How We Got From 5,300 Colleges to One

The moment we'd been waiting for arrived when we least expected it--and not at all how I imagined. 

Since September, every Thursday has been "HER Day" at our house for Hannah, Egla, and Ryley (aka H.E.R.). It's the designated day where these three besties try to cram a week's worth of missed in-person socialization into 8-10 hours. I'm eternally thankful that the other girls' families have been as dedicated to it as we; Ryley looks forward to it all week. They sprawl out all over our living room and attend classes on their laptops--separately but together. Then, around lunchtime they'll head to the thrift store or to get boba or to meet another friend for pho, then come back home for more online classes, movies, and general shenanigans.

Anyway, so it was HER Day, and they had just finished gallivanting around Aurora, getting a haircut, and hanging out in Barnes & Noble. Around 6 p.m., just as the sky was getting dark, Ryan and I came home to see police officers sneaking up on the house across the street from us. There's always been drama going down over there, and we have watched many a transaction transpire over the years. (In the week since, they've been evicted! Story for another time). So, of course, we assumed our nosy neighbor routine; we went inside, turned off the lights, opened the front window, and called the girls up to watch.

We were all squished up by the window in the dark, whispering, and trying hard to make out what was being said, but the situation fizzled, ending peacefully. I leaned back on the sofa, and absentmindedly, I opened my phone and clicked on my email. At the top of my inbox was an email from Baylor University:

"We have a special message for you!" it read.

I swiped to open: "Log in to your goBaylor account to see a special message from Baylor regarding your application status."

I could feel the rush of adrenaline. Ryley and her friends were still gathered on the carpet, chatting a mile a minute. 

One of the biggest frustrations about digital college admissions is that Ryley alone has the login info to her multiple accounts, so we're dependent upon her for updates. 

"Ryley, check your email," I urged, my voice shaking.

She pulled out her phone, took a look, and jumped to her feet to go get her laptop. And then the laptop was almost dead so she had to find her charge cord. And then we had to wait for it to boot up. You know how it goes. 

Meanwhile, H&E had gone back down to the family room, and because I watch a lot of internet, and Baylor is Ryley's first choice, I readied my phone to record her reaction in a video.

"No, Mom. Don't record, please," she said, while Ryan shook his head and shot me a disapproving glance. 

"Come on, guys. Please?"

"No," she answered firmly.

So the moment will be fixed in the memories of the three of us alone. (Not my fault.)

With Ryan looking over her shoulder, Ryley logged into her Baylor dashboard and was greeted by an animated display of fireworks and the words "Ryley, you're accepted!" It caught her off guard, and she sucked in her breath in excitement. 

"Heeeeey! Congratulations!" Ryan cheered, reaching over to give her a hug and a peck on the cheek.

She beamed, and we told her again and again how proud we are. After all, Baylor only accepts 45% of applicants, and it's, by far, the most prestigious school she applied to. Her friends were there to celebrate too, and after they left, she called her grandparents, who were possibly even more proud and excited than we. 😉

***

Now that all of the acceptance letters had arrived, I was suddenly hit with an unexpected worry: how she'd be able to pay for any college at all. 

We'd been working diligently toward the goal of getting into colleges for so long ... The applications alone had been such a chore. And then the visits. And then the long wait for admissions letters. We hadn't wanted to put the cart before the horse. But now it was time to think about the money.

Anxiety over money (or lack thereof) used to plague me constantly. But in recent years, I've been fairly free of worry in general. I've gained new confidence in the fact that God always takes care of us and that there's nothing that my anxiety can do to change the situation. I've seen Him work things out in our lives again and again and again. Now, though, I felt that familiar darkness come rushing back and a rock forming in the pit of my stomach.

Ryley is super-bright, and we are thankful that she's been offered generous academic scholarships at every college. But these days, unless you're extremely, extremely gifted (we're talking crazy-smart), the much-talked-about "full ride" doesn't seem to exist. And each school has its own special scholarship program that you have to apply for separately--a program that, if you're accepted to, will require interviews and a much higher level of finesse under pressure just for the privilege of competing for scholarships. 

