We arrived safely from Oaxaca on Sunday afternoon, May 22, and spent the afternoon and evening visiting with friends. On Monday I had to report for jury duty. The summons originally had been for a day during our travel to Mexico, so I rescheduled. The only real option in rescheduling was the day after returning. So I drove to the Metro Rail lot just outside 610 South off Belfort and rode the train to the Preston stop, just a half block from the jury assembly room.
I did not expect to wind up on a panel, and hoped I would not. I had a presentation to make on Tuesday afternoon to a group of pastors at the Institute for Religion and Health, and did not want to have to miss it. I was on a panel for a misdemeanor case, which meant they would only choose six jurors, so that looked hopeful. But they did not strike me and I was told to report back at 11:00 on Tuesday morning to hear the case. I called my colleague to say that I could not do the presentation on Tuesday.
I rode the train in again on Tuesday morning, stopping to walk a few blocks away to leave our passports with an agency that will get us visas to Uganda. I prayed as I traveled to town, wondering what God had in mind in interfering with “my plans” in this way. The "El Rey" taco restaurant is next to the Preston station, and I was a little ahead of schedule, so I grabbed a cup of Mexican vanilla coffee and a breakfast taco before walking to the courthouse. It was a little reminder of the last two weeks.
I boarded the elevator in the courthouse with one of the other six jurors on our panel and pushed the button for the 9th floor. On our way up our conversation moved very quickly from the feeling of interruption to my recent return from Mexico to UBC’s medical team’s plans to travel to Oaxaca in the fall. My fellow juror, it turns out, was a nurse and a Presbyterian. She inquired as to whether our group would take “outsiders,” exchanged information with me, and may check on making the trip with our group.
Once in the jury room, the judge came in to see us, robed in black. He told us that the state had dropped one of the two charges against the accused, who was going to plead no contest to the second charge. So our services were no longer needed. He gave us our work excuses, thanked us profusely, and told us we were free to go. The juror information form I had filled out had asked for my occupation and the name of my employer, and the judge had read over those. As others were leaving he asked me to stay and come back to his chambers. I noticed books on his shelves (I always look at those when I’m in someone’s office or home. What a person has read or wants you to think they have read interests me.). I saw a copy of The Purpose Driven Life, among others. After a few pleasantries and exchange of trivia (both native Houstonians, he grew up not far from where I did) we talked about faith and religion. He lives in our community and is thinking about getting back into church. He is not a Baptist and his growing up around some makes him somewhat leery of our ilk. Me too. I told him we were safe and he would be welcome. We exchanged business cards and I left. Walking to the train stop, I called to say I would be able to make my presentation after all.
On the train ride back to my car, I sat next to Jimmie, a black man about my age. We talked about Houston weather, found out we, too, were both native to the city, and that we had gone to neighboring high schools. He works as a custodian in a synagogue in town (I told him he didn’t look Jewish). By the time we were at the Texas Medical Center stop where he got off, Jimmie had talked to me about his struggling marriage and trying to stay in touch with his fourteen year old son.
The presentation went well and I was home by 5:30, with a sense of having had an unusually ordinary day. It was made up of duties, responsibilities, some anxieties, and conversations. What had been unusual for me was that I had begun with openness to what God might have in mind for the day that left me sort of “unscheduled.” I had the sense of blowing in the wind or floating in a stream that I was not in charge of. I was reminded later of how Jesus seemed to operate that way on a daily basis. Most of his significant encounters with people were “interruptions,” not “appointments.” I wonder what it would be like to live that way. Is that even a possibility? I’m sure it would drive the others in your life crazy. Maybe that would just be a side benefit.
We are back in town for two more weeks before leaving for Africa. We have plenty to do with various kinds of preparations. I’ll stay in touch.
No comments:
Post a Comment