BY JEAN SHELDON

URING MY SENIOR YEAR OF COLLEGE I was privileged to take a class entitled "Coping With Grief." In it I learned about ways in which processing through the stages of grief allows healing. One of the keys to working through one's grief is allowing oneself to grieve before the loss occurs, such as when one's elderly parents begin to decline or as an illness becomes terminal. This kind of sorrow is called "anticipatory grief."

Little did I realize then that I also needed to learn about anticipatory joy.

On to Better Things
In 1987 I returned from mission service to begin work on a Ph.D. at the University of California/Berkeley, and the Graduate Theological Union. Expecting to be finished in about three years, at which time I would return to teaching, I was little prepared for the shock that awaited me.

I had decided that New Testament would be my focus; my previous education and personal preparation had all been directed to this goal. Two weeks before classes began my adviser confronted me with the truth: I had signed up for a program that allowed only Old Testament and whose focus was the ancient Near East. I ended up taking doctoral-level biblical Hebrew with minimal preparation in the language. Many of my classmates had spent three to five years in solid Hebrew courses.

In addition to the stress of ill-preparedness, I was forced to immerse myself in a field that I really didn't care for. How well I remember waking up at 2:00 a.m. praying, "God, I can't do this!" There were days when God seemed to lift me up and literally carry me through.

My Ph.D. program consisted of four basic requirements: coursework, languages, comprehensive examinations, and the dissertation. In all, I studied seven languages, but was required to pass four language exams in French, German, Hebrew, and Akkadian.¹ Eight months into the program I ended up having to work full time in order to support myself. As a result, I crawled through my doctorate, failing the German language exam twice, the French and Akkadian language exams once. It took nine years to complete all my language requirements.

During those many evenings of toil--after a long day of brain work--during which I would sit with my language books open, I despaired that I would ever finish my degree; a Ph.D. loomed like a great mountain ahead of me. And I was still at the bottom trying to find a way up. I concluded that I dare not imagine that I would succeed, lest I could not endure failure. Like a robot, I mechanically slogged along, shutting down my creative nature for fear it would get the best of me and force me to retire from the climb.

Because I felt like such a failure and an ignoramus throughout most of my coursework, I came to the place where I agonized with God: "Please, at least help me not to make You look like a fool!" I was very cognizant that I was out of place with my Adventist lifestyle and more conservative beliefs. The last thing I wanted was to encourage the possible perception that Adventists are also backward and stupid, though I had Adventist colleagues in a similar program to mine who were hitting their marks.²

During those long, painful years I would occasionally come across the name of an Adventist colleague somewhere who had reached the status of "candidacy"--meaning they had passed their comprehensive exams and had had their dissertation proposal accepted. To me, that was a pinnacle of my mountain, one I could look at only from a distance and wonder how I would ever reach it.

Friends continually asked me when I would be done, and I would say hopefully, "I think I'll be done in about three years." After about eight years had passed I stopped trying to give anyone a time frame. People eventually stopped asking. Acquaintances of my parents wondered why I even bothered to stay in the program. Even my parents, always my cheering section, at times wondered the same thing.

Eventually, I began passing the language exams and finally came to the point of taking my comprehensives. By this time I was so mentally innervated that I had slid into a deep depression that prevented me from celebrating my success, despite the fact that my adviser referred to my having "passed with distinction."

When I laid out my dissertation proposal to my committee, one member raised serious objections. In his opinion, it was too conservative a position and I shouldn't be allowed to continue. Thanks to my adviser's intervention, I was allowed to proceed and thus obtained the coveted status of candidacy. Little by little, as I worked on my dissertation and was led to make some groundbreaking discoveries on the book of Job, my self-perceptions as stupid and ignorant fell away, and I began to understand something of the divine plan.

My dissertation outline proved to be a daunting 417 pages to write, footnote, and chart, with a bibliography of more than 500 works. Even with summers and two quarters of study leave, it took every bit of my time and energy during three years to finish it. By the end of my last study leave, I began suffering memory problems and a loss of hearing. I was diagnosed with a genetic immunodigestive disorder that explained the intensity of my struggles with my doctoral program. Within a month of my change of diet, my memory and hearing had both greatly improved and my depression had lifted. I worked with greater energy than I'd had before on my dissertation.

So far I had received subtle encouragements from those who chaired my committee, yet I knew one member remained unconvinced, so I refused to think too much about the possibility of success. Besides, I was overwhelmed with teaching responsibilities, a major diet change, the minutiae of my dissertation, and a dying cat, who had waited eight years for the day when I would spend less time with my books and more time with her.³

The Next Big Hurdle
When I drove to Oakland on the morning of the defense, it was a gloriously beautiful day: perfect temperature, blue skies, and a gentle breeze in the air. The setting was also lovely--the house of the disapproving committee member overlooked the East Bay, between San Francisco and Oakland. Because of his recent knee surgery, the committee had decided to meet there for his convenience. Somehow I sensed that God was in charge of everything, and simply waited calmly to see what would happen.

Within an hour it was over. Not only had I passed, but the once reluctant member of the committee had nothing but praise for my dissertation. When I returned from being sent out of the room (a standard procedure at the defense), the chair looked up at me from the University of California form that everyone had signed. "Jean," she said, "if this form had a place on it for distinction, we would have marked it. If it had a place for high distinction, we would have marked that. If it had a place for highest distinction, we would have marked that."

