by Neta Jackson
He disappeared in the direction of the front door. Guess we’re done talking. I didn’t really expect he’d get a chance to talk with our son, not at a funeral with other people around. But it’d been three days since Josh came home to talk. I’d love to know if he and Edesa had—
Denny reappeared in the kitchen doorway, the mail in one hand and a twenty-dollar bill in the other. “Found this in the mail-box. Any reason why Hakim didn’t want to take your money?”
10
The snow was still deep, but I wasn’t about to miss worship two Sundays in a row, crutches or no crutches, especially at Christmastime. Denny let me off right in T front of the door of SouledOut Community Church, and I braced myself for the barrage of questions and concern the moment the greeters opened the double-glass doors for me. But “I’ll be fine, just slipped on the ice,” seemed to suffice, and no one seemed to notice that we brought just a bag of bakery rolls for the Second Sunday Potluck instead of the usual hearty main dish.
“Oh, Sister Jodi!” Rose Cobbs, wife of Pastor Joe Cobbs, bent down and gave me a warm hug after I’d found a seat. Her warm brown skin smelled of gardenias. “Someone told me the Sisulu-Smiths might be coming home soon. I know they were close to you and the Douglasses. Do you have any news?”
I liked “First Lady Rose,” though we hadn’t become close friends or anything. She was a motherly sort, fifty-something, with grown kids and grandkids, and she “mothered” the merged congregation with a smiling grace I usually found inspiring . . . that is, except for the times I felt annoyed at her seemingly unflappable perfection. Didn’t she ever get mad? Pick her nose? Burn the roast?
The Voice in my spirit gave me a slap upside the head. When was the last time you prayed for Rose Cobbs, Jodi? It’s hard to be a pas-tor’s wife! Especially when the congregation is a melting pot of races and cultures. She gets discouraged, just like you do. She needs encouragement, just like you do. Encourage her!
I hugged her back. “Last I heard, they’re coming back to sell their house and return to South Africa on a more permanent basis.” I saw her smile fade. “I know. I’m disappointed too. God has used Nony in my life in a big way. I miss her.”
Rose Cobbs nodded. “Yes. Nonyameko and Mark used to come to our home to pray for us—before Mark suffered that terrible beating, I mean. They were such an encouragement to Pastor and me . . . ” She put on her smile again. “But I just thank God we will get to see them for a little while. When did you say they were coming?”“They were such an encouragement to Pastor and me” echoed in my head. “Uh, last I heard, they’re coming home sometime the week after Christmas.” I gave a little laugh. “See? I said ‘coming home’ too. Nony, no doubt, would say South Africa is home.”
“Yes. Yes . . . well, thank you, Sister Jodi.”
The Voice in my spirit nudged again. Encourage her! I grabbed her hand as Rose Cobbs started to leave. “Sister Rose, could we . . . could we go out for coffee or something sometime? After the holidays maybe. I’d love to hear about those grandkids.”
To my surprise, her eyes filled with tears. She took hold of my hand with both of hers. “Yes! I’d like that very much. As for the grandkids . . . ” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Please pray for our oldest. Janiqua, she’s autistic—and thirteen now. It’s getting very hard for her parents.”
Autistic . . . Oh Lord, I had no idea.
I pulled out the small notebook I kept with my Bible and wrote J-a-n-i-k-w-a (sp?) just as the lights dimmed. Denny joined me in the seat I’d saved for him. The eight teenage girls Amanda had trained took their place at the back with lighted candles. The saxophone opened up with a few bars of “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” but kept low beneath the words of the young soloist off to the side:
O come, thou Key of David, come
And open wide our heavenly home . . .
Once again, the dancers in their dark skirts and white blouses stepped confidently and in unison up the two aisles between the three sections of chairs.
Make safe the way that leads on high
And close the path to misery!
As the girls fanned out at the front, the hand holding the can-dle lifted up high, while the other hand pushed backward as if closing a door on misery.
The congregation joined in:
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel !
Three pairs of girls stepped forward, each pair lighting one of the candles of the Advent wreath.
