What Is a Realistic Expectation?

LIFE LESSONS

What Is a Realistic Expectation?

Katherine Baylis

If you set your reading goal for the new year at more than 30 books, I don’t believe you. I have friends who’ve set their 2022 Reading Challenge Goal on Goodreads at 50, 70 or 100 books. In the case of one friend who set the goal at 120, I texted to inquire how, indeed, my friend intended to complete it. In some (admittedly niche) circles, it’s a competition to see who will set their goals the highest. But when November comes, there’s always a rush of people who readjust their goal down 20 or 30 books to something more realistic so they can actually meet their goals before the year closes.

I’ve always thought the phrase “setting realistic expectations” sounded like a bit of a threat. To someone who has

a competitive edge, it’s a challenge but, alas, I am not such a person. In the business world, it tends to be a passive-aggressive way of saying “don’t bite off more than you can chew” but in general, it’s not altogether a bad thing. Attainable goals, particularly smaller ones that lead to a larger goal, have long been hailed as the key to success. But when is it appropriate to set goals that are a little out of reach? While there may be some things that are well and truly out of reach—like, for example, me joining a professional women’s basketball team—the goals we grow the most from are those which we did not achieve solely on our own, but rather by leaning on God’s strength and trusting his provision.

One such goal from the last year has been praying about whether I should go to grad school or not. It was not the first time I had considered grad school. At the end of my first semester senior year, I had offers of admission to two master’s programs in medieval literature, both based in Scotland. I referred to it as my pipedream, my reckless shot at an adventure. I deferred both because of COVID and started working a full-time job instead, figuring it would give me time to think about what I wanted. When I finally decided to officially decline the offers a year later in early 2021, it began a series of questions centered around one thought: If not this, then what?

I spent the next few months researching programs during my lunch breaks. I scrolled through page after page of coursework on a dozen different types of degrees and came up empty. But, to my delight (and slight surprise), I quite enjoyed my job. So, I moved on from the idea. I cannot recall how the subject came up again—perhaps it was my roommate or the Greek class at College Church or my mother—but I found my mind wandering towards grad school once more. I missed being a student. More than that, I felt that I had been out of school long enough to really be sure that I wanted to be a student again, not just because I didn’t know what else to do, but because I felt called to do it. I thought about the books that moved me in college and found a common thread of church history. A few google searches and a very encouraging phone call with the head of the department later and my mind was made up: I wanted to study church history at Wheaton College.

I had no idea what I was doing and questioned the decision over and over in the months that followed. I did my best to give up as much of it to God as I could but sometimes my anxiety got the better of me and I’d spiral. However, I met the real challenge when I got my acceptance letter. I had been bracing myself for the impact since I submitted the application. How in the world would I pay for tuition? It made me so sick to think about it that I delayed telling my friends what should have been exciting news, and when they wanted to celebrate with me, I just couldn’t. None of it felt financially realistic. Entering mid-year was hard enough, but with so little turnaround I had zero guarantees of getting any funding to help. I prayed for a clear decision. It had been a goal of mine for several months to get to this point, to start what I thought was going to be the next best step towards God’s plan for me, yet I was paralyzed with fear.

It’s times like these when I find myself doubting God’s provision that I think of a book I read in high school, God’s Smuggler by Brother Andrew. It tells the story of a Dutch missionary who smuggles Bibles into various closed countries. There’s one scene that’s stuck with me over the years. It takes place when the narrator, Andrew, is in seminary on an outreach trip where he and his teammates are forced to trust God’s provision financially. They are at a gathering at an apartment when they realize they have no cake for tea (which in Scotland, where he was, was apparently unacceptable if one were hosting tea). “That night, as we rolled up in our blankets on the floor of the hall, we played guessing games: How was God going to give us that cake? Among the five of us, we guessed everything imaginable—or so we thought.” I recall reading that as a teenager and being amazed that they not only trusted God to provide the cake but expected it. They weren’t speculating if God would provide, but merely how. I find it difficult to emulate such faith in normal circumstances; it’s a grating effort in the midst of stressful ones.

Suddenly it was the last week before I had to make a decision. I whined at God, begging for the peace of a clear decision—not at all the posture Brother Andrew took when in similar circumstances. Just before lunch, I noticed a new email from the head of my program. He was writing to inform me that I’d been selected for a scholarship that would help cover enough of my first semester’s tuition that it would enable me to start in January 2022. I immediately started to tear up and praised God for putting up with my childish distrust all morning. Hitting “accept” on my offer of admission was one of the most affirming decisions I’ve made in a long time.

I wish I could say every step of this process was guided by thoughtful prayer and complete faith. It did include a great deal of both, but like the disciples in Mark 4 when Jesus calmed the storm, I let my resolve wane when I saw the stormy waters and let the roar of the winds threaten my focus on God’s voice. Still, I consider it a good example of God working through me in a decision-making process because I have the stark contrast of my first attempt at applying to grad school: a messy, unfocused, unguided scramble that in the end left me feeling very foolish for even trying. By contrast, this time around I felt God’s guidance at every step; even when I was terrified and doubtful and questioned everything, I knew he was walking right along with me. I strive to one day have the faith in God’s provision that Brother Andrew had, but for now, I take each lesson learned and try to build on it— creating new expectations as I go.