I’m an escapist when it comes to literature.

When I read, I want a book that takes me away from my familiar living room sofa to a land or time far away. I want to become someone else, to feel what they feel and experience what they experience. Perhaps this mentality explains why I never make it through a book that is overtly trying to teach me something. I have the best intentions of reading books on grace, marriage or apologetics, but I rarely get further than halfway through the publication before it begins to gather dust on my bedside stand.

So here I am, an escapist reader, saying out loud that I love a good John Grisham novel.

Last night I finished up The Last Juror (Doubleday, 2004). Classic Grisham, it tells the tale of a young newspaper publisher and editor in small Mississippi town in the 1970’s. Of course, being a Grisham novel, it also encompasses passionate crimes, a host of attorneys, one crucial jury decision and racial tension. Ah, good stuff. I was drawn further into the story by the following description of Calia Ruffin, an elderly black woman, and her prayer before lunch with the young protagonist:

It would be a lengthy prayer. She thanked the Lord for everything good, including me, “her new friend.” She prayed for those who were sick and those who might become so. She prayed for rain and sun and health and humidity and patience, and though I began to worry about the food getting cold I was mesmerized by her voice. Her cadence was slow, with thought given to each word. Her diction was perfect, every consonant treated equally, every comma and period honored. I had to peek to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I have never heard such speech from a Southern black, or a Southern white for that matter.

I peeked again. She was talking to her Lord, and her face was perfectly content. For a few seconds, I actually forgot about the food. She squeezed my hands as she petitioned the Almighty with eloquence that came only from years of practice. She quoted Scripture, the King James Version for sure, and it was a bit odd to hear her use words like “thou” and “thine” and “whither” and “goest.” But she knew precisely what she was doing. In the clutches of this very holy woman, I had never felt closer to God.