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and laid on the floor. It was a lumpy mattress, but it was a lot easier hauling pillows through the woods than trying to carry a mattress. He had a folding table and two aluminum chairs, but he never had guests. It had been five years since his last visitor, a duck hunter who surprised him one morning. The hunter stopped for a brief chat then moved on. There weren't any ducks in the area, and the hunter didn't come back.
    In good weather Moses cooked outside, which kept his shack from getting smoky or burning down. He kept the kerosene lantern for emergency use and rarely lit it. Except when he went night fishing, he lay down to sleep at dark and woke at dawn.
    The old man kept his most prized possession, his johnboat, locked and chained to a tree. The key to the rusty lock hung on a leather strap around his neck. In winter Moses slept in the shack, but the rest of the year he liked to spend several nights a week on his boat. When he finished fishing, he'd tie up at a dock of one of the many houses that lined the waterway in every direction. He preferred the docks as moorings. Too many times, he'd tied up to a tree only to have a snake, spider, or an army of ants invade the boat in the middle of the night.

    After he found a spot for the night, he'd remove one of the seats in the johnboat and roll out two rubber mats that he placed on top of each other in the bottom of the boat. He'd stretch out on the mats, drape mosquito netting over the edge of the boat, and watch the stars overhead while the boat gently rocked in the river. The faces in the water couldn't see over the edge of the boat, and after so many years, the memory of innocent blood running off his hands into the river rarely played across his mind. He felt at peace.
    However, like a hidden log just beneath the surface of the water, Moses' habit of tying up at the river docks concealed an unknown danger.
    AFTER PUTTING ON MY PAJAMAS, I took my Bible and journal downstairs to the front room. I turned on a small lamp and knelt in front of the sofa. God could speak quickly, or he might make me wait. To set a timetable for an answer would be disrespectful to his sovereignty. God was merciful, but prayer wasn't always meant to be a desperation plea by someone wanting a quick fix to a thorny problem.
    Divine guidance about a summer legal clerkship with Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter would have to come indirectly. Savannah, Georgia, didn't appear in the sixty-six books within the black leather cover, and the references to rabbinical lawyers, especially in the New Testament, weren't very complimentary. Any impression I received would be closely scrutinized by my parents.
    I started by spending time thanking God for his past love and faithfulness. Although completely sufficient in himself, the Lord, like any parent, appreciated the thanks of a grateful child.

    As I thought about God's goodness, I remembered a time in high school when I didn't have the money needed for a weeklong trip to Washington, D.C., and the deposit for the trip was due on a Monday. Without telling anyone except my parents, I prayed for the funds, and after church on Sunday morning a man in our church gave me a check for the exact amount I needed. Remembering how I felt at the time, a wave of emotion touched me, and I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. More instances of God's goodness came to mind. I momentarily pushed aside the reason for my private prayer meeting.
    I loved the Psalms and decided to quote Psalm 100 from memory, placing special emphasis on the verse about entering his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise. A civil courthouse was light-years from the place where David worshipped the Lord with all his might, but while meditating on the vast differences, a prayer welled up within me. I knew the next words from my mouth would be important.
    "Lord, wherever I go, may I make the court of law a place of praise."
    It was a beautiful thought. To find a place of holiness in the