by Neta Jackson
Leave it there . . . leave it there . . .
Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there;
If you trust and never doubt, He will surely bring you out
Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.
In gospel fashion, we ended up singing the chorus a couple more times before Avis led out with an impassioned prayer that we’d take the words of this hymn to heart “and bring our burdens to You, Jesus, and leave them there rather than dragging them around, letting Satan beat us down, all hangdog and discouraged.” She could’ve been an old Baptist preacher herself, for she sailed right back into the last two phrases of the chorus: “Mmmm-mmm . . . If you trust and never doubt, He will surely bring you out . . . Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there . . . mmmm-mmm.”
I stifled a grin. What would the teachers at Bethune Elementary think if they could see this side of their cool-headed principal? God must have prompted me to suggest that song because singing “Leave it there” with my sisters calmed the anxious spirit I brought to the meeting, though I wasn’t exactly sure why I felt so unsettled. Too much unfinished business, I guess.
“These last two weeks been one thing after another, know what I’m sayin’?” Florida piped up after the prayer. “Ain’t had no time to think about that robbery, though I get hot as pepper sauce when I do. But can’t afford to be mad, ’cause I got a little girl who’s mad enough at the world and especially me right now ’cause I took her away from her foster mama. Though it ain’t all bad,” she hastened to say. “We doin’ all right. She out with her daddy and brothers tonight eating pizza.”
Nony reached over and laid a hand on Florida’s knee. “Please let us know what we can do.”
“Probably what you doin’ now—prayin’. Got sheets, thanks to Jodi.Now anybody who’s got some sassy girl clothes to pass along, could use some of them. But you ain’t no help in that department, Nony.” A grin softened Florida’s worry lines. “All you got is those two handsome boys.”
“I’ve got girls,” said Delores. “They wear out their clothes pretty bad, but I’ll see what we can come up with.”
Chanda’s pout deepened. “Mi still hain’t heard what happened at sista Jodee’s house. Start at da’ beginning.”
Avis quickly discouraged simply rehashing the details. “We need to help each other move beyond the trauma to a place of faith.”
“Uh-huh.” Ruth considered that. “So spiritual, I’m not. Exactly how do you do that?”
Stu snickered. “You sound like Yo-Yo.”
Yo-Yo, sitting cross-legged on the floor and cleaning her fingernails with a pocketknife, just grinned.
Avis took the question seriously. “By confessing the Word—”
“Avis! Plain English!” This time Yo-Yo did speak up.
“All right, plain English. But it’s an important concept, so I’m going to break it down. Confessing—it literally means ‘to tell, to make known.’ The Word, of course, is what God says in the Bible. So we can either go around confessing, ‘Oh, wasn’t that awful’ or, ‘I’m so scared’ or, ‘I’m so angry about what happened.’ Or we can confess the Word: ‘I’m created in the image of God.’ ‘God knows and cares when even a sparrow falls to the ground; how much more He cares about me!’ ‘All things work together for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purpose’—to name just a few. That’s what I call ‘confessing the Word.’ ”
I knew I needed that kind of encouragement, to actually speak the Word. Say it out loud. Remind myself what God said about stuff that happens when my feelings are flying off in every direction. I certainly didn’t do that last night when Denny told me that Bandana Woman had pled guilty and skipped a trial. On the other hand, that seemed like asking a lot of somebody who’d just suffered a trauma—especially Hoshi, who was suffering a lot more than the rest of us as a result of the robbery. Still, I was a little shocked when Stu put my thoughts into actual words.
“Avis, isn’t that expecting people to deny their feelings?” Stu’s voice got sarcastic. “I just got robbed at knifepoint—well, praise the Lord! Hoshi’s family has disowned her—but all things work together for good!” Stu’s chin went up. “I mean, maybe praise and thanksgiving are your first reactions when something bad happens, but I’ll bet most of us would like somebody to say, ‘Gee, that’s tough,’ or ‘You have a right to be upset!’ ”
It suddenly felt like all the air had just been sucked out of the room. No one spoke. I didn’t know where to look, so I stared at the curlicues in the carpet. Even Yo-Yo quit cleaning her fingernails. I felt defensive for Avis. Stu had just rejected everything she’d just said. At the same time, I’d been thinking pretty much the same thing—maybe others had too.
