I, the ex-jury

Yes, I was notified by mail that for the next three months I would be required to report for jury duty. I was displeased about this. I am a busy girl, I don't have either the desire or the need to go sit on a jury. I am blessed with friends who are attorneys so my first call was to one of them. I said, how does one get out of this and they said....you don't. Turns out I had no reason to be excused, apparently lack of interest and busy schedule don't qualify you.

So I reported for jury duty and discovered that I have not only been placed on jury duty, it's little pretend jury duty. We can't decide anything more than $400 and only misdemeanors. The only big thing we can do is decide if someone is competent and assign a guardian. Excuse me, but who on earth thinks I am competent to judge someones competence?

So I went for orientation and I really thought the judge was gracious and kind. He pointed out that regardless of the charge or the circumstances they deserved the same treatment as those with bigger matters. I agreed with that and thought it was pretty profound. I tried to swallow my impatience and frustration and take it on as a civic responsibility. Okay, no joy in this civic responsibility but I would do it faithfully.

Then I went to jury duty. It started off okay. I said here to roll call and they said they would be calling 12 of us and heck, there must have been 35 people. What were the odds they would call me? I noticed the deputy had been sitting in the last chair of the jury box and I remembered vaguely wondering if it was a jury seat or an extra one, thought it probably wouldn't matter to me anyway, only the first person selected. I must have communicated the thought to the deputy because I notice him push it back in line with the others. Yep, one of the jury seats. I hear the announcement about random selection and then they call my name. First. I almost laughed. I didn't though, I just strolled up there very naturally and sat in the chair recently realigned. Before long others joined me, a very sweet lady sitting next to me who seemed to know me from somewhere. I find this disconcerting a little because I have no idea who she might be. Before long there are twelve of us up front. I am feeling slightly panicky too when I realize that I know the prosecuting attorney and the police officer who will be testifying. I remind myself that this is Mayberry RFD and everyone knows everyone and I just need to say I know them and I am going to remain unbiased. Until they ask.

First I raise my right hand and promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth which I am sure I can do. Then we are introduced to the defendant and she stands and we are asked if we know her and I do not. Then her lawyer stands and though she looks just like Melinda Kelly from 7th and 8th grade, I do not know her. Now we move to the next table and one of my attorney friends stands and I agree I know him and I am asked if I can remain unbiased and I say yes, I believe so. However, no one else agrees they know him at all. This is disconcerting. Next the police officer stands up, and I raise my hand that yes, I know him, but none of my fellow jurors admit to this. Now I am beginning to feel a little more uncomfortable. I tell the judge the officer and I go to church together and say I believe I can be objective and he pushes the subject a little and I say I do not believe my relationship with him will effect the case. I am so sorry I raised my hand to promise that truth stuff now.

I am a little peeved with the man from my church sitting in jury chair 12 who is acting like he has never laid eyes on any of those people in his life. Oh well, I have told the truth, responded honestly and now the lawyer I know stands. He asks questions of the whole group and I answer all that apply to me, but few do. Then the lawyer I don't know begins to ask questions. First she goes after a lady sitting in front of me, juror number 8. I realize 'go after' is a highly inflammatory expression, but that is what she does. Jury number 8 has said she doesn't know the defendant but it turns out they graduated together. She says she doesn't recognize the name or the person but when told the lady's maiden name she recognizes her and then is berated until she says she would rather not serve and she is dismissed in tears from the courthouse. I wonder what is going on. Why is the jury on trial?

I am the next under the microscope. I am asked if I am sure I am unbiased and I say yes. She asks again how I know both individuals and I repeat it again. I am asked in the most aggressive manner if I am sure I am unbiased and I say yes, I believe so. She then begins cross examining my education and background and out of the blue asks me about a 'negative'. She asks me to tell her about a negative. I am now completely lost and say in terms of accounting? Accounting isn't about negatives, it's about balance. She says just in general. Can you prove a negative? I say....prove a negative....theoretically? and now she is getting peeved with me and says yes, in theory can you prove a negative? I am absolutely stunned. I finally say that I would say that perhaps you can't prove something didn't happen, in terms of my faith. She turns and jumps on juror number 8's replacement asking him the same question. He decides you can prove a negative and then she makes the rest of the jury raise their hands to say if a negative can be proved. No one moves, no one even understands the question. It is a little like Alice in Wonderland. She goes on to berate several other jurors, confusing a sweet little old lady so much I want to smack her. She finally turns back to me and says isn't it a remote possibility that since I go to church with the police officer I might let that bias me and I agree, yep it's a possibility. She then says would I understand if I was dismissed and I assure her absolutely and she says would I take it personally and I said no (as if I were not taking personally the cross examination). And I gather my stuff and wait to be dismissed, only I am not. Cruella Deville sits down again and I remember how much I didn't like Melinda Kelly and called her Jelly Belly Kelly.

