So I’m a Seminary Dropout

Four years and two months ago, I started on a course to what I thought was a reasonable goal: Masters of Arts in Theological Studies in four years. Seemed reasonable in theory: we lived on campus when we began and Craig didn't have a job. All we would do for four years would be to live in the world of educational bliss.

That dream came to an abrupt ending the following March, when I realized that homeschooling four girls (well, homeschooling two and tending to a toddler and baby) while also trying to begin some writing jobs AND take two classes/semester just wasn't one of our better ideas. It sounded good, but the implementation lacked.

In short, I gave up the goal of the Masters; instead I switched to the Graduate Certificate, which really isn't even a Masters at all – just 30 documented hours of Masters level work.

Just.

I made peace with that decision and have been fine with it ever since…until this year – this, our fifth year of seminary, and my last year in which I could finish my Grad Cert for free. I have completed 26 hours. I'm just four short of that coveted piece of paper for a frame that will get put in a box and forgotten about two months later. Four hours short.

I enrolled in a three hour Access class for this fall, which meant I didn't even have to go to campus – I could listen to the lectures right here at home. I wouldn't really have a problem with getting the lectures listened to; it's all the joking reading and discussion forum requirements that ate my proverbial lunch.

I can't do it. Uncle.

Craig and I had a long talk the other night about all the various roles I've assumed over the past months/years. When we moved here, seminary was the only thing on our radar; now, we have a fairly established life and seminary gets a spot on the check sheet, but doesn't dominate the whole dang chart.

Tomorrow I will go to the seminary and sign the form that drops me from the class. Dropping the class means I will not complete the requirements for graduation. I will not get the piece of paper for my attic.

I am totally at peace with this decision, will not think less of myself, and will not cry.

I may have learned a few things these past 4.5 years after all.