Faceplant

I presented at Truman's Philosophy and Religion Conference. I was really excited about the resume booster and the chance to be a real scholar, presenting my scaling of the academic heights. I practiced. I made a PowerPoint. I got up early to put on a blouse and makeup (that never happens except for Sunday morning!)
I clickity-clacked my way in brown leather heels over to the presentation room, greeted professors with a tight-lipped smile, and daintily ate a complementary bagel. An attractive, tweed-blazer clad student from Missouri Western got up before the podium. 
He's cute, he looks professional, but MO Western? Truman is way better! How good of a presentation is this going to be?
Thirty seconds into the presentation, and the answer became apparent: Very. He sounded like a professor, full of philosophical theories that soared way above anything I'd ever heard of. 
After what seemed like a long time but no time at all, it was my turn to set up my presentation while everyone else chatted and headed for the buffet table. And so began Calamity #1. In my exhaustion the night before, I accidentally downloaded my paper to the flash drive instead of the PowerPoint. Well, because I hadn't brought any notes, because I never speak with notes, there was no way I was going to be able to give this speech. No way.
Trembling, I went up to the conference coordinator. "Um, my flash drive is saying my file is corrupted," I lied, voice strained with forced calm. "I don't know what happened."
Just then, the next presenter, equally attractive and snazzily dressed, walked in. "Uh, hello. I'm having some technological difficulties and I'm wondering if you'd mind switching with me."
"No problem," he replied with a toothy grin.
Trying to smile back, I nodded and half-walked, half-jogged in my heels back to my room and downloaded the PowerPoint. It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay, I kept telling myself. 
Finally I made it back to the presentation room, in time to hear an extremely intelligent sounding presentation combining the story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac with feminism, semiotics, and psychoanalysis. "Of course, there's really no objective reality in this story, no white bearded god in the sky telling Abraham what to do and making everything all right in the end," the presenter said as a kind of aside, as if this were obvious. But I know the God of Abraham is real. I talk to him every day. I sing his praises every Thursday and Sunday. 
And then, it was my turn. After a minor calamity of the projector briefly not working, the computer finally projected my PowerPoint. I grinned. It was going to be okay!
And so I began to give my presentation. I heard my voice fill the room, slightly trembling, anxious. I've never liked the sound of my own voice, and hearing it reverberating around the room was a little frightening. As I kept talking, it was easier to continue, as long as I blocked out the fact that my presentation was so much more simple and informal compared to everyone else's. Finally, thankfully, the thing was over. 
"Any questions?" I asked.
The hand of one of my philosophy professors shot up into the air. And that was the beginning of Calamity #2. 
"Yes?" I asked, hoping for a softball. 
I don't remember exactly what she said, and I don't want to. I just know she shot right through my argument, tore it in two. Well, not all of my argument, but a good 20% of it. I tried to argue back politely, even though I wasn't convincing myself.
"No, no," she said sharply. "No. You're wrong. I can help you go back and fix this paper. But this is wrong."
She said this in front of everyone: all the philosophy and religion professors from Truman, faculty from other schools, Attractive Snazzily Dressed Egghead Male Philosophy Presenters, two friends who came, a couple students in my classes, some freshmen logic students. Everyone. Everyone. 
Luckily, there were more questions, most of them much easier to answer. Although at one point a professor and a student started talking to each other and ignoring me, and I didn't know how to break in.
"David," one of my favorite religion professors said, "let Jessica talk, please."
I was embarrassed but grateful to have control again of the session. I gave what seemed to me like a satisfactory answer. A student tried to jump in, but the conference coordinator announced that we were out of time. 
Thank God! I thought. I ejected my flash drive, grabbed my purse, and walked quickly past the professor who shot my presentation. Luckily, she was too engrossed in conversation to talk to me. The way I felt at that moment, I didn't want to talk to anyone. 
I thought I was a scholar. This conference proved that I am not. I am a college student, and a pretty good one at that. But I'm not an academic, and probably never will be. Learning that really hurt. 
But here's the thing.
Jesus still loves me.
My family and friends still love me.
I am still going to have communion at church (today, now that it's after 1 AM).
I will still graduate from Truman. 
And God still has a place for me in his kingdom, given me gifts and graces by which I can contribute to his church.
But I'm still upset. I guess it's high time I accept that I will never be an academic, that I'm not as intelligent as I wish I were, and that in God's kingdom, intelligence is nice, but not really worth all that much. Just like Attractive Male Philosopher who said the story of Abraham isn't really about God because there is no God. In the eyes of the world, A.M.P. said something intelligent. In the eyes of God, A.M.P. is missing out on grace. 
Grace is more important than intelligence. I long ago traded my dreams of Yale, theology, musty books, critical acclaim, for something bigger. 
Let me, God, hold babies before you, lift the dead up to you, bring your good news to the poor. 
I would rather live inside the church than write about it. Not that I'm judging any academics; I admire their passion, their smarts. But God did not give that to me.
Instead, through this awkward conference experience, I have learned about what I am and am not. I learned that it's important to try new things, and know that failure isn't a big deal in the grand scheme of things, because the grand scheme of things is held by God. 
I'm okay. Yeah, maybe I got Augustine all wrong. But, by God's grace, I haven't gotten Jesus all wrong. In God's eyes, that's what counts.