Three Strikes, I'm Out?

Okay, so I’ve been praying, hoping, waiting, whatever, over this whole Wash U thing. To recap, there are three things I’ve applied for. Number one: admission to the Spanish graduate program. Number two: a fellowship designed for minorities. Number three: a fellowship designed for women.

As posted earlier, I called admissions and mid-March was the time frame I was given to receive notice of whether I’ve been accepted. So, checking the mailbox lately has been an adrenaline-laden event each time. And my knees literally start to go weak if I see a Washington University envelope present. That has happened twice. And twice, they’ve been rejection letters.

The first was a letter informing me that I didn’t win the women’s fellowship. I wasn’t too worried about that because I applied for that one just because. The minority fellowship was the really nice one that I was banking on. And besides, what I cared about above all is whether I’ve been accepted.

The second was a letter informing me that I didn’t win the minority fellowship. That was a bit of a blow because it would have been nice. But, I understand that I’m only entering a Master’s program. Both of the fellowships I applied for are designed for people who are entering a full-blown doctoral program. And with the way that the Spanish program is set up, I must first earn a Master’s and be approved before I can even go on to the doctoral stage. However, I was told in an email from the minority fellowship program director that a fellowship had been awarded to an applicant who had only a Bachelor’s before. He was eligible because his ultimate goal was a PhD. So, based on precedent, I was encouraged to apply. But I’m sure that people who are officially entering a doctoral program had priority.

I’m not used to rejection. Perhaps that’s an egocentric admission, but it’s an honest admission nonetheless. I’ve always excelled academically, and I’ve become accustomed to getting recognition because of it. I used to think that my 4.0, summa cum laude, 1340 GRE score, studied-abroad-in-Spain, fluent-in-Spanish, filled-with college-extracurricular-activities, scholarly-article-published detailed resume was my ticket to whatever I wanted to do. I used to think that intelligence was the ace up my sleeve; the card I could play that would bail me out every time. In the past, it has. Now, I’m not so sure.

I know that everything’s not set in stone yet. As of now, I still don’t know whether I’ve actually been accepted. And until I know one way or the other, I’m kind of at a standstill. If it happens that I am accepted, there are other ways I can finance my education, although it will be more difficult. But this is what is bugging me:

1. The rumor that I could possibly be leaving is blazing around my place of employment like wildfire. I can’t go a day without at least three people cornering me with “Is it true?” I. Don’t. Know.

2. The possibility that I am irrationally placing my entire reason of being on whether I get accepted into an obscenely expensive private university is gnawing at me. Is that what I’m doing?

3. I know we don’t always get to do what we want, but people’s reminding me that “Jesus didn’t want to go to Calvary” is unnerving. I know that my Lord and Savior went against His human will to save all of humanity. But how can you compare that to a girl just wanting to move on with her life?

So far, two out of the three pieces of proverbial bread I’ve cast out upon the waters have returned unto me with “We regret to inform you.” But, even with two strikes against me, I can’t give up until I know the last bit of crucial info that will help me make any subsequent decisions—have I been accepted?