Read Online 2-in-1 Yada Yada by Neta Jackson - Free Book Online Page A

out of my mouth, I let out a big sigh. I felt trapped. Damned if I did, damned if I didn’t. I could either go with Florida’s bright idea and look like a fool in a context where I didn’t feel on solid ground to begin with, or I could stay dressed up and be unsympathetic to Yo-Yo’s plight.
    Why didn’t she just go in her overalls, and we’d all sit with her and show her we loved her anyway?
    Would I do that if I were Yo-Yo?
    No-o.
    I sighed again. You’re a big hypocrite, Jodi Baxter. Not twenty-four hours ago you were thinking the idea of five hundred women dressing up like Oscar night was pretty silly. You were pining for the small, casual women’s retreats up at Camp Timberlee. Now you have a chance to loosen up at this big women’s conference—with a dozen other women willing to be just as casual—and you’re having a fit.
    But I realized I didn’t want to be casual tonight. I looked good. I looked as close to gorgeous as I’ve ever looked—recently, anyway.
    Sacrifice.
    The word popped into my head so strongly I looked around, thinking I’d heard a voice. Sacrifice . . . a sacrifice of praise. I frowned. What did that have to do with anything? A sacrifice for Yo-Yo. She’s not sure about “this Jesus thing,” but she’s here. She’s in your prayer group. What a little thing to sacrifice to show you care about her.
    The tension slowly drained out of my body. But tears welled up in my eyes, and I swiped at them with the washcloth. The washcloth now had black streaks. Oh, great, there goes my mascara. But as I thought about what Florida wanted to do, I began to feel amazed . . . and humbled. Here was a black woman, a former drug addict by her own admission, a Christian only five years . . . willing to put aside people’s expectations and do something humbling to show the love of Jesus to a white ex-con who landed in her prayer group.
    Sacrifice. Sisterhood.
    I felt like someone pulled a cord and opened the blinds on my eyes. Why should I care about impressing or fitting in with four hundred and eighty-some women I didn’t even know . . . when I had a chance to be “one in spirit” with a group of twelve women who had been thrown into my life, even if just for this one weekend? We were a drawer of mismatched socks if there ever was one—I wasn’t sure we even liked each other. But we were Prayer Group Twenty-Six. And we had the chance—I, Jodi Baxter, had the chance—to give God a sacrifice of praise and love a young woman who was fresh out of prison.
    What was that scripture in Hebrews? “With such sacrifices God is pleased.”
    I stood up, glancing in the mirror at the black smudges under my eyes. So much for “all decked out.”
    I’d almost traded a chance to please God for a black silky dress.
    AS IT TURNED OUT, not everyone in the prayer group had brought a pair of jeans, but I did, so I teamed it with my cream-colored cotton sweater and a pair of clogs. Sure enough, Yo-Yo showed up at the banquet in her bib overalls and worn athletic shoes. She would have kept right on going when she saw half the prayer group wearing jeans, too—even Adele—but Florida snagged her, and we pushed amoeba-like through the double doors into the ballroom. Avis, who had no jeans, just wore the harem pants outfit she already had on, and Nony topped off her jeans with the African print tunic she’d been wearing all day, but added a matching headscarf wound turban-like around her head.
    But to tell the truth, it was fall-down funny. Before Florida came up with her bright idea, I don’t think anyone had planned to go to the banquet “as a group.” But there we were, all twelve of us squeezing into the ballroom-cum-conference room-cum-banquet hall, asking women to move so we could have one of the large tables. It was only set for ten, so we stole a couple of place settings from another