On Doubt

I had a very interesting experience nearly two months ago that I can't quite shake from my memory. I was on jury duty. Not just sitting in the jury assembly room, which is how I've served in the past. I was actually one of the 12 jurors on a criminal case. I can't give any of the details of the case. But I can say that I think it is incredible that we have, in this country, a system that respects its citizens enough to put one individual's guilt or innocence in the judgment of his/her peers. Sure, the system ain't perfect, but what it communicates about the founders' value for its citizenry is phenomenal.

It was a truly fascinating experience for the first 3 days. Jury selection, the presentation of evidence, witness testimony... Then we got to jury deliberations. We started out 7 to 5 on the verdict. By the end of the first hour of deliberations, we were at 8 to 2 with 2 undecided, leaning toward the majority. We took the weekend off and one of the undecideds, namely me, converted to the majority after being alone with my thoughts. By Monday morning, another undecided had converted to the majority and the process of deliberating made me more and more certain that the majority had the right decision. But the holdouts weren't persuaded. We were getting frustrated by mid-morning so we told the judge that we couldn't come to a decision and wanted to know what was next. He sent us back into deliberations, suggesting that we hadn't deliberated enough. So we went back in and kept working at it until lunchtime. Right after our lunch break, another undecided switched to the majority opinion and began confidently trying to persuade the holdout.

And this is where it got frustrating. "I have doubts", juror #11 indicated. The majority affirmed #11's doubts. "It's okay to have doubts, but are they reasonable?" we pleaded. "What about this? And this? And this?" #11 asked. We countered each argument with logic and with emotion, with metaphors and personal life examples. But he was stuck. But worst of all was his attitude about it. There was a certain lack of humility. He mocked the attorneys...the witnesses...even us. He was rude -interrupting us, shouting over us, chiding us for our conclusions about the evidence. He said he wasn't the type to jump to hasty conclusions, suggesting that the remaining 11 of us had. Ultimately, he was adamant that he didn't, and even couldn't, believe the testimonies given as evidence. His reason for disbelief - he didn't think he had the ability to see what the witnesses saw, therefore the witnesses couldn't possibly have seen it, despite the entirely different occupational training the witnesses had. Nothing could convince him that the witnesses had demonstrated their trustworthiness nor could be taken at their word. So he stood his ground. He looked at the rest of us and concluded, "maybe you guys are willing to look at this as a game, but I can't ruin someone's life based on something I can't believe." That kind of hurt, because the rest of us were also aware of the implications of our decision.

So we rang the bailiff, who led us back into the courtroom to deliver our verdict. Hung jury. 11 to 1. I mourned the loss of citizen time, taxpayer money, and the simple fact that one person's doubt could hijack what I thought was justice. The judge thanked us for our service and released us, saying that both attorneys would be available afterward to answer any questions.

We filed out into the hallway. Eleven of us huddled together. It was an intense experience and we just needed to debrief and mourn together. I personally wasn't planning to talk to either of the attorneys, but the Assistant District Attorney who was prosecuting the case saw us all there and came over. She thanked us in a very congenial and understanding way. We all beat around the bush a bit, then somebody had the boldness to ask her a direct question about the case. Of course, I can't divulge more, but I can say that what she told us clarified everything entirely. There were hints throughout the trial of the conclusion she revealed to us, but because she was bound by the laws of the court, she couldn't reveal those facts in court. And Juror #11? He very clearly saw us gathered around the Assistant DA. I waved him over, being one of the few people he was willing to talk to, but he just waved a goodbye, stepped into the elevator, and was gone.

I guess the reason that I can't shake this event is because there are hints of the eternal here. First, I was so impressed that the significant figures in this experience played by the rules. They could have broken the rules of the court to align the decision of the jury with what they knew to be true. But they didn't. And I think the Creator has been gracious enough to do the same. He could break His own rules to give us everything we need to cast aside all doubt and just believe. But He doesn't. I really don't think we can handle the whole truth. But I think there are hints of truth strewn throughout our life experience. We just have to learn to interpret them. And we have to trust that the other people we journey with in this life are also interpreting their hints appropriately so that the aggregate gives us a bigger picture of the backstory to be revealed. And I think we need humility. Because without humility, doubt becomes an insurmountable hurdle to accessing truth.

Clarice

Learning To Read

Jackson has been working on his reading skills. He knows all the upper case letters, almost all of the lower case letter, and most of the sounds that the letters make. So we've been helping him out. When he points to words and asks us what the words say, we try to help him sound things out.

Last week as we were driving home, Jackson decided to read his beloved "Cars & Trucks" book, given to him by his Aunt E. He started out by calling out the letters he recognized. I heard him say "J-A-C-K. Mommy, only fwee more letter and it's my name!" I thought that was rather clever and glanced back at the book to verify his declaration. Sure enough...


I was rather impressed that...a) he knew how to spell his own name and b) he could on to determine that there were 3 letters missing to spell his name.

Excited to see part of his name in one of his favorite books, he tried reading some more. I heard him excitedly sound out "pah, ih, kah, uh, pah. Pickup! Mommy, this says pickup!" So I glanced back again to verify.


Close.

Clarice

An Ode to Aunt Sandra

We have a friend who hosts very innovative birthday gatherings. Last year, she hosted a "mustache party" in which all attendees were encouraged to either grow mustaches (if chromosomally capable) or wear a fake mustache, which she kindly affixed to her invitations.

This year, she decided to host a poetry reading party to which invitees were encouraged to bring poorly written poetry for public reading. So in honor of Aunt Sandra's birthday, Jackson helped me write a poem. I'll let you judge whether is counts as being poorly written. And I'll let you decide which portions Jackson wrote and which I can take credit for.

Happy Birthday, Auntie Sandra
I hope you had a lot of pandra
And pancakes
And blueberries
And strawberries
And raspberries
I hope you had a special day
And did some baking by the bay
I did some baking on top of this tow truck
And, uh, I love you pochuck!

Not quite iambic pentameter, but at least it rhymed.

Clarice