! Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! Palm fronds waved all over the blue-and-coral-painted room. I hadn’t heard this particular song before, but it was easy to pick up.

As we repeated the “Hosanna” lines at the end of the song, Oscar Frost put down his saxophone and picked up a pair of maracas. The drummer laid down his sticks and began a thudding beat with his hands on a set of congas. Suddenly the praise team was singing the song again—in Spanish:

Hosanna! Hosanna! Bendecido es Él que viene en el nombre del Señor!

I saw Amanda’s face light up. Hosanna! Hosanna! Bendecido es Él que viene en el nombre del Señor! Children jumped up and down, waving their palms. In fact, it was impossible to stand still. People began moving away from their seats, forming a processional around the room. The waving palms, throbbing drums, and joyful words did seem as if we were welcoming the One we’d all been longing for—the Messiah, the Savior, the Son of God who came to live among us.

But even as we sang and waved our palms, we passed the plain wooden cross on the wall of our storefront sanctuary. And it hit me with renewed clarity: between two joyful Sundays—Palm Sunday and Easter—came the Cross.