Who Is My Shelter? (25 page)

Aida—Swahili: “An advantage or reward
.” “Hm. The name is Swahili—but Aida's Latina,” Edesa said. “That's interesting.”

Hannah—Hebrew, biblical: “Grace” or “Favor
.”

Shawanda—
“Closest I could find was ‘Shawana,' which means ‘graceful,' ” I said. “Kind of nice.”

I pointed at Kikki's name. “Couldn't find hers. Maybe a nickname?”

Edesa grew thoughtful. “I heard her tell someone her real name is Kiersten, but her baby sister couldn't say it, so she called her Kikki. Look up
Kiersten
.”

I flipped to the
K
s. “Whoa—it means ‘Follower of Christ.' ”

“Gloria a Dios!
” Edesa breathed. “That will make a wonderful blessing. Okay, who's next?”

Monique—Latin: “Advisor
.” Oh, Monique was going to love that.

Wanda—“Wanderer
.” “That's true enough,” I murmured. “She's not really at home here
or
back in Kingston.”

Bertie—“Bright
.” I made a face. “
That's
a misnomer. Her spirit seems so dark. And Sunny. Her name means ‘Filled with Sunshine,' but she's the saddest-looking woman here. And Lucy? Look at that. Her name means ‘Light.' Go figure.”

Edesa was thoughtful a moment. “You know, when prophets speak they say what God sees, not necessarily what we see. These names may be prophetic—our Father God speaking what He saw when He created each woman. Don't you think He wants to change Sunny—wants to give her a bright sunny spirit, full of light?”

I leaned over and gave the young woman a hug. “You always think the best of people.”

She seemed embarrassed. “That's because
Jesuchristo
thinks the best of us, and I want to be more like
Him
. But don't be fooled.” She made a face. “I have my moments. Just ask Josh!”

Humph. Hard to imagine
. When Josh looked at Edesa, he still seemed starstruck.

I'd changed my watch to the new time, which now said seven thirty. We'd announced that breakfast would be at eight thirty. “We better get started on these blessings before people get up.”

“Wait. Do you remember the meaning of
your
name, Gabrielle?”

I nodded. How could I forget? When Philip first kicked me out of the penthouse and my life was falling apart like so many broken shards, Edesa had encouraged me to “live into your name,” which she said meant “strong woman of God.”

“It was the first time I ever thought of myself that way,” I murmured, “and it's made a big difference in my life.” I picked up the paperback book. “But this says my name also means, ‘God is my strength'—which I also like, because I don't always feel like a strong woman of God!”

Edesa giggled. “Nor do I. Reminds me of this song . . .” She hummed a few notes that sounded vaguely familiar. “It's from Psalm 73,” she said. “ ‘God is the strength of my life, and my portion forever.' ” She let the words sit in the air for a moment or two, then pulled a handful of colorful note cards out of her tote bag. “Okay, let's do this.”

For the next half hour we worked on writing a blessing for each woman in the house. Finally we heard people moving about upstairs and showers running. “Guess we should get breakfast started.” I sighed and started to gather the cards when we heard
thump . . . thump . . . thump
and looked up.

“Oh,
buenos días
, Lucy!” Edesa cried. “How are you feeling this morning?”

The old woman was a sight. The scrapes on her face made her look like she'd been in a fight—and lost. She was hopping on one foot, balancing herself in the doorway. “What's a body gotta do ta get some food 'round here?” she growled. “Sun been up a couple hours aw'ready.”

Breakfast, cleanup, and packing took the better part of the morning, so it was almost eleven by the time we gathered for our final worship time. The temperature was edging toward the fifties, but it still felt too cool to sit outside, so once more we gathered in the living room of the log house with its large windows overlooking the tranquil lake.

Lucy and her sprained ankle—which was starting to turn an ugly black and blue—took up the whole couch, so we had to hunt up a few more floor pillows, but finally all fifteen of us were seated around the fireplace, where I'd built a cozy fire. Angela, who let it slip that she sang in the choir at her Korean American church, led us in some simple choruses such as “This Little Light of Mine” and “O, How I Love Jesus,” ending with the soulful “Amazing Grace.”

At least I thought we were ending, until Edesa began singing the last song again, this time in Spanish.
“Sublime gracia del Señor . .
.” To my delight, Aida Menendez and Tina Torres—one Mexican, the other Puerto Rican—joined in. But the biggest surprise was Kikki—a.k.a. Kiersten from Cleveland, as white-girl as they come—who also sang along with perfect Spanish. “Took four years in high school,” she confessed shyly at the end of the song.

The things we learn about each other when we spend time together
, I thought in amazement. I wished the whole staff of Manna House had come along to see another side of these homeless women.

Opening her Bible, Edesa picked up where she'd left off the day before about God knowing each of us by name, and read several Bible stories about blessing people based on the meaning of their names. Isaac blessed his twin sons, Esau and Jacob. Moses blessed each tribe according to their name. John the Baptist was named John, meaning “God is gracious,” instead of being named Zacharias Junior after his father. Even the Messiah—the angel said He should be named Jesus, because the name means “Savior.”

“So,” Edesa said, pulling out the colorful note cards, “we want to bless each of you according to your name.”

By the looks on their faces, the circle of women didn't know what to make of this. But they listened intently as Edesa picked a card, knelt in front of Naomi Jackson, and took her hand. “Naomi, your name means ‘Pleasant,' and even though your teen years have been rough, God wants to bless you with pleasant years ahead, which can be yours if you let God be your guide.”

Naomi threw her arms around Edesa and started to cry. “Oh, thank you!”

