Oh boy, it’s grad party season. I’m in a big white circus tent crammed with catered chicken and complete strangers. I wade through the he-hawing relatives, bored children teetering on folding chairs, and a family dog pulling ambrosia salad off the table. All I want to do is make an appearance, drop off my card, grab a free LaCroix and go back home. But first I need to find someone. After a minute I finally locate her, the graduate. 

Wide-eyed and beaming, she’s radiant in the sunlight as she laughs with friends next to what could be considered her life’s work. Her treasure is a table practically overflowing with athletic trophies, preschool medals, tassels and cords. It’s everything she’s ever done worth rewarding. And behind the table is a massive picture collage. “There must be three-hundred photos pinned to that board,” I think. “This is her entire seventeen years of existence all leading up to this one summer.” The table and the collage are a shrine to her success. They’re proof of hard work and dedication. They scream, “Bring it on world, this girl is ready and whatever school she chooses will be lucky to have her!”

Smiling and laughing in front of her table of accomplishments and backed by pictures representing her entire life, Alexandra had no idea that the universities had already mailed out their rejection letters. Letters with her name on them. 

90210’s Jennie Garth said, “I think with any sort of rejection, you’re angry that you weren't enough for that person.” I’m looking at you Dylan.

The Dissonance of Denial

Have you ever been rejected? I don’t mean picked last for dodgeball rejected. I mean the kind of rejection that cuts so deep it exposes hidden insecurities. The kind that explicitly says, “you don’t measure up.” The kind of rejection that shakes what you know. Rejection so bad that it takes your most firmly held beliefs and pile drives them into the dirt. I’m talking about breakups, firings, public embarrassments and denials that deliver a heavy-handed slap to our hopes and dreams. The kind of rejection that tells a 17 year old rising star, “We regret to inform you…,” multiple times over a painfully long summer. 

The high school graduate is Alexandra, now age 21 from the Detroit suburbs. I sat down with her recently to ask how she coped with her “summer of rejection.” 

“Ever since I was three,  singing was my life,'' she explained. From special church solos to selective duets, she matured her stage presence for competitive high school musicals and show choirs. Proudly the senior president of her ensemble, her niche was balancing on risers, harmonizing, and of course, copious use of jazz hands. Well, I hope there was jazz hands.

Julie: So lots of jazz hands I presume?

Alexandra: Not really, no jazz hands. 

Julie: Bummer. Random musical outbursts?

Alexandra: All the time. 

Julie: Naturally. So at least the auditioning easy?

It was a trick question. I knew the answer because I too was a theater kid. In college, I auditioned for the musical Fiddler on The Roof, to be near my thespian boyfriend. The audition required singing, but I don’t sing. So I cleverly chose one of those “talky” songs to hide my knee-buckling fear of solos. A minute in, it all fell apart. My voice cracked as jittery words went faster than the track and immediately sweat and tears swelled. The judges gave that helpless “smile nod” to avoid eye contact. The things we do for love.

“You get used to it after a while, but it’s hard not to compare,” says Alexandra. You learn to keep a congrats face on. After all, you can practice, but some just have raw talent.” She’s describing that terrible moment during an audition when everyone seems to be doing great but you’re falling apart in front of everyone. 

Alexandra has a disarming smile and a bubbly high pitched laugh, but underneath the impossibly white teeth and curly blonde hair there’s a hint of steel. An edge she doesn’t quite hide. I wonder if the mechanics of theater has hardened her in ways normal girls aren’t. The grueling trying outs, of making herself vulnerable on cue, submitting to criticism with a smile and then waiting to be selected seems to have built some unnatural grit. 

I’d felt that audition pain before. Many times I’d think that I totally nailed an audition. Had it in the bag. I’d rush to the posted list, only to read:

“Julie…………Chorus 3”. 

“Chorus 3?” I didn’t even get a name. Downtrodden, wondering what I could have done differently. Maybe I should have thrown in some jazz hands?

Whether it’s auditioning for a scholarship or interviewing for a job, fate in the hands of strangers does something to you. How can an admissions application or a single audition song describe the special person you are?

Alexandra auditioned and applied for multiple music programs in the state, and didn’t make it into a single one. All of the previous experience, practice hours, and childhood dreams seemed to be for nothing. To add insult to injury, her then boyfriend was earnestly welcomed into many music programs with scholarships. Ouch. 

“I felt like God was playing a trick on me”, Alexandra said. “I mean, if He gave me this talent, and I’ve been using it for him in leading youth worship and such, why wouldn’t He allow my talent to be furthered?” 

