by Neta Jackson
Chapter 19
Edesa felt a gentle squeeze on her hands as Avis Douglass put the torn piece of bread in them. “The body of Christ, broken for you, dear sister Edesa,” Avis whispered, giving her a tender smile. Then Avis tore off another small piece of bread and turned to Edesa’s husband, who was right behind her. “The body of Christ, broken for you, Josh.”
Edesa felt goose bumps on the back of her neck. It never failed to touch her to hear her name mentioned as she received the broken bread representing Christ’s broken body. Broken for me.
Today it felt even more meaningful receiving the bread from Avis, her Yada Yada sister for the past several years, and now in her new role as an interim pastor. Was that how it felt when Jesus broke the bread in the intimate upper room and passed it to His disciples—His closest friends—after they’d spent three intense years together, eating, praying, walking dusty roads in the desert, swallowed by crowds in the city, sailing through storms on the Sea of Galilee?
Stepping toward Pastor Cobbs who was holding the cup of wine, Edesa dipped her bread and put it in her mouth, eyes closed, as Pastor Cobbs murmured, “The blood of Christ, shed for you, Sister Edesa.”
The scripture Avis had read during the sermon echoed inside Edesa’s head as she waited for Josh to dip and eat his bread: “Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good . . . hear me, that your soul may live.”
Labor. The whole process of making bread to eat—tortillas, to be exact—had been a daily chore where she’d grown up in Honduras. Her mother had mixed the flour with water, lard, baking powder, and a tad of salt, then rolled pieces of the dough into a ball, slapping and patting it into a flat tortilla, which was fried in a hot skillet on the stove. The flat tortillas were then eaten with beans, maybe some meat and vegetables, morning, noon, and night . . . and the next day the process began all over again.
Josh saw that she’d waited for him and took her hand as they returned to their seats. But Edesa’s mind was still back on the bread “that does not satisfy.” She remembered always feeling a little bit hungry. Sometimes her father had work, sometimes he didn’t. A family of six children—two boys and four girls—was a lot to feed.
But somehow her parents had managed to send her to school, then to the U.S. to college. And somehow they’d instilled in her a deep faith in Jesus, the Bread of Life who satisfied the deepest hunger of the spirit.
A wave of homesickness swept over Edesa, thinking about her family back in Honduras. How her mother, Eunice, and papa, Jubal, would love to see Gracie! And meet Josh. They hadn’t been able to come for the wedding, it had happened so fast . . . but now that Josh was out of school, maybe—
“Want me to pick up Gracie from the nursery?” Josh’s voice cut into her wandering thoughts. She realized communion was over, someone had said the benediction, and people were starting to drift over to the coffee table.
“Sí. Gracias. Sorry, I was thinking about something . . .”
But he was already heading for the double doors that led to the back rooms.
Edesa stood up and gathered her things. The aroma of fresh coffee tempted her, but it might perk her up, and a Sunday afternoon nap after she put Gracie down sounded even better.
“Edesa?” Kathryn Davies appeared, breathless. “Do you have a minute?”
Was she going to ask about teaching a nutrition class again? Edesa glanced hopefully toward the doors to the back rooms, but . . . oh well. She smiled graciously. “Sí, I have a moment until Josh gets back with Gracie.”
Kat pulled up a chair so Edesa sat back down too. Looked like this might take longer than a minute. The young woman pushed back a stray lock of hair. “Thank you for encouraging me to visit one of the food pantries in Rogers Park. I got a chance to visit the one at Rock of Ages—actually, Nick and Brygitta and Rochelle came too.”
Surprise. Edesa hadn’t actually expected Kat to follow up on her suggestion, at least not so quickly. “That’s great! Tell me about it.”
Kat laughed. “It was quite an experience.” Edesa listened, her smile widening as Kat described how they got roped in as volunteers. “The place was really jammed, even with the rain. Not just the homeless, but whole families, kids . . .” Her voice trailed off and her gaze grew distant as if her mind was chewing on something.
“So . . . what do you think? Sounds like they could use more volunteers.”
