When I was in school, people would sometimes tell me not to worry too much about my grades. “No one will ever look at them once you graduate,” they would say. And they were right, until recently. Heck, I have never even looked at my report cards, or gave my grades a second thought since then. But if you want to teach college (even a very small teaching gig at a very small college) several people will be very interested in your grades. My official transcripts arrived the other day, and looking at them was more than a little weird.
Eight years of my life contained on just four pages. Many thousands of dollars and many hundreds of hours of hard work. Tons of late nights, early mornings, and strange jobs. Many good friends, who seem all at once as close as yesterday and yet impossibly distant. Papers, tests, lectures, and projects.
And of course, there were the grades. How much of a prima donna was I in college, and how badly did I get my butt kicked the first semester of grad school? How in the world did I get a ‘B’ in Greek? How is it that I got an ‘A’ in Pastoral Counseling, and yet never know what to say about people’s problems? How much did my world shift when I took Synoptics? How did I escape Hebrew Exegesis with a ‘D-’. That was Dr. VanGemeren’s way of saying, “After watching you suffer so, I just don’t have the heart to fail you” (if it weren’t for hesed, I’d have no luck at all). And why did I take all of those preaching classes, anyway?
But to my great joy, and to the chagrin of the wife, I proudly report my grade in “Human Sexuality”. A-PLUS, baby!