ex(PR)essed

My adventures in jury duty lasted the entire week. Same case. Four days. I was somewhat fascinated by the process throughout the trial. The different styles of the attornies; the demeanor of the various, and in some cases ridiculous, witnesses; and the constant shuffling up and down the stairs during recesses provided an interesting diversion for several days.

Then Friday rolled around, and by 11 a.m., my 11 fellow jurors and I were locked in a small room and left to unanimously determine the fate of the defendant. There was little common ground. Two people felt strongly that he was guilty. Three that he was innocent. And the other seven waffled back and forth until I wanted to scream.

After five hours of defending my position, posing questions to those with a varying opinion, and wondering if my claustrophobic self could stand another five hours in that same room with the same people, I caved. By then, the vote was 10-2, and I was in the minority. And, I wanted to go home, see my husband, and go to small group to be reminded of the Lord’s work in this messed up world. So, we delivered our “unanimous” verdict to the judge. I mostly stared at the floor.

I am relatively disillusioned by this experience. It has been upsetting and frustrating and discouraging. I have spent the past three days longing for a delete button so that I might erase those four days of jury duty and the details I heard instead of replaying them over and over in my head and wishing for a different outcome.

I’m praying for peace, and, in the meantime, using a fat, red Sharpie to put a check in the box next to Civic Duty on life’s long list of experiences.