My attorney friend stands, asks some follow up questions and says, Mrs. Engle, I don't want to beat a dead horse but can you be unbiased? And I say, yes I believe I can. Jelly Belly stands and asks a number of provocative questions and I think we are about done when she turns to me again and begins another assault. Now I have lost my patience and when she attacks, I respond assertively. She implies I have changed my answer and I respond she has changed her question. I lose my patience and correct her twice. I think well at least now I will be dismissed only not quite yet. Yet another break and finally I am free. I cannot get out of the courthouse fast enough and I am furious that I have wasted an entire morning to prove something. Sheesh they told us over an over there was a presumption of innocence but only for the defendant and they were the only person in the court that had been arrested.

Please someone tell me how it is that this is justice? I will have to say that by the end of the discussion I was severely prejudice not in favor of those I know but against Jelly Belly Deville. In fact I was trying to find her car so I could let the air out of her tires and leave a note under the windshield wipers questioning her legitimacy and heritage. I thought that juror number 8 and the other jurors who had been abused could gang up on her and tp her trees and fork her yard and encourage skunks to take up residence in her garage. How could that serve her client? Why did the judge allow that?

I got a phone call from juror number 12 who kept maintained silence and learned he had been on the final jury only to have the case declared a mistrial. Then the bell went off in my head. She was stacking the deck from the get go, trying to get something, anything to use for a mistrial and she finally got it. Did you remember I said this is baby court? If she was found guilty it could only result in 30 days in jail, maximum. Why on earth would Cruella gear up for that?! I think it had to be she has other more serious charges or has already been found guilty of something else. Or else, Jelly Belly Deville is just so doggone mean by nature that she can't turn it off.

I think this is more than an irritation for little old me. I cannot imagine one normal person on earth who wants to give up an entire day for all the abuse you can handle and $12. This, so a person can be judged by their peers. A person who is certainly presumed innocent until proven otherwise but since it's appeared highly likely there is enough evidence of their guilt to move beyond reasonable doubt, all there is left to win the case is to try to create a legality. Sacrifice whatever it takes to create an opportunity for appeal. It's a nasty system and I am confident there must be a better way. I am sure it's better than many others countries, but surely it can be improved.

Meanwhile, can someone please take my name off the list?

A welcomed smile

A year or so ago I had a friend go through a major and public trial. A series of bad choices were made and one thing lead to another and the end of the road there was a lost job, a marriage in serious trouble and eventually the loss of a home. It was a very sad story.

I knew the same details the rest of the community knew but no more than that. I was sorry and I prayed for all those involved. I wrote a note of encouragement and I reminded people when they would be ugly that there were always at least two sides to every story. A gentle reminder from time to time that all of us sin and fall short of the glory of God. I wondered why we never ran into each other, but we have not.

Until today. I ran into the spouse and I was so pleased to see a huge grin and a joyful pragmatic spirit. I was surprised but delighted to feel the sense of confidence and hope, the openness and trust in acceptance. Someone has loved them wonderfully well, how pleased I am for them. How pleased I am for those who have supported them. It is a wonderful way when the Body actually functions as it ought to, not turning a blind eye to sin but recognizing that unconditional love may correct behavior but does not cast off. This is true freedom to accept one's failings and begin to address them without fear of rejection. Gosh, this is truly grace in action.

Sometimes the most loving people look at the behavior of others, behavior that is painful and harmful themselves and those around them, and they feel justified in cutting people off or severing relations. This seems the proper response, throw out the bad apple before it spoils the whole bunch. I understand this philosophy. I just know it's not God's. Thank goodness. I would definitely have been tossed. I would have thrown me out any number of times. Instead God is the good Father who simply waits for us to turn back, and head for home. When we do, He is there to meet us, to cloth us royally and throw a party to celebrate our homecoming. We need to do that too. When there is a turning, we need to support that choice and help the transition. We may need to do some turning ourselves, it's good to practice. We need more than anything to call a sin a sin and call it to be stopped, addressed and resolved, but call the sinner brother, sister, fellow pilgrim.