As I walked to my car some minutes later, after the committee had finished discussing where I might publish my dissertation, I checked myself to see how I felt.

Happy? Yes, very pleased with God's work through me. Relieved? Yes, possibly. Excited? A little. Somehow none of those adjectives fit exactly. Perhaps anticlimactic would be better. Still, I celebrated as I used my free wireless minutes to call everyone I could to tell them the good news.

Perhaps I had been in a bit of shock, because while I was talking about it with my neighbor, my body kicked into gear. It was as if it got the message that 15 years of relentless stress, overwork, and fatigue were over. So at 3:00 p.m. I lay down for a nap and slept for two hours, awakening for the first time in 15 years to a feeling of wholeness and utter peace.

Still, I had to make multitudinous changes on my dissertation, since I had not fully completed it at the time of my defense. So for days I still kept plugging away, feeling cheated by the lack of time for celebration. In addition, there were people to invite to the graduation ceremonies, a celebration to plan, and regalia to purchase. I still had no time to think about the word "finish."

Pomp, Ceremony, Celebration
The day for the Graduate Theological Union graduation dawned, and we lined up to march into the chapel. Another Adventist, my friend and colleague Kendra Haloviak, was also receiving her Ph.D. in New Testament and Ethics in the same ceremony.

As the processional began I engaged in conversation with the person next to me, comparing notes about our journeys. Both of us agreed that though we were glad to be done, we could hardly believe it.

As we neared the entrance of the chapel we began to hear sounds of celebration such as I had never heard in my life. The entire audience was on its feet, rhythmically clapping to the music and shouting as the candidates marched in. The excitement and zeal spilled out of the chapel and embraced us. My line partner turned to me. "Oh my," she said, tears coming to her eyes, "I think I'm going to cry. I didn't expect this, and I don't have a tissue with me."

"I know," I said, wondering if I too would break down. "I had no idea there'd be this much emotion."

As I marched down the aisle, I was almost shaking from the enormous sense of victory in the air. Once seated, though, I became more composed and returned to my habitual studiousness, gained from years of effort. I worried that I would forget something in the course of getting my diploma, so I began to memorize the sequence:

Walk up and stand in front of your adviser, bend your knees a little so he can slip the regalia over your head, shake hands with all the dignitaries standing there, receive your diploma.
I prayed I wouldn't get stage fright and forget.

Everything went as planned until my adviser slipped on the regalia. Then I happened to glance toward the door and saw Angel Hernandez and Greg Schneider, two of my highly respected colleagues from Pacific Union College, jumping up and down and waving their congratulations. Their actions took me by such surprise that had my adviser not tugged at my sleeve, I would have forgotten the rest of the procedure.

Life Lessons
I finally finished my 15-year journey up the Everest of my life. And when I got to the top, I was so busy with the toils and tribulations of the trip that I could scarcely enjoy the view.

Why? I had refused to believe at any point along the way that I would make it. I never let myself truly imagine the view I would find, nor did I anticipate the glories that would be revealed from its summit. To this day, I find it difficult to believe that I really earned a Ph.D. It still does not seem entirely real, largely because I did not experience anticipatory joy.

Someday, so we teach and believe, the journey of this life will be over, and we will find eternal rest at heaven's summit. Yet the day has waited long, too long, and we have grown preoccupied with the journey and its hardships. We worry about the lack of peace in the world and in the church. We perplex ourselves about who is right and who is wrong, about who really is Adventist and who is not. We fuss about the rigidity of our standards or the increasing lack of them. We argue over the proper style of worship, who should be in charge, and how we should do church.

To listen to us talk no one would ever dream we were on our way home.

When was the last time we imagined what it will be like to be finished with this life and finally live in a world whose peace and joy will never end? How often have we anticipated joining that vast throng around our gracious God, with all eyes drawn to His compassionate face? How much time do we spend planning what we will do when we get there?

If we do not anticipate our eternal joy when He comes again, will we be able to rejoice fully? If the melodies of heaven do not play in our hearts here, will they be harder to learn there? If God does not become real to us now, will He seem real to us when He comes?

I learned a hard lesson as a result of my lack of faith in God's leading in my life. I learned that a process is only half engaged if I do not anticipate its completion. I learned that life is only half lived if its consummation in God is not believed. I learned that I can celebrate victory only to the extent that I plan on it.

Perhaps it is not enough to casually believe that Jesus will come again. Perhaps we will lose for eternity the ultimate triumph of all that God has done to win us to Himself if we do not experience here and now the joy of His salvation.

What will it be like someday to be lined up in front of the New Jerusalem before the angelic throng standing and chanting their cheers? Will that be the first time we realize that it's finally over? Will we wake up with a start to the shock that our disappointments, illnesses, and tragedies do have an end? Will the finish line rise suddenly up to meet us? Will we be ready to join the celebration in full awareness of our joys? This is our God, we have anticipated this day, we have waited for Him, and He has saved us!

I don't know about you, but I want to be there fully in every way when the celestial orchestra begins to play the victory march, when the universe goes wild with cheering, when all nature pulsates to the rhythm of celebration, when God beams at His children with utter joy, love, and pride--when the saints go marching in.

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¹ An ancient Mesopotamian cuneiform language.
² Notably, Connie and Roy Gane who teach at the Seventh-day Adventist Theological Seminary.
³Foxie did not survive my Joban experience, but succumbed on Good Friday, two weeks before my defense.

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Jean Sheldon is an associate professor of religion at Pacific Union College, in Angwin, California.