My turn. I picked a card, gulped a little when I read the name, and knelt down beside the woman who was always spouting platitudes at people. “Monique, your name means ‘Advisor.' God invites you to fill your heart and your mind with
His
wisdom, which is found in His Word—not on the Internet—so that you can encourage others with His promises.”

Monique took the card, beaming. “Amen! Amen! I like that!” I knew she would. I just hoped she wouldn't take it as permission to preach at everybody.

Back and forth, Edesa and I read the cards, holding the hand of the woman who was being blessed.

“Bertie, things may look dark today, but God wants to brighten your heart with the light of Christ, as your name implies!”

“Kikki, your real name, Kiersten, means ‘Follower of God.' If you truly follow Him, He
will
restore your relationship with your children and your parents.”

“Shawanda, your name means ‘Graceful.' As you let God fill you with His grace, you will grow more
graceful
in your speech, in your actions, and in your relationship with your young children.”

I knew Shawanda's blessing sounded a little preachy—I wrote it—but she seemed to like the meaning of her name. “Graceful— how 'bout that,” she mused.

Soon everyone had their blessing card—even Lucy, whose card said, “Lucy, your name means ‘Light,' and you do light up a room whenever you enter!” Chuckles circled the room and even made Lucy smile as the card was read aloud. We'd added, “Let God shine His light into every dark corner of your life so that you are free to be who He created you to be.”

I half expected Lucy to protest that she was already a free woman, or that she didn't have any “dark corners,” but she just snatched the card and stowed it somewhere in a pocket of her multilayered clothes.

To close, Edesa prayed a prayer of blessing over the group, thanking God for each woman and praising God that He was still “working His purpose out” in their lives. But when she said, “Amen,” hardly anyone moved. Several read and reread their cards to themselves, and a box of tissues got passed from hand to hand.

But we finally did get all our gear cleared out of the log house, did a final inspection, and managed to get Lucy into the second seat of the van with her leg propped up on one of the coolers. We planned to stop along the way and get sandwiches or something for lunch rather than mess up the kitchen again.

But as the van bumped along the dirt road toward the highway, I started to worry. How in the world was Lucy going to manage when we got back? Even if she stayed at Manna House, the bunk rooms were on the second floor. If we could convince her to use the service elevator—big IF—she might be able to get up there that way.

And what if her ankle was broken? If she didn't get decent medical care, it might never heal properly! But even if it was only a bad sprain, it was going to be a couple of weeks before she was on her feet again.

What were we going to do about Dandy?

As soon as I was able to get a cell phone signal, I told myself it was totally appropriate to call home to the apartment and let Philip and the boys know we'd arrive back at Manna House by four thirty or so and I'd be home soon after. And there was one thing we hadn't talked about: what Philip was going to do once I got home. Go back to the penthouse? Get a hotel room? Hunt for another apartment?

But no one answered, so I left a message.
Where were they?

As it turned out, it took longer than I'd anticipated stopping for lunch—especially getting Lucy in and out of the van—and we ran into stop-and-go weekend traffic crawling back into Chicago. When we finally arrived at Manna House, we had to unload everything, put away the food and coolers, and sweep out the van—not to mention getting Lucy situated on a couch in Shepherd's Fold on the main floor and talking Sarge, the night manager, into letting her sleep there for one night until we figured out what to do.

“Where's Dandy?” Lucy fussed. “Wanna see my dog.”

I shook my head emphatically. “Not tonight, Lucy. Not till we figure out what we're going to do with you.”

“Dagnabit!” The old lady glowered at me. “When did you get so bossy?”

Thankfully, Edesa and I were outside still cleaning the van when Josh Baxter arrived in my Subaru with Gracie in her car seat and Dandy in the way back. “Leave him there!” I called out before he let the dog out. “He's coming back home with me.”

Josh shrugged and wrapped his arms around Edesa, giving her a long, amorous kiss.
Must be nice
, I thought, taking my time locking up the van. But then Josh handed me the Subaru keys and folded his long legs into the front passenger seat while Edesa climbed in the back with Gracie.

“Thanks, Josh,” I said, starting the car and noticing that the gas gauge said Full. “Uh . . . is Philip still at the apartment with the boys?”

“Actually, no. We were at my folks' for lunch, and Harry and Estelle joined us. Mr. Philip knew you were getting home soon and decided to go back to his place, so Harry Bentley offered to give him a ride to Richmond Towers.” Josh glanced at me with a conspiratorial grin. “I'm sure part of it was to make sure Mr. Philip got up to the penthouse safely, though Mr. Harry didn't come right out and say so. Anyway, I brought the boys and Dandy back to the House of Hope with me and Gracie. I left them at your place doing their homework—supposedly.” The young man winked knowingly.

“Philip and the boys had lunch with you and your folks? How did that happen?”

“Well, we were already at church—”

“The boys went to church? Did you take them?”

Josh nodded. “Yep. And Mr. Philip too.”

I nearly ran a stop sign.
“Philip
? Went to
church
at SouledOut?!”

Josh chuckled. In the back seat I heard Edesa murmur,
“Gloria a Dios!
”

A zillion questions flooded my brain, but to tell the truth, I was in a state of shock. Like the world had turned upside down. Next thing I knew, the morning papers were going to say Mayor Richard Daley had suddenly given up politics for belly dancing.

chapter 24

The boys were playing a video game on their Xbox when I hauled my suitcase in the front door with one hand, holding Dandy's leash with the other. Behind me in the hallway, Josh and Edesa were tromping up the stairs to the third floor with Gracie.

“I'm home!” I called out, which was totally unnecessary because Dandy bounced in like he hadn't seen Paul in a month of Sundays instead of just half an hour.