So hats off to the faith family who took the public embarrassment and shame and let them be an opportunity to love this family through to the other side. I trust I learn from the example and shine the light. Is there an Olympic medal for excellence in discipleship?

Recipe Cards

I remember very clearly my first cooking adventures. I think the first one was some kind of chocolate disaster as it required melting the chocolate with the butter and I skipped this step in the recipe because a) I didn't read it and b) it seemed so unnecessary. I can't remember if, in this particular venture, I was rescued by my mother or if it ended up in the trash can.

My second major cooking attempt I remember very clearly because I followed every step of the instruction on the card. It was pudding of some kind and it required a quarter or a teaspoon of salt, but I thought it said a quarter of a cup of salt and we didn't have enough in the container with the girl and her umbrella so I had to take it out of the shakers. This we just threw away.

I was fortunate enough to go to school in the days when we were required to take cooking and sewing. I managed to learn enough to be dangerous at both. I have fond memories of the wonderful parfaits we made one day, required no cooking and had rice crispies, strawberries and vanilla pudding. Yummy. And the chocolate dipped peanut butter balls which I left in my locker over Christmas and was too scared to eat anyway since we put wax in the chocolate and I found that way too gross. Less warm fuzzies about sewing class though I do remember a trip to the optometrist when the sewing needle snapped, flying into my eye and scratching the cornea. Ouch. I did find the patch to be quite attractive and since I was already blind as a bat, it did no permanent damage. But I digress seriously.

It's the recipe cards that are currently on my mind. I remember very well learning to read them and then getting excited about reading cookbooks and finding ways to cook things in new and improved manners. Once I got better at reading a recipe and figuring out what kind of ingredients went well together I began to find the art of substitution fascinating. I had a friend named Teresa who used to say you could only substitute so many ingredients before a recipe stopped being that recipe anymore and started being something else entirely. I think my stuff often becomes something else entirely. I think sometimes this is a good thing, but not always. Sometimes it is a freak of nature and should be illegal.

Here is what I am thinking. I have been studying and studying and studying discipleship. I have read books about books about books and I am not complaining. They are all good. I will go on reading them and learning something new. I want to do that not only for knowledge sake, but I am finding that the further you expand your vocabulary, the more opportunity you have to express a thought, a feeling or an concept. Giving me words has been like opening the doorway to expression and given me tremendous freedom. I am excited and I want more! I want to talk to people who do this well and I want to ask questions and listen to thought that help me define what it is I believe. It is very much like the discovery in cooking that the reading part is in itself fun.

However, no matter how much I read cookbooks, I am not satisfied stopping there. I need to make it, I need to taste it and I need to serve it to someone. That's the practical application part. I am aware there are those who just read cookbooks, edit them or just find them entertaining. I want to eat. It just makes sense to me, read, find something that sounds appealing and then make it. If it turns out to not taste appealing, do not repeat. If it does, it may become a staple. This is satisfaction to me. It is as essential.

Why then do we have this major disconnect between reading and doing when it comes to discipleship? Why when the same people who have written these books are asked for procedures, they have nothing to fall back on but, you have to figure that out yourself. Did anyone ever pick up a cookbook that just listed the ingredients, told you what you ought to end up with if you used them all correctly and then said, now you figure out how to do it? I don't think so. I don't want that cookbook. I will tell you right now, the girl who couldn't figure out the difference between teaspoon and cup at 10 isn't that much further along now. The end of that process is just going to be landfill.

So, here is what I want us to do. I want us to take all the ingredients in discipleship and I want us to begin to construct some recipe cards. Some step by step procedures to end up with a disciple at the end. Each recipe might need a little substitution, to adjust for location and starting ingredients and maybe elevation, but at least some clue about how to start and what the end result should look like. How hard can this be?

And maybe we could have a disciple off. Top prize, an enormous crown to lay at Jesus' feet. Submit your entries today!

Back and Beyond

Had a great trip to the end of the world this week. It was through some of the prettiest countryside you can imagine. My cell phone service came and went and I went across hill and dale and it was lovely. I was really enjoying myself tremendously when my car made this ding sort of sound. It wasn't a bad ding like a you are going to die ding or anything, but it was kind of a get you attention ding.