Ryley was accepted to Seattle Pacific's scholarship competition and went through that whole process in January--virtual interview, virtual lecture with panel discussion, etc. But she hadn't yet heard back.

So what about the kids that are just of average grades? Are their parents millionaires? One school quoted that Ryan and I would have to pay $2200 a month (after her scholarship was applied) if she didn't want to take out loans. Um, WHAT???

We're not against loans. But we are, I believe, against $100,000+ in loans! 

Ryley had been awarded a generous merit scholarship with her Baylor admission, but the remaining amount still seemed insurmountable. So we prayed for a miracle.

***

The process of choosing a college is overwhelming. There are 5,300 colleges in the nation, and some, of course, aren't an option. But what if you overlook a good, viable option by accident? 

Three years ago, we started attending college fairs with Ryley. Approximately 160 colleges were represented, each with their own booth. We went up and down the aisles, trying not to make eye contact with the reps for "lame" colleges, and waiting in line for the chance to talk to someone at the "cool" colleges. Ryley was drawn to nearly any school in the Northwest ... George Fox University and Seattle Pacific were two favorites. But I remember her having a particular attachment to a tiny college in Alaska and then another one in Hawaii. She spent lots of time letting those reps talk her ear off about their offerings while she imagined her new parent-free life outside the continental U.S.

"Um, no," I said. "You're not going to a school in Alaska that only has an enrollment of 300 students. That's a waste of time and money."

I might be a bit opinionated.

But then, for the next three years, our mailbox and email inboxes overflowed with information from colleges we've never heard of -- Knox College, Willamette University, Hofstra University, Sierra Nevada University, Dixie State University in, um ... Utah? I'd stack mailers on the stairs for her to take up next time she went to her room; but they sat and sat until I threw them away. 

With thousands of colleges across the nation, how do you ever narrow it down to a handful--and then to one? What if a wonderful future awaits Ryley at Hofstra? What if throwing away their brochure is limiting all the possibilities? 

Two things were for certain--Ryley was wholly against any school that was a "college" and not a "university," and she would refuse to look at anything in the entire state of Texas.

Last spring, I convinced her to go to an overnight college visit at Ryan's and my alma mater in Tulsa. She was painfully clear that she would not be attending ORU, but we told her we just wanted her to see what our college experience was like. She agreed to it, but she had a bit of an attitude the whole weekend.

We had planned to visit more colleges in the summer between her junior and senior years, but the pandemic nixed that idea. So, then came September ... and then October. 

"Apply by November 1 for a decision by winter break!" most schools advertised.

But getting our girl to apply anywhere? Not easy.

Ryley has a tendency to ignore and procrastinate when it comes to stuff like this. Deep down, she's a little anxious and sad about the impending life changes, so she pushes it out of her mind as long as she can. Thankfully, Colorado's Free Application Day in mid-October was a good incentive for her to at least apply to the colleges in our state. Even then, she stubbornly refused to apply to a few that I suggested.

One decision we made early on was to eliminate any state colleges that weren't in Colorado. Why should she go to a state college in, say, Kansas or Nebraska, when she could get the equivalent education in Colorado for in-state tuition prices? I don't know if that was good logic. But we had to start eliminating somewhere.

Meanwhile, I reached out to an acquaintance who happens to be a guidance counselor. She gave us a list of suggestions of respected Christian colleges that offered linguistics (Ryley's field of interest), which was a great starting point. Honestly, Ryley wasn't wild about going to a specifically Christian college (not for any other reason than the fact that she likes to be different). But she did her due diligence and researched them. Then, before she actually applied, she narrowed it down even further. She wasn't interested in anything in California, and other than the University of Chicago, she really wasn't wild about any of the options in Illinois (and there were several). At her core, she still liked Seattle Pacific the best.

