In the grand scheme of things, my biography is probably irrelevant. But in my corner of the world—say, the kitchen at 5:27 pm when my children are getting hungry—Caroline’s specific skills become somewhat more significant. Who cares about a Ferdinandsen resume? Maybe the public high school students who visit my classroom each day. Perhaps the alumni association of Evangel University where I earned an undergraduate degree. Maybe the literature department of the University of California in Irvine tracks my progress, but then again, I’m sure they’ve been embarrassed by plenty of their graduates. As for my spiritual credentials, who among us has any at all? Like you, I’m just a foreigner in this land, bought by God’s grace and propped upright when I could have been lying face down. I’ve been identified with the Pentecostals, the Baptists, the Mennonites, the Reformers, and the Presbyterians—but really I’m just counted among Jesus Christ’s big family. God gives all of us a window. Mine happens to look out at suburban America. From that vantage point, Christianity can look pretty man-made on some days. For that reason, I’m using my Bible to work out the discrepancies. After that, I’m sorting through the gray matter the best I know how—just like the rest of us.