So, I looked on the dashboard and there was a cute little red gasoline pump and the words "You have 18 miles to empty." I will admit that my immediate thought was, huh. Wonder where I am, wonder where there is gasoline and wonder if anyone will come looking for me if I fail to show up. For a few moments I did wonder if I would be eaten by bears if I tried to wander off into the country side seeking help. Before long the message had changed to "You have 10 miles to empty" which I felt to be an exaggeration as I haven't driven eight miles, but it did make me slightly insecure because I was now wondering how much you could trust the gage.

Before long I spot a sign that announces my destination and I am relieved as it seems that all my troubles are over. It does for a moment dawn on me that I am going to meet those who will be my superiors and perhaps it would be tacky to ask them to go off to find a gas station and fill a gas can and then bring it back to me. But I am not unduly concerned. These things have a way of working themselves out.

At lunch I meet a very nice gentleman who is from the area and describes it to me with great enthusiasm. I was absolutely all ears because I felt sure that at any moment he was about to tell a story about time when he had to find a gas station which turned out to be just up the road. No such luck. He announced he was finished with lunch and before he left the table I said, no doubt this sounds like a strange hypothetical question but supposing I was in a new area, miles from anything commercial and I needed gasoline. Where would one find it, oh in a place like this. He was not at all deceived but he was gracious and said "good thing you asked. Turn left and go about 200 yards and you will find a station". Then he did the sweetest thing ever: he leaned forward so he was very close to my ear and whispered "Can you drive 200 yards?". That was just so darling I would have kissed his head, but he didn't really seem like the head kissing type. I said yes, according to my car I can go 8 miles. He laughed, handed me his card and said, "let me know how I can be of help to you". A saint, the man is a saint.

Too bad he wasn't with me when I arrived at the gas station and discovered I had lost my debit card. Oh well, even super heroes get an afternoon off.

So....I went to Memphis

I have now been on both Beale and Bourbon Streets. I was petrified on Bourbon Street. It was in the evening, though early, and I was stunned by the interesting collection of people, music, bars, stores and wild assortment of mardi gras beads. I was very glad we were no longer on Bourbon Street and into the park where I saw normal people again.

Beale Street reminded me a little of a street in Disney World from the car. Once I was out of the car and on the street it was a lot less Disney and a lot more like Pleasure Island or whatever the name of that place Pinocchio went off to instead of school and became a donkey. I was a little afraid of becoming a donkey myself, but I don't think I succumbed. I did go to the Hard Rock Cafe where I learned it was Elvis Week. In fact, when the very nice man was seating me, he asked if I was there for Elvis week and I said....is it Elvis week? And he said, apparently you aren't here for Elvis week. Which was really a shame since they had this nonstop video of Elvis at all different ages and stages singing with various people and various bands and little interviews of people talking about their experiences with Elvis. Before long I noticed a couple of ladies having their picture taken with a very bad Elvis impersonator and realized he was tending bar.

That was a lot of Elvis for a non Elvis fan. I have been thinking through the Elvis fascination. I had lunch with about twenty seniors from my church yesterday. We discussed this at length and one of the ladies said something I thought profound. They said he was much more popular dead than he had been alive. This is worth considering, really.

What makes someone so popular and really legendary after they are dead? I guess once you are dead people try not to think bad things of you. We are told as a sign of respect never to speak ill of the dead, so perhaps once we only have good things to say, maybe we realize how many good things there were. Maybe once we can no longer make mistakes we appreciate that they really weren't that big a deal to begin with. Maybe.

Maybe we don't have to wait until someone is dead. Maybe.

Calgon...take me away

Well. It really all begins with a good idea. It is always a good idea in the beginning. It is often a good idea at the end, but at the beginning all ideas are good. All my jobs are the same job really. They just deal with differently segments of the population. Why should that be so difficult? I don't think it should be if we can just get people to coordinate their needs. They need to need me at different times. All at once they need me together and this is hard to manage.

I am not alone in this predicament. I look around me and see many people who are carrying luggage around under their eyes too, whose hair is standing on end and whose eyes have glazed over. They are standing in the Walmart check out line at 10:15 pm because they had no time to get groceries earlier. They are driving through Subway muttering to themselves, "there are vegetables on the sandwich". They have children who have needs, parents who have needs, jobs that require them to be productive and significant others who want a relationship. It's a world seriously whacked, in my humble opinion (though as one must point out it is hardly humble or it wouldn't be shared).