My mom mentioned Baylor, which had also been on our friend's list. It has a widely respected linguistics program and would only be 1.5 hours from my parents. Plus, it's pretty prestigious, as colleges go.

"I'm not going to Texas," Ryley reiterated. "I'm not. I hate Texas. It's hot; it's humid; it has big bugs. And I hate that 'Texas state pride.'"

Regardless, I contacted Baylor to see if they were doing in-person tours over the Thanksgiving week when we would be in Dallas. They were. I figured, at the very least, it would be another college campus for Ryley to see.

Sometimes my decisions aren't popular with Ryley.

The tour, however, was really impressive. Ryan was sold right away. Baylor has a high level of excitement and energy on its campus, and it operates like a well-oiled machine. Ryley got a free t-shirt, and we were all given free BU masks. We rode on a shuttle around the sprawling grounds, hopping off and on as our guide directed. Ryley barely said a word, except for when our tour guide showed us the bear exhibit. I think she may have cracked a small smile. Later, she made us go back and look at the bear enclosure up-close. :-)

Over the years, I've learned that Ryley needs time to process every experience before she's ready to talk about it. And if we badger her about something, she'll just dig her heels in against it. So we can't push. We have to wait. 

But based on the dismissive attitude I was picking up during our tour, Baylor was not an option. After all, it was in Texas, and her heart was in Seattle.

That night, she got on the phone with her friend Hannah, and they started making plans to visit Seattle Pacific, where they had both applied. They were ready to book their tickets right then and there. I was so frustrated. She was already moving on, and Baylor wasn't even cold in its grave! Looking back, I think seeing a college campus had just inspired her, and she was anxious to visit the others on her list. 

Even so, Baylor percolated in the back of her mind, and about a week after we got back, Ryley decided to apply there just in case. I should never underestimate what's really going on in her head. She thinks deeply about things and holds her cards close to her chest.

We did visit Seattle Pacific in January. But a funny thing happened. While Ryley had had this "image" of SPU on the brain during her entire visit to Baylor, she couldn't get Baylor out of her head the entire time we were at SPU. It was a small and sweet campus--pretty, and built on the side of a hill. But it was painfully quiet. We only saw a handful of students while we were doing our self-guided tour, whereas Baylor's campus had been bustling with activity. That had a big impact on Ryley.

Also, I think SPU has a great marketing department. I had looked at going there 25 years ago, and the picture I had formed in my head was vastly different from reality. We were all disappointed.

Sometime in January, she heard from the University of Colorado--she was being offered admission to their honors program along with a nice scholarship. It lurked as a backup option--a safety net in case nothing else worked out. The offer of the honors program would also give her a place in the honors dorm, which made me feel immediately better about her going to a school with a party reputation.

Meanwhile, for one reason or another, she was crossing other colleges she had been accepted to off her list. Ryan and I began to wonder if there was anywhere else she should apply, since February 1 was most schools' application deadline. But she insisted she was happy with her three choices.

However it happened, somehow we'd managed to weed through thousands of colleges and narrow it down to three.

***

While we waited and waited for Baylor's acceptance letter, Ryley had pretty much decided that--should she be accepted--that's where she wanted to go. She told us she didn't feel good about CU's party school atmosphere, and though she liked SPU, it just didn't feel right either. 

Even though it was in Texas, Baylor was the kind of college experience she was looking for. She could deal with the heat and humidity and "Texas state pride" for a few years, for the sake of a quality education from a respected institution. And she could still come home to Colorado.

Then, within a span of four days:

• She received her acceptance letter and a scholarship to Baylor
• She received a rejection letter from the full-ride scholarship competition at Seattle Pacific
• She heard that a party at CU turned into a riot with students attacking cops

It couldn't have been more clear to her, she said--except for the fact that Baylor was still really expensive. We resigned ourselves to the fact that, over spring break, Ryley would need to apply for every single outside scholarship that she could--and that if God wanted her to go there, He would need to perform a miracle before the registration deadline of May 1.

