One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish...

Last week, when I was visiting my godmother, we were talking about her granddaughter, who is both beautiful and brilliant.  Remembering that there had been talk at one point about her skipping a grade, I inquired if this ever happened.  “No,” was the answer, “her mom would rather her be a big fish in a small pond than a small fish in a big pond.” 

This familiar saying is a pretty good description of my own life.  The school district which I attended from the first day of kindergarten through high school graduation was small, semi-rural and better known for its drug use than its academics.  I was one of four valedictorians and had a flawless GPA.  I was also a cocky, know-it-all.  But despite my arrogant exterior, I knew that my high school academic success amounted to very little in comparison to most high schools.  The thought of college terrified me because it would mean breaking out of my little world in which I was queen nerd and facing the competition that a good academic program entailed.  And college was a big adjustment.  I remember calling home and telling my parents that I was the stupidest kid in the honors dorm.  Not only were my professors using words I had never even heard of but so were my newly made friends, not only in classes but also in late night conversations.  But despite my initial bewilderment and feelings of self-doubt, I quickly found my footing.  Again, I flourished.

After college graduation, it was onto seminary.  For some reason, I had no doubts in my ability to succeed.  Perhaps it was because I felt assured of my calling.  Perhaps it was because my undergraduate professors spent so much time telling me that I was destined for PhD studies.  Whatever the reason, I knew I could do it.  And I did.

And then, I decided to do something as un-Christina as I possibly could:  I decided to pack up and study abroad in Israel for an entire school year, at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, one of the top universities in the world.  I was terrified, terrified of moving so far away, terrified of surviving in such a well-known and well-respected program.  But again, despite some language barriers and cultural differences, I came out on top.

[I do not mean to suggest that I have not been challenged in the past eight years.  My professors and classmates have stretched me and how I think about the Bible.  There have been other students who not only pushed back against my interpretations but have also offered their own that I would never have considered—and sometimes could not entirely follow or understand. But never has a professor really given me any reason to think I was anything less than extraordinary.]

And now, here I am, just days away from starting a PhD program.  I am incredibly excited.  This is my dream.  But at the same time, I am completely terrified.  I have, in many ways, always been the big fish in a little pond, and I know I am about to became a little fish in a big pond.  Perhaps the past eight years should convince me otherwise.  But I have heard the horror stories, the tales of professors who love nothing more than to chew graduate students up and spit them out, the recounts of dissertations being shredded and students told to start all over.  And even if those are the worst case scenarios, the fact remains that all the other PhD students have the same credentials as me.  We were all the best, which means we cannot all still be the best.  Add to all my insincerities the fact that I have to move clear across the country to a state that I really had no interest in inhabiting, into an area that is probably far more liberal than I can imagine.  Nothing about this is going to be easy.

But I guess that is why it is called a dream.  What is it I wrote on my bedroom wall last fall?  “The only dreams worth pursuing are the ones for which you must fight.” 

Bring it on!