Finally Avis spoke. “Stu, I don’t mean to deny anyone’s feelings. We all have natural feelings—including me. Yes, I felt angry. Yes, I was upset. I don’t think one day has gone by that I haven’t cried about Hoshi’s pain, and I don’t know how God is going to work that together for her good. It looks pretty bad. But I do know that if I stay there in the natural, focusing on all my feelings, Satan gets a foothold in my heart. I begin to doubt God’s love. My trust slips—is God really in control? All I’m saying is, what I need to do is confess the promises of God, and I need to do it right away. ‘Satan, you’re a liar!’ ‘God, Your ways are above my ways, so I trust You!’—even if I don’t feel like it. Because that’s the only way I can keep my feet on solid ground and my heart from giving in to fear.”
Fear . . . had to admit that was usually my first reaction. Not just physical fear, but fear I’d look stupid or make the wrong decision. I glanced sideways at Stu. Avis had won that round in my book, but would Stu come out swinging?
It was Hoshi who spoke. “Thank you. It is what I needed,Avis. My heart is shaking. It is hard to trust God. I am new Christian and don’t know all that God says. All I know is, I can’t go back. God has been good to me, and what happened at Jodi’s house— that was not God. Satan wants me to go back to my old religion, but I will not go back. Please, show me what God says to make me strong and not so afraid.”
The carpet blurred beneath my wet eyes. I understood what Stu had been saying. To be honest, I felt that way too. But this— this was moving us toward faith.
21
Delores Enriques spoke up. “Fear dogs my footsteps every day, especially for José. He’s a good boy, but . . . what if those gangbangers come after him, to make sure he won’t talk? I have to keep telling myself, ‘God hath not given us a spirit of fear but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.’ ”
Good verse, I thought, if you can get past ye ole King James English. It still surprised me when Delores and some of the others in Yada Yada quoted the old KJV with all its “haths” and “comeths.” Nobody at Uptown Community used King James.
Well, maybe Avis. And Florida. None of the WASPs, anyway.
Soon Bible promises were popping like popcorn from others, not just for Hoshi, but for all of us struggling with anger and fear after the robbery. “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; you are Mine” . . . “I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” . . .
I was scribbling references down as fast as I could so I could look them up later—and almost missed Florida’s question.
“I wanna axe you all somethin’. What about this woman—the one who robbed us? She ain’t that different from me five years ago, you know, ’cept I faint dead away at the sight of blood, so you know I ain’t never gonna take up no knife.”
The thought of Florida fainting dead away over blood stirred up some chuckles. “You didn’t faint when Hoshi’s mama was bleeding,” I kidded.
“Too scared. Couldn’t fall out.”
Now we did laugh, and the atmosphere lightened up, like someone had opened a window. “Yes,” Nony seconded, “I wonder about her too. How do we find out what’s happenin
g?” She held up her left hand with its bare ring finger. “And I want my wedding ring back.”
I sucked in my breath. “Well, I’ve got an update. Denny called Sergeant Curry yesterday to ask if a trial date had been set”—I left out the part about me bugging him to death—“and guess what? The woman pled guilty at her arraignment on Friday and bam! She’s already down at Lincoln serving a ten-year sentence.”
Everybody looked at me like I was making it up. “Honest. That’s what he said.”
“Humph. Don’t blame her,” Yo-Yo muttered.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
Yo-Yo hugged one denim knee to her chest. “Prison ain’t no picnic, but it’s a heck of a lot better than bein’ stuck for months at Cook County Jail. What’s-her-name—Becky, right?—probably got put right off in the wing with other violent offenders. If I was her, caught in the act and knew I was goin’ down for sure? I’d plead guilty, too, just to get outta Cook County, ’stead of waitin’ months for a trial date.”
Now everybody stared at Yo-Yo.
“How do you know her name?” Hoshi said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Yo-Yo looked up at me. “Didn’t you tell me her name was Becky Something?”