Third Sunday of Advent . . . one to go. And then Christmas.
Pastor Clark—a widower who’d been pastor of Uptown Community (mostly white) before we merged with New Morning (mostly black) and became SouledOut Community Church—preached on the Old Testament prophecies that the coming Messiah would be the “Son of David,” born in “David’s city,” Bethlehem. Then he used New Testament scriptures to show how Jesus had fulfilled those prophecies, but He had come as a Servant King, con-founding those who’d been expecting a political deliverer and warrior.
“How little we understand the true nature of the kingdom of God,” Pastor Clark said as he closed his Bible. “Even today, we still have a hard time comprehending Jesus’ teachings that the last shall be first, the least will be the greatest, the meek will inherit the earth, and dying to self leads to life.”
The praise team closed the service with a slow, worshipful ver-sion of “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” After Pastor Clark’s sermon, the words of the third verse took on more meaning:
No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him,
Still the dear Christ enters in.
Whew. The promised Messiah definitely showed up in a way the “religious” folks didn’t expect—in a stable with the animals.
But it was the meek folks—the shepherds—who ran to welcome Him . . .
Afterward, as chairs were pushed back and tables set up for the potluck, I was grateful my sprained ankle gave me an excuse to stay anchored for a few more minutes, thinking about Pastor Clark’s sermon. His low-key style didn’t compare to Pastor Cobbs’s dynamic preaching, and his voice was a bit raspy with age—but the man was deep. And what he said was true: I still struggled to understand God’s “upside-down kingdom.”
Father . . . Abba . . . Daddy God, I prayed silently as lively com-motion swirled around me, forgive me for being such a knucklehead. Even though I’ve heard the Christmas story a zillion times, help me to hear the story this year with open ears. I want to know You and Your Son and Your Holy Spirit even more this year. Help me to look for You in unexpected places. And thanks for giving me Yada Yada sisters who aren’t afraid to get in my face and—
“Yo, Jodi!”
I opened my eyes. Florida was snapping her fingers in my face.
“What? I was praying.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Florida plopped down in a chair beside me. “Thought you’d zoned out. Want me to get you a plate of food? Ruth brought some blintzes, whatever they are. Says it’s a family recipe.”
I declined with a shake of my head, noticing her “Zulu knots” were still holding. She craned her neck, looking around the room. “Where’s Josh at? Haven’t seen him for a couple of Sundays. He and Edesa goin’ to her Spanish church these days? Thought they was doin’ every other Sunday. Sure too bad about that Carmelita girl—an’ her leavin’ that poor baby without a mama. Mm-mm. Wonder what’s goin’ to happen to her?” Florida prattled on, but now I did zone out.
Exactly what I’d like to know.
AFTER THE POTLUCK, the teens invited any adults to stay who’d like to help them decorate the sanctuary, but Denny and I cut out. “I feel like a wimp, just sitting around not doing anything,” I said as Denny took my crutches and hoisted me into the front seat of the minivan.
“That’s it! You’re a wimp!” Denny grinned at me as he climbed into the driver’s side. “I always knew there was something special about you, just couldn’t put my finger on
it.”
He had me laughing by the time we got to the house, listing all my special qualities that had surfaced with my spill on the ice: a Cinderella foot that fit perfectly inside that foam-and-Velcro “slip-per”; a sexy swing of the hips as I perfected walking on crutches; a laid-back attitude toward life, letting the laundry pile up; the—
Denny stopped midsentence as we came in the back door. The lights were on and music was playing in the living room. Denny and I looked at each other. “Hello?” he called out.
The music flipped off. “Oh, hey, Mom and Dad.” Josh met us in the hallway, shirt hanging out beneath a pullover sweater. “It’s just us—Edesa and me. We were waiting for you.” He waved us toward the living room.
We stopped in the archway. Just Josh and Edesa and baby Gracie.
The baby, swathed in blankets, was asleep on Edesa’s lap on the couch. Edesa smiled at us—but her smile trembled. Dear God, she’s scared. I moved to her side, bent down, and gave her a hug.
