the yada yada Prayer Group GETS REAL

Thomas Nelson

Chapter One

The call of nature-Willie Wonka's, not mine-got me out of bed at the bleary hour of seven thirty, even though the New Year's Eve party upstairs had kept me awake till after three. Three a.m.! But Willie Wonka's bladder was on dog-time-old dog-time at that-making sleeping in on holidays a moot point. Stuffing my feet into my scuffs and pulling Denny's big terry robe around me, I stumbled out of our bedroom mumbling thinly disguised threats at our chocolate Lab as he led me to the back door.

Coming into the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of pale blue sky and the rising sun bouncing off a row of windows at the top of a nearby apartment building like golden dragon eyes ... and for a nano-second I entertained the illusion of a blissful day in Key West. But when I opened the back door to let Willie Wonka out, a wall of icy air killed that pipe dream. I slammed the door after Willie's tail and peered at the little red needle on the back porch thermometer.

Brrr. Ten degrees.

Then I smiled. Add the windchill factor, which was sure to kick up by noon, and surely the Uptown Community Church youth group would cancel the so-called Polar Bear Plunge they had scheduled for today.

But by the time Denny and the kids wandered out of their bedrooms around eleven o'clock, the thermometer had inched up to almost twenty degrees, and everyone looked at me stupidly when I asked if they were going to cancel. "Mom," said Josh patiently, pouring himself a heaping bowl of oat flakes and raisins, "it's a Chicago tradition." As if that explained anything.

"Happy New Year, babe," Denny murmured, wrapping his arms around me from behind-and the next thing I knew he had untied the belt, snatched his robe off me, and disappeared with it into the bathroom.

"I was just warming it up for you!" I yelled after him, scurrying back into our bedroom in my pajamas. Time to get dressed anyway.

"Mo-om!" whined Amanda, wandering into the kitchen ten minutes later while I was making another pot of coffee. "I really need a new bathing suit. This one is so ... so babyish."

I turned and eyed my fifteen-year-old. Apart from the fact that it was absurd to be talking about bathing suits in the middle of a Chicago winter, there was nothing "babyish" about this busty teenager, who was indeed filling out her one-piece bathing suit in all the right-or wrong-places. I declined to comment. "Go get some clothes on before you catch cold," I ordered. But I grinned at her back. I'd make some hot cocoa and take it along-that'd be a big hit after "the plunge."

The phone rang at 11:25. "Jodi!" said a familiar voice. "Are these niitos still going to do this craziness?"

I allowed myself a small grin as I cradled the phone on my shoulder and stirred the pot of hot chocolate. "I'm afraid so, Delores. And not just 'niitos,' either. Denny's got his bathing suit on under his sweats, in case he gets brave. Is Jos coming?" Like I couldn't guess. Delores Enriquez's fifteen-year-old son had been showing up rather frequently, trailing Amanda like Peter Pan's shadow. Or was it the other way around?

"S. Emerald, too, but just to watch. Edesa and I are coming up on the el with them. This I've got to see for myself."

Two more phone calls followed in quick succession from Yada Yada Prayer Group members. Florida Hickman wanted to know what elevated train stop was closest to the beach where the Polar Bear Plunge would take place; Ruth Garfield grumbled that only love for Yo-Yo Spencer and her brothers would get her and Ben out on New Year's Day for such craziness. "But what can we do? A car they don't have. We'll be there at twelve. Then straight to the doctor so they don't die of pneumonia. Oy vey." A click told me the conversation was over, and all I'd said was, "Hello?"

THE SMALL CROWD GATHERED AT LOYOLA BEACH along the bleak lakeshore of Chicago's north side, wearing ski jackets, knit hats, and fat mittens, looked oddly out of place tromping over the sand. Even more so because a mild December had delayed the usual buildup of ice and frozen spray sculptures that usually marked Lake Michigan's winter shoreline. The lapping water looked deceptively harmless.

"Going in, Jodi?"

I squinted up into the face of Uptown's lanky pastor, who could easily have played Ichabod Crane in community theater. Widowed and childless, Pastor Clark was Uptown Community-a mission church that stubbornly hung out its shingle in Rogers Park, Chicago's most diverse neighborhood. Today he was bundled in an outdated navy parka with a snorkel hood, a long hand-knit scarf wound around his neck, hands shoved in his jacket pockets.

"Me? Not for love or money!" I held up the armload of beach towels and blankets I was carrying. "I'm here on life support."

He chuckled and trudged on to greet others gathering to witness the Polar Bear Plunge. The crowd was growing, and I saw Leslie Stuart's silver Celica pull into the beach parking lot. "Stu" had been attending Uptown Community for several months, ever since we'd met at the Chicago Women's Conference last May, even though she lived in Oak Park, on the west side of the city.

"Hey, Jodi. You going to take the plunge?" Stu's long blonde hair and multiple earrings were hidden by a felt cap with earflaps. She was grinning, flap to flap.

"Don't think so. Calendar says January."

"Ah, c'mon. You know what Oliver Wendell Holmes said: 'You don't quit playing because you get old; you get old because you quit playing.' Hey-there's Delores and Edesa!" She waved both arms in their direction.

I bit my tongue. Stu was probably in her midthirties-not that much younger than I was. But she didn't have to make me feel like an "old fogy" just because I was smart enough not to jump in the lake.

"Ack! I left something in the car." Stu ran for the parking lot, passing Delores Enriquez and Edesa Reyes as they headed my way, bundled against the stiff wind adding whitecaps to the choppy gray water. I dumped my load of blankets and towels so I could give them each a hug.

Delores and Edesa were members of a Spanish-speaking Pentecostal church and had attended the same conference that had brought women together from various churches around the city. None of us imagined that the prayer group we'd been assigned to for the weekend would take on a life of its own. But when Delores got an emergency phone call that weekend saying her son Jos had been caught in gang crossfire in a local park-well, no way we could stop praying after that, just because the conference was over.

"Where are Emerald and Jos?" I asked.

Delores jutted her chin in the direction of the knot of excited teenagers gathering at the water's edge, still bundled in their winter coats. "Such antics!" The forty-something mother wagged her head. "Mi familia en Mxico? They will think we have all gone loco." She rolled her eyes. "But whatever Amanda and Josh do, Emerald and Jos want to do it too."

"Don't mind Delores, Jodi," Edesa said cheerfully. "Underneath all that fussing, she's happy Jos is alive and can do something fun and crazy!" Edesa's dark eyes danced in her warm mahogany face. Edesa-college student, baby-sitter, and "big sister" to the Enriquez children-wore her African-Honduran heritage as...