A Lawyer's Psalm

I speak to my parents every single day.  Usually, I call at the end of my day to get an update on the lifestyles of the retired and rich ( richer than when they were raising a family). Today's conversation turned to what we can't escape, that event in Charlottesville that has thrown a mirror on America's racist sinister side. My father, now 71, offers a unique perspective on the a forgotten world.  His eyes first opened in the old South in Central Florida. He rode on the back of the bus, went to separate schools, and heard about people being lynched. He tells stories to us with ease, ranging from ones involving flaming bags of dog poop to that one time someone tried to shoot at him as he rode his bike as a child. He said, "Baby, when I see those white supremacists marching around with the full support of Donald Trump...when I see the Speaker of the House proclaiming that they hold the White House, the Senate, the House of Representatives, and the Supreme Court....

I'm not just a lawyer.  I'm a criminal defense lawyer.  To make matters worse, I'm a public defender.  Sometimes our clients call us pretenders, dump trucks, fake lawyers (as opposed to real lawyers or street lawyers). After 14 years in this line of work, I've learned to stop being offended.  I've learned to see the big picture and appreciate the privilege of it all.   Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be somebody's hero.  I often imagined myself standing in front of a vulnerable person holding a shield aloft to protect them from some overwhelming force.  Before I lost interest in Barbie dolls and Menudo, I knew that I wanted to spend my life defending people's rights.  That's what I prayed for.  That's what I worked for.  That's what I sacrificed for. As I child I was never great with making specific requests to God, and I guess that's how I ended up with my mixed bag of blessings.  Let's be clear.  How m...