The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real by Neta Jackson Page B

apartment?”
    â€œHuh! Unfortunately not. And the movers will be here Tuesday, and we’re going to end up in Atlanta paying double rent till our lease runs out if we don’t find somebody —Jesus Christ!”
    I cringed . . . but decided this wasn’t the time to ask her not to vent on God’s name. At least she’s not mad at me.
    â€œI’m sorry, Rose. I was hoping that would work out for you.” Should I say, “I know someone who needs an apartment” ? But what if Stu had already found some-thing this week? Then Rose would be mad at me for get-ting her hopes up.
    â€œYeah, well, if you know anybody needing an apartment . . .” She closed the door.
    Yeah, well . . .
    I gingerly made my way back down the icy stairs and locked our back door behind me. Willie Wonka stood right where I’d left him, his tail waving big-time now. He followed close to my heels as I made myself a cup of mint tea and returned to my movie in the living room.
    Somehow, Katharine Hepburn wading through the swamps pulling The African Queen while Humphrey Bogart smirked at her had lost some of its mesmerizing power.
    Just call Stu and ask if she’s found an apartment yet.
    Sheesh! Pinocchio had nothing on my Jiminy Cricket.
    So what if she hasn’t? I argued in my head. Then I’ll have to tell her about the one upstairs! And, okay, I don’t want Leslie Stuart living next to me. Is that so bad? She’ll find something—this can’t be the only sublet in Rogers Park! And then we’ll both be happy.
    Willie Wonka nosed my hand. Why did the dog always sense when my hackles were up? “What do you think, Wonka? Why should I deliberately invite Stu to move in one short staircase from me? Look how she shot me down at Yada Yada last Sunday. And whenever I toss out an idea, Stu’s always got a better one. Maybe she doesn’t do it on purpose, but I end up feeling like two cents anyway. If she moves in here, she’ll probably rearrange my kitchen, tell me how to teach third graders, and become ‘Cool Aunt Stu’ to my kids, in whose eyes I’m slipping anyway. Grrr!” I threw a small pillow across the room, startling the chocolate Lab, who scrabbled after it and brought it back to me.
    â€œHuh. Thanks.” I took the pillow and hugged it a long time.
    I WOKE UP EARLY THE NEXT MORNING—early for Saturday—and let Willie Wonka outside while I started coffee. All was quiet upstairs, though the thumping had gone on till almost midnight. All was quiet downstairs, too, which was fine by me. Amanda got in at eleven thirty, and Denny and Josh came in around midnight after taking Pete and Jerry home. Let ’em sleep. Saturday was about the only day I got any morning time to read the Bible and pray. Even then, I had to fight with my mental to-do list.
    Settling down in the recliner with a mug of coffee, I opened my study Bible to the purple ribbon, which marked where I’d been reading in the book of Isaiah. I was determined to become more familiar with the Old Testament books Avis and Nony quoted from so often. At least I’d made it to Isaiah 43, which was fairly familiar.
    As I started to read, I felt as if I’d been slapped upside the head. “Fear not!” the very first verse said. “For I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine!”
    Fear not . . . Inside my head, a little voice seemed to say, “What are you so afraid of, Jodi?”
    Afraid? I’m not afraid.
    â€œYes, you are. You’re afraid to let Stu into your life.”
    Oh, that. I’m not afraid, just—
    â€œYes, that’s fear. Fear she’s going to melt you down to size.”
    So? Why should I put myself in a position where—
    â€œPosition? I have redeemed you! That’s your position! I have called you by name! You are Mine!”
    Even though I hadn’t moved a muscle, I felt like I’d fallen flat on the