She hugged me back. “Gracias,” she whispered. The bundle in her arms squirmed, whimpered, and then quieted again.
We all sat. “Uh, might as well get to the point.” Josh sat on the edge of the recliner in its “down” position, rubbing his hands together. He kept his eyes on Edesa and the baby. “Edesa and I have decided to get married and adopt Gracie. Together. I mean, adopt her together, so she will have both a mother and a father from the get-go.”
I swallowed. “Get married . . . when?”
Josh licked his lips. “As soon as we can pull it together.”Now he did look at us. “Uh, Mom and Dad, before you guys say anything, just hear me out. Edesa did not ask me to marry her now so we could do this thing. This is my idea. Uh, actually, it was God’s idea.”
He must have caught the glance that passed between Denny and me, because Josh threw up his hands. “Hey, I know that sounds crazy. But just listen, okay?”
“We’re listening, son,” Denny said.
Josh drew in a deep breath. “All right. Christmas is coming up, right? So after the funeral yesterday, I was helping some of the Katrina kids put together a Christmas play to surprise their moms. I was reading the Christmas story to them from the Bible, how Mary was engaged to Joseph, but before they got married, an angel told Mary she would get pregnant and have a baby, God’s Son, the promised Messiah. And one of the boys snickered and said, ‘Man, bet Joseph got rid of that chick in a hurry.’ And I said, ‘Yeah, well, he was tempted to because he didn’t understand that it was God doing this thing.’”
I had an inkling where this was going.
“So I kept reading—say, you got a Bible around here?” Josh pounced on the study Bible I’d left beside the recliner. Turning pages until he found what he wanted, he cleared his throat and read: “‘Joseph, her fiancé, being a just man, decided to break the engagement quietly, so as not to disgrace her publicly. As he considered this, he fell asleep, and an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream. ‘Joseph, son of David,’ the angel said, ‘do not be afraid to go ahead with your marriage to Mary. For the child within her has been conceived by the Holy Spirit . . . ’”
Josh closed the Bible. His eyes were brimming. “Mom . . . Dad. I tell you, as I read that, it was like God shouted in my ear, ‘Josh!Don’t be afraid to marry Edesa, for the child I’ve given to her is from Me.’”
The whole room seemed to hold its breath.
But a moment later, Josh got up from the recliner and moved over beside Edesa on the couch, pulling her close. Edesa’s dark head leaned against his chest, crying softly. I fished for a tissue. Beside me, Denny blew his nose.
Josh broke the silence. His voice was husky. “Mom and Dad, I know it doesn’t make sense, and I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions. Believe me, we have a lot of questions! What about finishing school? Where will we live? How can we support a family? And I’ll be first to admit, those are scary questions. But . . .” Josh’s voice rose a notch; the huskiness disappeared, and his chin lifted. “I feel—no, I know—God spoke to me. So I’m not afraid.”
Beside me, Denny suddenly bent over and began to untie his shoes. I nudged him, a what-are-you-doing? nudge.
My husband took off one shoe, then the other, and looked up. “I’m removing my shoes,” Denny said, “because we’re standing on holy ground.”
11
I was startled by Denny’s dramatic action. But I felt it too. For several minutes none of us spoke, as if reluctant to disrupt a holy hush. Something was happening right here in our living room I didn’t completely understand . . . something spiritual. Beyond my comprehension. The kind of God-event that used to terrify the disciples, like when Jesus came walking on the water in the middle of a storm. But Jesus said, “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
Josh had said it himself: scary questions—but he wasn’t afraid. He had spoken with absolute certainty, not knowing whether we would understand. He didn’t say it in so many words, but his demeanor was loud and clear: “This is our decision, whether you agree or not.”
My heart hurt within my chest, swollen with mixed emotions. I was so doggone proud of Josh, stepping forward as a man to take responsibility for this woman and this orphaned child. At the same time, I wanted to shake him. Josh! Wake up! You aren’t Joseph and this baby isn’t the Christ Child! Don’t be melodramatic!