Kat’s attention jerked back to Edesa’s face and her blue eyes danced with a sudden excitement. “That’s just it. Their pantry is open on Wednesday at four and my shifts at The Common Cup either end at five or start at five, which would make it hard. And really, they were so crowded! They even had to turn some people away. Rochelle said more churches need to start food pantries—the same thing those women from Estelle Bentley’s cooking class said. So I’ve been thinking . . . what if we started a food pantry here at SouledOut? Like on the weekend when it’d be easier to get volunteers.”
“Start a—” Edesa nearly choked. “Here? At SouledOut?”
Josh appeared with Gracie. “Mommeeee!” The little girl let go of her daddy’s hand and launched herself into Edesa’s lap.
“Okay if Gracie stays here with you while I go find Justin?” Without waiting for an answer, Josh headed off toward the milling crowd around the coffee table.
Edesa was glad for the distraction. “Hey, sweetie. Say hi to Miss Kathryn.” She nuzzled Gracie’s dark, silky hair, trying to collect her thoughts.
Gracie giggled and eyed the other woman mischievously. “Miss Gato!”
Kat grinned. “Meow yourself, Gracie.” But she raised her eyebrows at Edesa as if still asking her question.
Arms wrapped around Gracie, almost for support, Edesa cleared her throat. “I hardly know what to say. That’s a huge idea. Something that would need a lot of prayer for sure.”
Kat nodded eagerly. “See, you started me thinking when you talked about Jesus feeding the five thousand. I read that story, oh, maybe five times. The disciples wanted to send the people away, someplace else, to get something to eat. But Jesus said, you feed them.” Kat’s whole face was alive, her startling blue eyes and long lashes framed by the wavy fall of rich brown hair. “And then you told me what Estelle Bentley said, that she thought what I really wanted was to feed hungry people. And . . . and I think that’s what God is calling me to do. Feed hungry people!”
Edesa blinked. Oh, Señor Dios, help us. Was she responsible for turning Kathryn Davies loose on this idea? That aspect of the biblical story certainly had spoken to her too. But she hadn’t meant it as a “word from the Lord” to start a food pantry at SouledOut!
Gracie wiggled, trying to get down. There wasn’t time to talk about this now. But Kat seemed so earnest, so sincere, so . . . serious. Standing up in order to hoist Gracie onto her hip, Edesa said, “I don’t know, Kat. It’s a great idea, but whether that’s what we’re called to do here at SouledOut is a big question. I . . . I promise I’ll pray about it.” Was she dodging the issue? “You’d certainly need to talk to Pastor Cobbs. Are you sure you can’t work around your work schedule to volunteer at Rock of Ages? Learn more about what it would take?”
Kat stood too, the light in her eyes fading a bit. “Well . . . I’ll see what I can do. But you should’ve seen the crowd packed in there, Edesa! If more churches had food pantries, the burden wouldn’t be on just a few. And SouledOut would be a great place, you know, right here on Howard Street near the El—”
“Mommeee! I’m thirsty! Want some lemonade!” Gracie squirmed so hard Edesa had to set her down.
Kat suddenly blushed. “I’m sorry. I’m blathering. But . . . could we talk some other time? I’ll do more research and come more prepared.” She held out her hand to Gracie. “Want to come with me, sweetie? I’ll get you some lemonade. Is that okay?” She eyed Edesa.
Edesa nodded and watched as Gracie grabbed Kat’s hand and pulled her toward the coffee table, which u
sually had something cold to drink too. Whew. She blew out a breath and sat down with a whump. Her thoughts tumbled. Kat’s idea was exciting, but overwhelming too. At least all she’d promised to do was pray about—
“Miss Edesa?”
Startled, Edesa realized Rochelle Johnson had sidled into the row of chairs and sat down beside her.
“Rochelle!” She leaned over and gave Avis’s daughter a warm hug. “Please don’t ‘Miss Edesa’ me. Aren’t we the same age? It’s so good to see you.” That was an understatement. Rochelle probably had no idea how fervently the Yada Yada Prayer Group had prayed for her and Conny—and just look at how God had answered their prayers! Gracias, Jesús. “Where’s that handsome boy of yours?”
Rochelle snorted. “Pretending to be one of the big boys. But do you have a minute?”