Was Yo-Yo really the only person I told? And she hadn’t even been there that night. I nodded, feeling guilty that I’d sat on it. “Yeah. Becky Wallace. That’s what Sergeant Curry said her name was.” Bandana Woman . . . B. W. . . . whatever.
Stu made a face. “Feels funny to know what her name is.”
“Humph.” Ruth folded her arms across her bosom. “A disgrace to such a pretty name, she is.”
Yo-Yo snorted. “In case you guys never thought about it, everybody in prison has a name. Maybe you guys—” She checked herself. “Maybe we are s’posed to, you know, pray for her. Or visit her. You know, like Ruth did for me.”
“Oh, who’s sounding ‘spiritual’ now?” I snapped. “Ruth wasn’t your victim. And all you did was forge a couple of checks.” I shut my mouth, afraid of the sudden anger that heated my words.
Yo-Yo just shrugged, unperturbed. “All I’m sayin’ is, this is the Yada Yada Prayer Group, ain’t it? So . . . pray.”
Where did she get off getting so holy all of a sudden? Yo-Yo hadn’t been a Christian more than a few months, didn’t even go to church yet. What did she know?
She knows what it’s like on the other side.
The thought was so loud in my head I looked around the room to see if somebody had spoken it aloud. But no one was looking my direction.
“Well, now, the way I see it is . . .” Florida jabbed her finger at no one in particular. “I don’t like this woman. Wouldn’t mind if I never saw her again all my born days. Same time, I didn’t like myself five, ten years ago either. And God still saw fit to give me another chance. So I say, maybe some of us should go visit this woman, this Becky whoever. And ’cause I been where she is—not in prison, thank ya, Jesus!—but drugged out and desperate, I might go visit her if some of you all would come with me.”
No one else spoke for a long moment. Then Yo-Yo said, “Well, I been where she is, too—not drugged out, ‘thank ya, Jesus!’ ”—she smirked at Florida—“but stuck in prison for long enough. Some people don’t have nobody to visit ’em.”
“Mmm. Lord have mercy,” Avis murmured. Her lips continued to move, like she was praying in tongues or something.
Hoshi put her face in her hands and started to cry. “No, no. I couldn’t . . . couldn’t.”
Nony put an arm around her. “Shh, shh. No one’s asking you to, Hoshi. It’s all right.”
“Besides,” Yo-Yo went on, “you can’t just show up at Lincoln to visit somebody. They gotta put you on their visitors’ list.”
My ears perked up. “What do you mean?”
“Somebody has to write and tell what’s-her-face that we want to come visit her, and she’d have to put our names on a list.”
Oh! Relief surged through me. No way would Bandana Woman put any of our names on her visitors’ list! That would be bizarre beyond belief. I felt let off the hook.
But my relief was short-lived.
“Maybe Jodi could write and axe her to put our names on the list—she’s good at that sort of thing.” Florida talked like I wasn’t even there, but when I glared at her she just grinned back at me.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I don’t think . . .”
“Won’t hurt to ask. All she can do is say no.” Yo-Yo’s logic was maddening.
Avis broke in. “I don’t think we ought to decide anything for sure right this moment. This might be the right thing to do—or not. Let’s pray about it and see what God says. If she’s already been sent to Lincoln, she’s not going anywhere soon. We have time to pray.”
I flashed Avis a grateful look then bowed my head, all ready to tell God privately that this wasn’t such a hot idea, didn’t He agree? But Ruth said, “Um, before we pray . . . could I say something? Jodi and Denny and Stu came to the Rosh Hashanah service at Beth Yehudah last weekend, which I appreciated, can’t begin to tell you. Tomorrow is Yom Kippur—some of you are coming, yes?” A few heads nodded around the room. “I want to explain about the Ten Days of Awe—the period between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Because, to tell the truth, I think it applies to what we’ve been talking about here.”
There was an awkward pause. This certainly sent the flow of the meeting on a detour, but Nony graciously said, “Of course. I would like to hear. Mark and I and the boys are coming tomorrow.”
I felt impatient to get on with our prayer time but settled back reluctantly, hoping Ruth wouldn’t go into a long description of everything we’d already heard at the Rosh Hashanah service.