Questions . . . oh yes, I had lots of questions. But one in particular rose to the surface. Finally, I cleared my throat. “What if Carmelita’s family is found, and they want the baby? Even if not, isn’t adoption an uphill process? You have to meet certain state standards, have home visits, all that kind of thing. I mean, what if you get married, bam, off the bat—and then the adoption falls through?”
Josh and Edesa looked at each other, the look of lovers speaking volumes no one else can hear. Then Edesa spoke. “In my heart, Jodi, I truly believe it was God who brought Carmelita to Manna House. And she chose me to care for Gracie if anything happened to her! When Carmelita died, I knew what I had to do. Oh yes, I trembled, not knowing if Josh, or anyone, would understand. But like Mary, I had to say, ‘If this is Your will, Lord, so be it.’ And then, praise Jesus . . . God spoke to Josh too!”
A smile returned to Edesa’s face, sunshine on mahogany, as she held up her left hand with the simple engagement ring Josh had given her. “And whatever happens, Jodi, we had already planned to be married, si? We are only moving up the timetable. For all the rest, we need to trust God.”
Trust God . . . How could I argue with that?
Not knowing what else to do, I asked if they’d like to stay for supper, even though it was only four o’clock and I was still stuffed from the potluck at SouledOut. They declined. “I’ve got home-work to do.” Josh sighed. “Still have classes this week.”
“Me too.” Edesa shifted the baby. “Takes longer with this bambino around.”
“Well, that’s a bit of reality,” Denny said dryly—and for some reason it struck us funny, and we all laughed a little too loud and maybe too long.
Denny offered to drive them home—Josh to his apartment near the UIC campus, and Edesa back to Manna House with Gracie—strapping the well-used baby carrier Delores had donated into the car’s seat belts. As I watched our minivan back out of the garage and bump out of sight over the icy ruts in the alley, hot tears finally hit the surface. I gave in and blubbered out loud to God.
“God! This feels so crazy! So . . . so backwards! What are they gonna do—get married at a justice of the peace just so they can show a marriage certificate to DCFS? What about a wedding? In a church! With . . . with invitations and bridesmaids and a reception and time for the grandparents to attend? All the stuff they could do if they weren’t trying to hurry ahead of themselves. Is this really Your idea—or did Josh and Edesa just find a convenient scripture to rubber-stamp what they want to do?”
I thumped into the bathroom on my crutches and started the bathwater. A good, hot soak. That’s what I needed to calm me down. But as I sank beneat
h the bubbles a few minutes later, my thoughts were still spinning. Sure, Josh says he’s not afraid—but just wait until he has to pay for groceries and rent and the electric bill with just a high school diploma. Groceries aren’t optional!
I was still in the tub when I heard footsteps in the kitchen. Denny was back. I didn’t really want to talk to him right now, so I added more hot water and bubble bath. But as the bubbles fizzled and the bathwater cooled to lukewarm, another reality set in.
Josh was twenty-one. He was an adult. He could make this huge, life-changing decision, and there wasn’t a thing we could do about it.
EVEN THOUGH JOSH and Edesa had told us they were going to get married as soon as they could “get it together,” I wasn’t prepared for Josh’s phone call the next evening.
“Mom? Can you get Dad on the extension? . . . Oh, hi Dad. Just wanted to let you guys know we decided to get married on Christmas Eve afternoon. Reverend Handley said we could use the multipurpose room for the wedding, no problem.”
I sank into a dining room chair. Christmas Eve? That was less than two weeks away! And Manna House? “Why Manna House?” I blurted.
“Couple of reasons. Most important, we’d like the Manna House residents to come to the wedding. They’ve been part of the whole scenario since Carmelita and Gracie first arrived here; they feel a certain kinship to the baby. Easiest way for them to attend would be to have the wedding there. But also, a lot of churches have Christmas Eve programs going on that day. Even if the time didn’t conflict, there would be rehearsals and stuff going on. This way we won’t be in anybody’s way.”