She had a good point. Didn’t God owe her this? She did everything right. Even had the table of awards to prove it. Didn’t get wasted on the weekends, babysat the youth pastor’s kids, and led youth worship. Why would God allow this rejection?  

Composing Expectations

I think at the root of all heartache is unmet expectations. In other words, we experience our largest disappointments when what we expected to happen doesn’t happen. Nobody is upset they didn’t win the lottery, because no reasonably intelligent person expects to win. But when an Olympic gymnastics team fails to get the gold, the heartache practically oozes through the television. Why? Because the gymnasts gave their entire life for this moment. Since they were toddlers they gave up normal lives, boyfriends, school dances. Heck, they gave up wearing pants. Alexandra had done everything she could think of and still it wasn’t enough to get into her dream school. If she was a C student who spent most of high school smoking weed and watching YouTube, I don’t think a rejection letter from Harvard Law School would rock her world. Many girls I know live this way though. “Can’t break my heart if I never care about anything,” they reason. But Alexandria did care. And rightfully so, she had high expectations. 

I had high expectations too, I grew up doing many things right. I made my parents proud, stayed out of trouble, hung with youth group, won the school awards and scholarships. I’m not bragging here. Being a “good person” and doing the right things didn’t seem that complicated to me. But my expectations were also spiraling out of control. After college I found myself conspiring and crafting my future, whittling it away, then throwing it over God by saying, “Here, make it work. I followed the rules, now can I collect my reward?” I thought that by doing everything right formulated into getting those split-Red Sea miracles. But it doesn’t work like that. You can’t corner God with a transactional mindset because he won’t give you anything that will replace your desire for a relationship with Him. 

The Opus of the Overachiever

One of the most frequently broken verses by overachievers is 1 John 5:21. It says, “Dear children, keep away from anything that might take God’s place in your hearts.” High expectation people read this verse and think, “yeah, like drugs, alcohol, or sex addictions.” But I don’t think that’s a real struggle with most people. Sometimes good things can take God’s place in our hearts. Our gym addictions, fun hobbies, pleasant relationships or even dream universities. I’m not passing judgement here and saying that anyone who doesn’t get what they work for is creating a false idol. But if I’m honest, I know I’ve done it myself. Multiple times throughout my life. And I’ll probably do it more. I’m an overachiever. I like to win. I like awards, trophies, and impossibly big felt walls with hundreds of photos illustrating my accomplishments. And every once in awhile God takes it upon Himself to painfully remind me that he’s just another trophy.

Here’s another thing that most overachievers will reluctantly admit to. It’s never enough. Ask any runner. They’re dreaming of the next marathon. Talk to any author. They’ve got three more book deals lined up after this one finally gets published. There’s nothing wrong with productivity! The key is remembering that these things won’t make me or you permanently happy. You and I have an infinite hunger. And the only way to please an infinite need is with someone infinite. You know what I’m talking about. Doing, making, designing, planting, writing, singing, recording, publishing all of these things feel amazing for a while. But you will eventually feel deep disappointment because nothing except God will ever fulfill your enormous expectations.   

The Melody of Peace

Alexandra got into a great program...eventually. It wasn’t Ivy League, it wasn’t Juilliard, it wasn’t even a full scholarship. But she eventually realized that the school was only a 4-year blip on what she hoped would be a 90-year life. Now, she’s an RA mentoring other students while overwhelmingly excelling in her elementary program with dreams to open her own creative arts school. At a certain point in our conversation we talk about some of the things she likes about her program, classes, teachers, and even a new boyfriend...her lips purse and she gets a far away look in her eyes. It’s almost like I can see her heart rate slow down. The steely look softens as she snaps back from whatever she saw.

Julie: Thinking about someone? (said in my annoying singsong mom voice implying gossip about boys)

Alexandra: Yeah, just how good God is for getting me to this place. 

Good grief. This girl is too good to be true. Then she looks at me and laughs, feeling silly. But I nod and smile back. I know exactly what she meant. At 21 she’s already experienced a number of disappointments and overcome painfully unmet expectations. She knows she’s got more to come, much more. But instead of the angsty teenager, I now see the quiet confidence of an adult woman who put God to the ultimate test; she trusted Him with her future. It’s the one thing we can’t control. What happens next.  And God did not disappoint. She knows that now and it’s changed her entire outlook. 

That’s my hope for you too. That as you run through pain and frustrations and disappointments--and you will--you never let anything take God’s place in your hearts. Whatever it is, you will survive. And once you make it through, you will have earned a valuable gift. That gift is a confidence made of steel from a God made of love.