Jury duty

Have you ever wanted to tell a big story but feared you would leave out important details or include meaningless ones which would pollute your real experience? Have you ever wanted to tell a story but wanted more for the experience to remain untouched?

I have a little story. I can't promise I will tell it in just the right way or that you will walk away with the "wow" feeling, but here it is. Why should I tell it? I'm just so humbled and thankful. In October of last year, I saw our justice system in action, and I was proud to be a part of it. Sure, our system fails. It sometimes both faults and protects the wrong people, but our system has a lot to teach us.

Why did this experience change me? It was just jury duty, after all. Everyone will be called in at one point or another, and some may even be chosen to sit on a 3-, 5-, or 12-person panel to decide on an individual's future. It's not like I was specially chosen for this role, right? I don't know. It happened too perfectly in the midst of human weakness. The waiting, the selection process, the trial, the deliberation, the momentary friendships. God could have used anyone, but He used us.

I've never been summoned before for jury service, so when I got the notice in the mail, I was somewhat uncomfortable. One of my first thoughts were, "What if I get lost downtown?" I get lost easily. Well, the day came, and I arrived at the courthouse a bit early and I was happy and relieved I found everything in time. I had no idea what to expect. I checked in and waited like the other few hundred people who wondered how long they would be inconvenienced.

The first group of jurors was called randomly. Probably 30 or more people were called. I wanted to be called! (I'm sure it was something like waiting to be picked for a team on the playground, hoping against all hope.) We watched a short educational video earlier and I thought the process was so big, bigger than me, and I wanted to be a part of it. Suddenly I did not care about how this long process interfered with my day; I thought about the many parties who had waited so long for this day to come: the defendants, the plaintiffs, etc. I knew this day was important for so many people not unlike me.

A second group was called, a smaller group this time. I got picked! There were 18 of us, and we were to be narrowed down to 6 for a misdemeanor trial. Our clerk lead us straight to a courtroom where the defendant, his attorney, and the DA were already waiting. WHAT?! I couldn't believe it. I tried to forget about all the CourtTV I'd watched growing up. I tried to take in the moment for what it was: reality. The "voir dire" process began; the judge polled us and the attorneys asked us more specific questions. I was terrified. When it came time for me to answer certain questions, my nervousness shone through, which I thought would eliminate me. I remember looking at the defendant, listening to the questions asked, and wanting so badly to be a part of this case for no apparent reason.

18 became 6. I was still sitting!

The trial began before we could get a break! Each attorney presented his opening statement, and I tried to take it all in. Supposedly, the defendant "Dave" (a bail-bondsman) initiated contact without consent, twice in a few hours, with "Laura," a woman (who he bonded out of jail). After opening statements, we were allowed to go to lunch. When we returned, the trial became even more surreal. The plaintiff was the first of the witnesses. I will never forget her. Interestingly, she was already a five-time felon. We tried to put aside her past as we listen to her testimony. We saw her cry, shake, push back her tangled brown hair with handcuffed wrists. Her dirty white shirt and orange suit told me so much of her story. The trial itself lasted through the end of the day, and by five o'clock, we had not begun the deliberation process. There was just enough time for closing statements, and it was time to go home. Our decision would be easy. This "Dave" guy scared some of us, and one juror even whispered, "Let's just convict him and get it over with!"

The second morning of duty arrived, and I sat in my warm car in the juror parking lot before I went in. I asked the Lord to reveal the answer to us. Give us wisdom. I hardly slept the night before, worried about what we would eventually choose for the defendant's future. I sensed he was guilty, then I sensed he wasn't. What if we didn't make the right choice? I feared our deliberation would look something like a scene from "12 Angry Men." What if it's up to me to change the jurors' minds?

9 o'clock arrived, and we began deliberation. It was nothing like "12 Angry Men." Everyone had the same general feelings except an older woman, Loretta, who had a gut feeling "he did it." Another juror, Doug, admitted that his gut said "guilty" as well, but there were just "too many holes in the [victim's] story".

A few hours passed, and we knew we couldn't convict a man based on gut feelings. We couldn't settle on such a heavy label for this man without being sure. So, we decided he was "not guilty" on both counts (two separate incidences). We waited a little while for our clerk to return to our deliberation room to escort us back into the courtroom.

(Note: Everyone in the courtroom [judge included] stands for the jury when they enter the room...what a feeling of honor, somewhat undeserved, and totally surreal.)

When the verdicts were read for each count, I looked over at the defendant. After the first count, he showed restrained relief; after the second count, he was crying. His face was red, and he unabashedly wiped tears from his eyes. Shortly after this, our duty was fulfilled, and I shook hands with both attorneys and said "you did a great job" to both of them. I exchanged nods with the defendant.

The trial was over. We'd only been away from our jobs and families for one-and-a-half days, but it felt like a lifetime. It also felt like we'd blinked and everything was over. I wanted to hold on to what I felt at that moment. My heart was so heavy, and I was so thankful. I hadn't quite absorbed everything. This man went free after two years of waiting for this trial.

When I walked away from the courthouse, I felt a little sad--like I was leaving this place that I had called home for not even two days. I so enjoyed the experience. Everything was over, and I was back to my real life at work. Not long after being back at the office, I received a text from Linda, another juror, who said the defendant approached her outside the courthouse after the trial ended. He thanked her and us for giving back his life. I called Linda back, and she gave me more details about their conversation. He had confirmed a few doubts we had about the plaintiff's testimony, and told her what could have become of his life had he been convicted. He could have lost his business and gone to jail for the rest of his life, all over what may have happened within a few minutes. He told her, "These past two years have been a nightmare."

I consider what happened to be little miracle, because it could have happened differently. At the same time, I'm humbled to think that just because something isn't what I expect doesn't make it miracle. Or does it? I felt so certain that we would decide a different fate for the defendant. Also, it was amazing how six completely different people came together for one cause. There was hardly any dissent, and any disagreement between us was frank and handled properly. We became good friends in that short time.

It was over, and my heart was heavy and so thankful. I was so glad to have been a part of the process. I wanted to bottle that feeling. It would prove useful when I feel apathetic about life--like a spankin', a swift reminder that life is bigger. Someone's life was in our hands.

Because of God's grace, his nightmare was over and a new chapter began.