Recently, I received an email that my doctoral program was starting its own website, one where we might post biographies, publications, and interesting facts about ourselves to advertise our theological wares to all who are interested.

At first I rolled my eyes at the mere thought.  If there’s one thing my blog proves, it’s that I lack pretty much anything that would be fit to print on a site dedicated to academic credentials.  I have published, uh, nothing.  I have presented nothing.  I have never summited Everest.  And--this is the kicker--the first person on the web site won first place on Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego when she was a kid.

I can’t compete with that.

However, in the interest of Practical Theological solidarity, I tried to come up with something.  I sat and thought about it for a good long time.  All I ended up with were fragments of thoughts that look good in long form narrative to my 24 friends and relatives who read my site.  But not, say, to potential employers.

Some examples:

Attempt 1:

“Adrienne is interested in the intersection of faith development and children’s literature.  OMG, did you totally see that Nick and Nora’s Infinite Playlist is a movie!  Rock!  Way to spend the time till Twilight . . .”

Worthy to share a page with Carmen Sandiego?  I think not.

Attempt 2:

“Adrienne has been a student of theology since she was very young.  The first books she enjoyed told myths from around the world.  In fact, she is convinced that her friend Brian’s friend Mike is the incarnation of Anansi, the trickster god.  No one else ever knows what she is talking about when she says this, so she is pretty sure this qualifies as an academic credential.”

A little better, though in theory people reading the web site would know Anansi and merely not believe my assertion about Mike. 

Attempt 3:

“When not studying ancient texts or debating friends on theological issues, Adrienne can be found base jumping, giving lectures about faith and free fall, and working on her novel “My Wicked Exciting Life:  A Memoir.” She has published journal articles on five continents, and is a renowned expert on mytho-poetic literary criticism.  She once defeated a ninja in hand to hand combat and won a silver star, the highest ninja honor awarded to a civilian.”

Fantastic, except for the fact that it is, of course, a pack of lies.

Stuff like this used to make me feel like a loser.  I’d look at everyone else in my program and realize that I am not doing nearly enough to promote myself in this effort.  I’d lie prostrate on my floor and yell to the universe I WILL BE A HALL DIRECTOR FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.  The universe, for its part, just rolled its eyes and told me to get a grip. 

These days, though, I don’t care.  I start to feel like a total loser, but then I look at my daughter.  She’s started laughing--deep bubbling laughter that breaks into giggles and then hiccups.  Her eyes are a deep, jewel blue, a testament to some seriously recessive genes on my side.  And I generally spend time making stupid faces at her rather than working on, well, anything.  I thought about writing about her on the website, but ultimately she didn’t fit the assignment and I ended up not turning anything in for the web page.

But you gotta figure, that’s how it should be. 

I was walking down the street yesterday, thinking about how God hasn’t really endorsed any human candidates for about 2000 years.  Unless you count the Pope.  So, really, how can someone say that Jesus would vote for McCain . . .

So engrossed was I in this, I failed to notice the large branch that directly in my path.  It hit me square in the face. 

“Perhaps I was incorrect, Lord?” I asked.  “You would vote for ...”

A gust of wind shook the tree and acorns pummeled my head.

“Uh.  Obama then?”

A final acorn conked my nose.

“Ron Paul?”

The heavens were strangely silent.

“Too bad about that one.” I thought.  And I continued on my way.