The Lord Is Still Working On My Facial Expressions
- Hampton Law Firm ⚖️
- Jun 17
- 6 min read
Some people pray for patience. Some people pray for wisdom. Some people pray for strength. I have, on more than one occasion, prayed for the Lord to help me control my face.
Court is serious business, and I do not ever want to make light of that. People’s freedom, families, reputations, safety, and futures are often on the line. Judges have hard decisions to make. Lawyers have a job to do. Clients are nervous. Victims are heard. Families are watching. The work matters, and the room deserves respect.
But the courtroom is also full of human beings, and human beings are unpredictable. They get nervous. They get emotional. They misunderstand questions. They overexplain. They decide, usually at the worst possible time, that they need to “say a few words.” And sometimes, despite your law degree, your professional training, and every bit of home training you ever received, your face tries to tell the truth before your mouth can stop it.
I have had moments in court where I knew I was supposed to remain calm, professional, composed, and attorney-like, but my eyebrows had other plans. There are things you simply do not learn how to handle in law school. No professor prepares you for the moment a defendant politely tells the judge he would like his adult entertainment devices returned to him. There is no textbook chapter called “Maintaining Professionalism When Someone Says Something You Could Not Have Possibly Predicted.” You just have to stand there, breathe, and hope your face remembers who raised you.
Then there are the moments when someone takes the stand and says something so honest, so unexpected, and so terribly unhelpful that every lawyer in the room feels it at the same time. I will never forget hearing a defendant say, “Yes, Your Honor, I punched her in the face,” and then, as if he were offering an important legal distinction, add, “but she fights like a man.” There are moments when you can feel the air leave the courtroom. Not because anyone is trying to be funny, but because everybody knows we have just taken a turn no one can undo. As a lawyer, you are sitting there trying to decide whether to object, intervene, pray, disappear, or simply let silence do what silence does best.
Some courtroom moments are funny because they are absurd. Some are funny because they catch you completely off guard. And some are funny because you were accidentally cast in a scene you did not know was being written. One time, another attorney brought his client into court and sat him near me because he knew his client was about to find out that my dad would be his judge. The client did not know who I was. The attorney absolutely knew what he was doing. I had the privilege of sitting there like an innocent bystander while that poor man’s face went through every stage of recognition, panic, regret, and spiritual reflection. I did not say a word. I did not have to. Sometimes the moment speaks for itself.
Of course, the courtroom has humbled me too. I once passed out at the podium and woke up with the judge and several older male attorneys standing over me like I had become part of the docket. There are few things more humbling than regaining consciousness in court and realizing that everyone has stopped practicing law long enough to stare down at you with concern. It turned out I was pregnant with my son, JB. At the time, my body knew it before the rest of us had fully caught up. That is one of those memories that is funny now, but at the time, I can assure you, I was not thinking, “This will make a great story one day.”
Pregnancy and court created some memorable chapters of their own. When I was nine months pregnant, we were deep into a long criminal court docket, somewhere around the tenth hour, and I had reached the stage of pregnancy where sitting, standing, walking, and existing all required negotiation. The judge, in a moment of mercy, allowed me to arrange some kind of courtroom setup so I could elevate my feet while we finished. I do not remember exactly how graceful it looked, but I do remember that dignity had left the building and practicality had entered an appearance. Sometimes professionalism means standing tall at the podium. Other times it means finishing the docket with your feet propped up because the baby, the swelling, and the justice system are all demanding to be heard.
Then there are the comments that are not meant to be funny, but they test your sanctification all the same. During my public defender days, a client’s girlfriend once asked me how she could “hire a real lawyer.” Now, that is the kind of statement that will make you meet Jesus in your own mind before you respond out loud. I had a law degree. I was standing there doing the work. I was, in fact, the lawyer. But there are moments in this profession when you have to decide whether you are going to educate, correct, laugh, cry, or simply smile and let the Lord handle your facial muscles. I chose survival.
But any criminal defense attorney will tell you that the most dangerous words in court are not always dramatic. They are not always shouted. They do not always come from the prosecutor or the judge. Sometimes the most terrifying sentence in the courtroom is your own client saying, “Your Honor, may I say a few words?”
There is a particular kind of silence that follows that sentence. It is not ordinary silence. It is lawyer silence. It is the silence of everyone at the defense table mentally reviewing every conversation they had with the client before court. It is the silence of a prosecutor suddenly becoming very interested. It is the silence of a judge waiting to see where this is going. It is the silence of an attorney whose entire soul has briefly left her body.
You can prepare. You can explain. You can advise. You can say, “Please let me do the talking.” You can have the plea worked out, the sentencing recommendation understood, the paperwork ready, and the courtroom moving in the right direction. Then your client clears his throat, and suddenly everyone is standing at the edge of a cliff together. Maybe it will be fine. Maybe it will be heartfelt and helpful. Maybe it will be the kind of statement that reminds the court of the client’s humanity. Or maybe your client is about to create brand-new problems in real time. You do not know. You just stand there, breathe, and try to keep your face from filing its own objection.
That is one of the things people may not realize about practicing law. They see the arguments, the suits, the courtrooms, and the serious parts. They may not see how much of this work requires emotional control. A lawyer has to listen carefully without reacting too quickly. A lawyer has to absorb surprises without letting the whole room see the surprise. A lawyer has to remain respectful when the facts become uncomfortable, when a witness says too much, when a client says the wrong thing, or when a perfectly smooth court appearance suddenly becomes a live demonstration of human unpredictability.
And that is why I say the Lord is still working on my facial expressions. I know how to behave in court. I know the work is serious. I understand the responsibility. But I am also human. I have had to fight laughter, shock, confusion, exhaustion, pregnancy symptoms, and the urge to place both hands on the table and ask everyone to please stop speaking for just a moment.
The longer I practice law, the more I understand that courtrooms hold more than statutes and sentencing ranges. They hold fear, grief, pressure, frustration, mercy, bad decisions, good intentions, nervous explanations, family drama, and occasionally a sentence nobody saw coming. Real life walks into court every day, and real life does not always follow the script.
So yes, court is serious. The work matters. The people matter. The consequences matter. But sometimes, after a long day, you have to laugh at the moments you survived. Not in a cruel way. Not at someone’s pain. But at the strange, unforgettable, very human things that happen when people are under pressure and everybody is trying to get through the day.
I am still learning. Still growing. Still trying to be composed, wise, patient, and professional.
And apparently, still giving the Lord plenty of material to work with.
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Judith L. Hampton
Attorney At Law
Hampton Law Firm
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