I'd been summoned for jury duty. While I was happy to fulfill this civic obligation, I felt it was important to pray before going to the courthouse. So I took a moment to acknowledge that God is always present, that He guides my every thought and action, and that I could hear what He had to tell me about that day's events.
I had a hunch that I would be chosen to serve on a trial jury, and, sure enough, that's just what happened. By 10:30 that morning—a Friday—the jurors had been sworn in, and we started to hear testimony. By the end of the day, I felt overwhelmed by what we'd heard. We'd listened to testimony from about ten different witnesses, and there were all sorts of inconsistencies among their accounts.
By the time I got home, I had a bad headache and felt just awful. I was also troubled by a tremendous sense of responsibility. Because of the serious nature of the charges, I knew that the jury's verdict could send the defendant to prison. As a volunteer religious worker, I'd been in prisons enough to know that I would never want to send an innocent person there.
