Got the letter in the mail. Jury summons. I set a daily reminder on the Todoist app.

Ø Confirm: You have jury duty on October 5. Priority: High.

My wife and I took a squirrelly route to the courthouse. Back roads, by all means. It rained all the way there. We switched seats on Nueva St., an intersection away from the back—and less busy entrance—of the Bexar County Justice Center. Another shortcut. For those who know, they know.

I go down to the main jury room, where at least 315 people are waiting like birds on the tarmac. Judge Rangel delivers one of the best pre-flight juror speeches ever. He talks about good and bad biases and the inherent expertise of a juror. He’s funny. He’s passionate. He’s also drenched and sipping a venti coffee from the Starbucks on Houston and St. Mary’s

In my mind, I’m weighing out the day. If I am called to serve on a jury, will that interfere with the 1-year anniversary show on KSYM 90.1 FM?

I host The Musical Hybrid. I play orchestral and symphonic music that defies genre or does something that defies trends of the time. Jazz and electronic with harp. Rock with clarinet and bassoon. Downtempo with strings and piano. I affectionately refer to it as “the show with the strings, the show with the piano.”

The show isn’t loyal to any genre. It’s not programmed by a set of elements—it’s an understanding of functors or common threads. It’s a hypothesis. Perhaps a theory. I think I’m the theory, but the listeners get the idea, and as far as I know, there’s no show like it since most radio stations, streams, playlists, and shows put a circle around an idea and stay true to its boundaries. I’m not concerned with circles. I’m concerned with lines of flight.

The 1-year show is no more special than what I do any other Thursday, but I don’t want to miss the show. I am used to one service commitment interfering with another. I try to use my time and space meaningfully, which means that meaningful things will sometimes occupy the same meaningful times and spaces as other meaningful times and places.

But this show is special to me. It’s a gift. It’s like a 2-hour prayer in which I dedicate inspired and brilliant music to the artists, the listeners, and God. It’s like a weekly field report in which the airwaves of the Holy Spirit soar in Christlikeness to God’s heart.

If I am selected to be a juror, will I be like that one juror from 12 Angry Men who wants to call the defendant guilty so he can make it to a ball game?

No. We’re out by 5 p.m. Just in case, I brought a flash drive with 27 new songs to add to the library. I think I can get it done. 2 hours is an eternity in broadcast time.

I’m reading a book of personal narratives by the Moth for the library common read. I grab a venti-size coffee and sit and chat with another juror. I wonder if the caffeine would make me unfit to be a juror. GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY! *shakes*

No. Instead, I’m called back to the main room with the others who hadn’t provided excuses to leave. The first 100 are called. I’m not one. Later, 75 are called. I’m not one. Later, 80 are called. I’m not one.

The people who work in the jury room are kind of funny. They tell stories to lighten the mood. One guy told us about how someone brought a pet bird, and bailiffs and legal staff tried to catch it for 45 minutes while calling out their random selections.

A few minutes after noon. One of the guys came back. A lady with a rolling podium and papers followed him. I said, “I know what that table means.”

And yes, we were all going home. The remaining 60 of us got in line, and we took our get-out-of-work cards and left.

I went to the station early to upload music and program my show. I got a ride home with the program director, who was leaving for the day. When I got home, I cooked up a fabulous turkey + bacon + avocado burger, napped for 40 minutes, helped a neighbor, and here I am.

I’m in running clothes now. I will bus to the radio station, do my show, and sign off differently. Usually, I say two things.

One. Every day, we make the timeless choice between love and fear. Choose love, y’all.

Two. Okay, I gotta go and catch a bus on Main St. If not, I’m (insert any mode of travel here including running, pogo sticks, cartwheels, hitchhiking, flying) home.

Tonight, I will miss the bus and run home. I feel called to do it.

Sometimes, I think about how I load my days with service and activities. Some of these things I am summoned to, and others I summon myself, but they all feel like callings. If you don’t answer a calling, it will call you until you do.