So what are we supposed to do? I am so sorry, it's just not all that likely that we are going to be able to stop the madness entirely but I do think we can confine it some. Our kids don't have to do every activity there is. I had this epiphany experience this week. I was trying to figure out when we were supposed to register Mr. Sam for soccer. He is already playing football and he wants to take music lessons and he is a cub scout. In response to my question I was told, you know that might not fit into the schedule. I just sat there for a moment. Really? Why didn't someone say that before? What else in this mess can go?

Priority management is also part of the equation. It ought to a reasonable conclusion that you cannot have an unlimited amount of priorities. You can only handle a couple at a time. When one resolves, it can be rotated for another one, but you can't keep the same number and add continually. This looks bad on you. It looks bad on me too and just between us, it makes us grumpy. I think most EGR people (extra grace required) have simply overdosed. Intervention might be needed for some, like me.


So I am working on setting a list of priorities. I think someone told me tonight our priorities are supposed to be God, family and work. I have thought this through and I am not sure I can figure out how to take care of just those priorities. How do I take care of my family, my relationship with God and get work done? I have tried giving up sleep. It's not good. It's very not good. I haven't quite made it to the seeing things stage but I have certainly been numb all the way to the core. It has a negative effect on your blood pressure and your social skills.

Time for a new plan. I am practicing saying "no". I am telling myself over and over again, "I am not essential, the last essential person was George Washington and he has been dead for hundreds of years". I am trying to look at each task I do and say, is this really a priority for me? Am I the person who needs to do this? Who else out there might do this better? And horrors upon horrors, does it really need to be done? I always think everything needs to be done, now. Yesterday would have been better. It's a foreign concept but it is perhaps time to embrace.

I am envisioning a placid afternoon of recreational reading. A gentle breeze blowing across my deck and my son recognizing me without the name tag. I bet it's doable. I just hope I live that long.

The End is the Beginning

Today, for a few moments, I watched a woman I admire greatly struggle with breathing as she slumbered under her covers, so small and so insignificant that she almost disappeared into the bed linens. Cancer has spread throughout her body and unless a miracle occurs she will go home to her Father's house. I have no fears of her reception, I can hear the angel choir now singing as they celebrate the homecoming of another beloved child. And as I sit with tears running down my face, it is not anger that I feel or even immense sadness, though certainly those will come. It's the feeling of the inescapable separation that is tugging at my heart tonight.

She has lived a good life and I am but one of many pebbles on her beach. She has loved faithfully God's people. She has spoken kind truths and blunt truths to me over the years. She has seen light in places that were awfully dark and lived in the presence of death with more grace and peace than anyone I have ever known. She cared for the elderly and infirm of our church community by organizing monthly visitors and a mail ministry. I can't think of one program she has not supported and I can't think of a time I went to her in a pinch that she didn't come through for me or find a way for someone else to do so. She was one of the first people who knew I was expecting my third child, she was one of the first people who knew that the early blood work indicated problems and she prayed for the two of us faithfully without telling a soul until I was ready. She was present with me in the delivery room by phone and she is one of his godparents. She has served this role faithfully and lovingly through the years. The ripples of her service go on and on and on.

I can rejoice in her graduation. I know she will be welcomed with open arms. I know that somehow God will care for her husband, her children and grandchildren in the days ahead. I am confident that the fruit of her faithful service will continue on and on effecting many, including those who will never know her. She is a vehicle God used to touch so many, she will continue to be as those she touched, touch others. She has not wasted her life, her gifts and her talents, she used them for God's glory and she has returned many a hundred fold.

Still, while the end is a beginning, it is the finality of the end that is looming monstrously. How do you say it all, ask it all, hear it all? How do you say, until we meet again knowing it wont be in any manner I understand? How do you look long enough to sear the memory that will last?

The weird thing is that even as I write this I know strength will be given to support others even though I could not be strong enough to support myself. In years to come memories that are now vague smudges will be crystal clear and somehow I am sure she will live on in me as I live from the blessings I received through the years. Me and many other pebbles just like me.

I am not grieving as one without hope, but I am grieving. If you must carry her home, my Father, please do so gently. She needs the walk home to be easy. And even in this, I know You are enough.