The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Caught Read Free

us unnoticed, like the Energizer Bunny on Mute. But if Denny didn’t remember, I sure wasn’t going to bring it up.
    â€œYou don’t have to go by yourself.” was doggedly cheerful.The prospect of a long, quiet summer evening at home alone was sounding more and more appealing by the second.No kids, no husband even, who, God love him, was still male and took up a large portion of the house and my psyche. A girl needed a break now and then. “Call one of your friends. Take Ben Garfield. He’s probably driving Ruth crazy anyway. She’ll kiss your feet for getting him out of the house.”
    I flopped down on the porch swing and reclaimed my plastic tumbler of iced tea, sweating in a puddle where I’d set it near Willie Wonka’s inert body. The rhythmic rise and fall of the chocolate haired rib cage assured me the old dog was still with us.
    I raised the iced tea to my lips, vaguely thinking it’d been fuller than this when I set it down—and over the rim saw Denny still standing in front of me, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched like one of Peter Pan’s lost boys. “What? ”
    â€œI don’t want to go with Ben. I want to go with you.”
    I rolled my eyes. Cheater! Villain! My visions of solitude, peace and quiet, that Ernest Gaines novel I was dying to read with only our dear deaf dog and a good fan for company evaporated as quickly as spit on a hot iron.
    Denny Baxter knew exactly how to shoot his arrow into my Achilles heel.
    â€œYou really want me to go? ”
    â€œYes.”
    I sighed. “All right. But, mister, you owe me one.”
    The dimples on either side of Denny’s mouth creased into irresistible parentheses. “Hey, it’s going to be fun! We need some time together while the kids are gone—not talking about serious stuff or anything, you know, just having a good time. Pick your poison! Jerk chicken . . . ribs slathered in barbecue sauce . . . Italian ice . . . that Totally Turtle Cheesecake at Eli’s . . .” My husband’s eyes closed in anticipatory bliss of sampling the city’s finest eateries, whose yearly ten-day culinary extravaganza on Chicago’s lake front always culminated on July Fourth weekend. “And we can watch the fireworks tonight from Buckingham Fountain,” he added.
    That was tempting. Chicago always did a big show on Independence Eve. I’d heard that the fireworks were coordinated with a fantastic light show at the city’s signature fountain along with a live concert by the Grant Park Symphony. And Denny had a point about “just having fun.” The past two months had taken a huge toll on us—emotionally for sure, but physically and spiritually too. Some good things had happened, like Josh’s graduation from high school and that awesome celebration we’d had last Sunday morning when our church and New Morning Christian met together in their new space in the Howard Street shopping center. But the recent hate group incidents on Northwestern University’s campus, the so-called free speech rally that had just been a cover up for spewing hate and fear, and the cowardly attack that had left our friend Mark Smith in a coma for two weeks— that had been tough. Tough on and Mark’s family, tough on the Baxter family, tough on the whole Yada Yada Prayer Group.
    Though, I had to admit, we did learn a thing or two about “getting tough” spiritually. All of us had felt helpless and angry at the twisted attitudes and sheer evil behind that attack on Mark. But we discovered prayer was a spiritual weapon we could wield with abandon. Praise too. That was a new reality for me, but it made sense. As Avis pointed out at one of our Yada Yada prayer meetings, the devil can’t do his rotten work too well in an atmosphere filled with praise and worship for his main Adversary.
    I chugged the rest of my iced tea. “OK, so when do