Edesa almost laughed. Maybe she should hang out her shingle, right here at this chair. “Sí. What’s up?”
Rochelle seemed momentarily flustered and glanced about as if making sure no one was nearby. “This might seem silly, but . . . you and Josh. You two have a good marriage—I’ve seen you together. How do you make it work?”
Edesa tried not to show her surprise. Was Rochelle thinking about trying to get back together with her ex? Dexter, if she remembered right. But hadn’t he been abusive? According to Avis, they’d had to get an order of protection—years ago, when Conny was just a baby—and she was sure there’d been a divorce. But what did she know? Maybe the man had wised up, was getting help, wanted to step up to the plate. Or maybe it was a new beau. She wouldn’t be surprised. Rochelle was certainly a beautiful young woman—lovely skin, like her mom, though lighter in shade. Large eyes. Sweet face. And all that gorgeous hair!
She smiled at Rochelle. “I don’t think I’ve got a one-minute answer. But gracias, that’s a nice compliment. I feel grateful to be married to a man who loves God too. That’s the first thing. It gives us an important foundation.”
Rochelle nodded soberly. “Yes. I realize that now. Oh, Dexter made a show of going to church when we first met, but that’s all it was—a show. I’m seeing what a difference a man who loves God and wants to follow Him could make in a relationship. But you and Josh . . . I mean, he’s white and you’re black. And you’re, you know, Spanish or something too. I mean, how does that work out?”
“Oh!” Edesa was taken aback. She knew their interracial marriage, though more common these days, was still unusual enough to make people curious. But why was Rochelle asking? “Well, having families who support us has been important. The Baxters have accepted me like a daughter—that goes a long way. As for my parents, they haven’t met Josh yet, but they know all about him, and I’m sure they’ll like him. Uh, speaking of . . .” She cleared her throat discreetly as Josh headed in their direction.
“Hi, hon. I’m ready to go. Mom and Dad said they’d drive us home. Where’s Gracie?”
“Kathryn Davies has her. Can you—?”
Rochelle jumped up. “That’s all right. We can talk another time.”
“Of course.” Edesa stood up too and gave Rochelle another hug. “Call me,” she whispered and watched as Avis’s daughter hurried away.
“What’s going on?” Josh asked as they scanned the crowd looking for Kat and Gracie. “You’re suddenly very popular with the young ladies.”
“Oh . . . girl stuff.” Edesa was too overwhelmed to talk to Josh right now. First Kathryn with her big idea for a food pantry at SouledOut. And then Rochelle, asking how to make an interracial marriage work.
What was that about?
Chapter 20
Nick wished his parents could’ve been in the worship service today. They’d always been supportive of his desire to go to seminary, but he wasn’t sure they really believed he’d end up a pastor. They were all too familiar with his shenanigans in high school and what his mother called his “weird sense of humor.” But this was the real deal. Not only was he doing an internship at SouledOut Community Church for his master’s of divinity, but he’d just made a membership covenant with the same church. Not just his name on a membership list either, but a serious covenant with these people.
He felt as if he’d just leaped out of an airplane. No turning back.
Maybe it was just as well his folks weren’t present. Too easy to slip into the “kid” role. But he’d call them and try to share what this meant to him.
“Congratulations, young man.” Peter Douglass clapped Nick on the back and shook his hand. “I was busting my buttons this morning as if you were my own son.” The businessman-elder’s smile widened, stretching the trim mustache above his upper lip. “You’ve made quite an inroad into our family’s life in just a few short months, you know—moving into our building, working at my shop, being on the pastoral team with my wife, and now ‘big brother’ to our grandson. Maybe I better watch out!” The man laughed heartily but Nick was tongue-tied. To hear it put like that sounded as if he were worming his way into these situations deliberately.
“Nick . . . Nick.” Peter Douglass suddenly got serious. “I’m just messing with you. I’m glad God brought you into this church and into our lives. You’re young, but I see the hand of God on your life. If I can be there for you in any way, son, just let me know.”
Relieved, Nick nodded tentatively as the man glanced around the large room, buzzing with after-service conversations, kids ducking in and out of clusters of people, and the usual crowd around the coffee table. “Well, better collect Rochelle and Conny. I’m going to drive them to the South Side this afternoon.”