“Rosh Hashanah, the New Year, begins a time of introspection, looking back at the mistakes of the past year and planning the changes to make in the coming year—a spiritual inventory, as it were.” Ruth’s face took on a flush of excitement, like a babushka showing her grandchildren around the ancestral farm. “Although it’s not spelled out in the Torah, most Jews consider the blowing of the shofar during Rosh Hashanah to be a call to repentance.”
“Yes, I remember that from the sermon that your rabbi gave at Rosh Hashanah,” Stu put in.
Ruth gave her a look, just like the one my mother used to give me and my brothers that meant, “I’m doing the talking here. Zip your lip.” “Pastor,” she said impatiently. “Beth Yehudah’s got a pastor like everybody else. He’s not a Jewish rabbi.”
I wanted to snicker. Sorry, God. But I did love it when Stu got put in her place.
“Messianic Jews,” Ruth went on, “believe all the Jewish festivals and holy days are not only a remembrance, but a foreshadowing of Messiah Yeshua. During the Ten Days of Awe, we are preparing our hearts for His return.”
“This is so interesting.” Avis leaned forward. “All the years I was coming up in the African-American church, we identified strongly with the Old Testament stories and the history of the Jewish people. Now that I think about it, a lot got focused on God’s deliverance of His people from Egypt and the meaning of Passover—not the meaning of the others feasts and festivals.”
“Uh-huh. ‘Go down, Moses!’ and ‘Let My people go!’ ” Chanda rolled her eyes. “Rev’rend Miles at Paul and Silas Apostolic? He preachin’ on that two, maybe t’ree times a month!”
Nony tossed her head, setting her newest ’do of curls dancing behind a bright-colored head wrap. “A lot of white Christians presume we’re stuck there too. Mark and I were invited to a gospel concert at a big North Shore church, and the choir mostly sang spirituals from slavery times, as if that was the sum total of black contribution to gospel music. Why is that?”
Florida snorted. “ ’Cause ya sing spirituals slow, and white church folks can’t sing fast and step and clap at the same time.”
That got a laugh, even from us “white folks.” Except Ruth. She was giving Avis “the look” for getting us offtrack again.
“Sorry,�
�� Avis said, trying to hide her smile. “Go on, Ruth.”
“Where was I?” Ruth frowned, hands on her knees.
“The Ten Days of Awe.”
“So I was. During the Ten Days of Awe, we not only confess our own sins, but we intercede on behalf of our people. Not just asking God to bless us, but asking God to forgive the sins of our people. For Messianic Jews, that means the sins of our fellow Christians as well. All of which culminates in a time of fasting and prayer at Yom Kippur.”
Ruth sat back in her chair. The room was silent till Yo-Yo said, “That’s it?”
“Well, no, there’s lots more, but that’s mainly what I wanted to say.”
“So . . . how does that relate to what we were talking about?” I didn’t mean to make that sound so challenging—or maybe I did.
“I think I know,” Stu offered. “We can ‘intercede’ for our thief—uh, Becky, did you say?—because she’s probably not at a place she can do that herself. Like European-Americans needing to take responsibility for how our ancestors treated the Native-American people—or ask forgiveness from African-Americans for the terrors of slavery.”
Oh, thanks, Stu. I didn’t ask you. Sounded like a lot of “politically correct” stuff from the current crop of social activists.
Florida muttered, “That would be the day.” Ruth just nodded.
We finally got to our prayer time, though it seemed shorter than usual. I heard the front door open while Delores was praying for “the Becky woman” in prison and whether we ought to visit her. Then I heard Ben’s voice mutter, “They’re still at it,” and the door closed again. Finally we ended with some good old-fashioned praise, did a lot more hugging, and got ready to go.
Just as I was trying to catch Chanda’s eye to say Denny was waiting for us outside, Delores pulled me aside. She hadn’t said anything about Ricardo tonight—I wondered if things had gotten worse. I looked at her expectantly.
“You know Amanda came to Iglesia this morning, si?”
“Well . . . sure. She said she wanted to go to the parade with Edesa and Emerald afterward.” Oh dear. Guess I should have called Delores and checked it out with her, since it involved Emerald. Is she upset?