“Conny’s going to visit his dad? How’s that working out?” The moment he asked, Nick wished he could take it back. “Sorry, not my business.”
Peter smiled wryly. “That’s all right. Doing it for Conny’s sake—but no way am I going to let Rochelle take Conny by herself. We’ve decided to take him and pick him up, so Dexter knows we’re on his case. Takes a big bite out of our Sunday afternoons, but . . .”
“Well, if you want me to take him sometime, let me know.”
Peter lifted an eyebrow. The pause lasted only a second or two but felt longer to Nick. “Hmm, don’t think that’d be a good idea. But thanks anyway.” The older man slapped Nick again on the arm. “See you tomorrow at work.” And he moved off.
Not a good idea? Nick felt confused. He understood why Mr. Douglass didn’t want Rochelle to be dealing with her ex by herself. But wouldn’t it be helpful to give Mr. and Mrs. D a free Sunday afternoon now and then? He was sure Conny would feel comfortable going with him. He frowned. Did Mr. Douglass think he wasn’t man enough to stand up to Dexter?
“Hey.” Kat showed up at his elbow. She sounded breathless. “I’m ready to go. You want to walk home?”
More than ready. “Sure. Where’s Bree?”
“Has to work this afternoon. She already left. I take over for her at five. The owners are good about not scheduling us for Sunday morning.”
Now this was nice. Nick’s spirit lifted as they pushed out the double glass doors and headed across the parking lot.
The day was beginning to feel sultry, and Kat seemed pensive as they headed down Clark Street. But he wouldn’t mind drawing out this time with Kat longer than the walk home. “You want to stop at one of the Mexican cafés and get a bite to eat? The Douglasses are taking Rochelle and Conny to see his dad, so it’s just us for lunch. But I’m on supper tonight.”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
The tiny café they stopped at was mostly takeout, but it had six small tables if you wanted to eat in. Nick ordered a large burrito with a side of rice and beans, and Kat ordered two cheese enchiladas and a lemonade. “I’ll get this.” Nick quickly pulled out his wallet to pay at the counter before they sat down.
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” Kat sucked on her lemonade as she took it to the table.
Nick was surprised. He’d expected Kat to protest, to insist on paying for her share. He smiled inwardly. His dad was old-fashioned, had taught him a guy pays for the girl
he’s interested in. Well . . .
The food came quickly. Should he say a blessing over the food? He didn’t want to appear sanctimonious. But Kat seemed oblivious, staring out the window at people passing on the street. Nick breathed a silent Thank You, took a bite of his burrito, and then said, “Any chance I can join the conversation going on in your head?”
Kat turned from the window and grinned apologetically. “Sorry . . . oh, didn’t know the food was here.” She dug in with her fork, took a bite of her enchilada, and then pointed the fork at him. “You know that food pantry we visited?”
“Yeah. Quite an experience. Pass that green hot sauce, will you?”
She absently pushed the skinny bottle his way. “What would you think if we started a food pantry at SouledOut?”
“Started a—!” Nick stared at her. “You’re kidding.”
“No. I just want to know what you think about the idea.”
Nick blew out a breath. Why was he surprised? Kat was often two jumps ahead of anyone else when she latched onto an idea. “I thought you were going to ask what I thought about you volunteering at Rock of Ages. Which would be great.”
She made a face. “You and Edesa Baxter. Okay, you’re right. I should volunteer. But it’s not that easy to fit their hours into my current work schedule. And remember what Rochelle said? More churches should start food pantries. Remember how crowded it was at Rock of Ages? If more churches set up food pantries, it would share the burden of feeding the hungry people in this neighborhood . . .”
Nick listened as Kat talked excitedly, waving her fork, about realizing just how much Jesus cared about hungry people. Look at how He fed the five thousand, she said—and that was just counting the men! “You feed them,” He told His disciples. “Which made me think. Rather than just let Rock of Ages feed the hungry, maybe we should feed them too!”
“Might start by feeding yourself—your food’s getting cold,” he teased. “But seriously, sounds like a big job. How would you even start?”