We have a spreadsheet of outside scholarships for her to apply to; the disheartening thing is that she won't hear if she's won any of them before the deadline. So, then, do we let her commit on May 1 and pay her deposit without knowing how she's going to swing it financially?

No, God would have to make it really clear before then. We kept praying and giving the situation back to Him. 

I emailed the admissions counselor and asked if Ryley took the SAT one more time and improved her score, would it qualify her for any more scholarships. She wrote back that SAT/ACT scores (Ryley took them 4 times, mind you) weren't even considered this year, due to COVID. Scholarships were awarded based on grades. 

Another couple of days went by. There had been an issue with our FAFSA information, which made me nervous.

My imagination always goes wild:

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Moore, we've never seen anything like your finances. We're gonna have to rescind Ryley's admission."

I kept trying to remind myself that there is nothing so odd about our financial situation that it would keep them from processing her financial aid package.

Thankfully, Ryan looked into it, and it was an easy fix.

Then, it happened. The official Baylor financial aid package arrived, and Ryley had qualified for a second scholarship that was even bigger than the first! Suddenly the price of Baylor (while still requiring some loans) was much more do-able. In fact, it was more affordable than SPU. 

It was a miracle. No other word for it. God had answered our prayers.

Ryley came and showed me the financial aid package, and I hugged her, tears streaming down my cheeks. 

"Oh, Mom. Are you crying? It's okay," she said.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm crying because I'm overwhelmed at God's goodness and love. We didn't even know this scholarship existed!"

We called Ryan at work and shared the exciting news with him. 

And that's how we got from 5,300 colleges, to one. And wouldn't you know it? It's smackdab in the middle of Texas. ;-)

Never underestimate what God can do.

The Runaway Train

This is, undoubtedly, a unique time in our lives—a suspenseful and eventful chapter in our story.

And as someone who so faithfully chronicled my daughter’s early childhood on this very blog, I feel a nagging sense of guilt for staying quiet now.

This is it—this is the final stretch that we’ve been dreading since the moment our precious baby Ryley entered the world. We’re standing on the caboose of a runaway train, watching the looming canyon grow closer and closer, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. We can try to sneak in last-minute life lessons here and there, or say, "Hey, have we ever taught you how to (fill-in-the-blank)," but at this point, it kind of feels too late. It’s in God’s hands now. When the train hits the cliff, she’ll sail into her future—protected by Him alone.

The thickening plot in Ryley’s life story is not unlike a "Choose Your Own Adventure" book: all the other plot points to come and all the characters she will meet are hinged upon some pretty big choices she's making right now. Will she do her virtual homework or not? Will she waste her asynchronous class time on TikTok or will she apply for scholarships? Will she go to college? If so, will it be in Seattle? Will it be in Texas? Will it be 45 minutes from home? What will her future be? I wonder ...

I’ve always taken great consolation in my ability to express myself through writing. But over the last few months, I’ve had nothing. Just overwhelming awe and pride at her beautiful spirit—mixed with fear about how she’ll ever hear her alarm clock go off without us. Ryan is convinced we’ll need to live within 10 minutes of her college so that we can drive her to class or work while she ties her shoes and applies her makeup in the front seat. 😉

This indecision about college and the anxiety surrounding where she’s going to be in six months is beyond my brain capacity. Our entire household feels on edge. I'm coining the term "virtual senioritis" to describe her mental state. My emotions vacillate from one minute to the next: viewing her as a competent almost-adult, yet still seeing my sweet baby ... feeling excitement for her, yet feeling extreme sadness for me. I don’t think there was a day in January or February that Ryan or Ryley didn’t barge into my home office and see mascara running down my face.

When she told me she wanted to stay home and go to a state school here in Colorado, I knew she was saying it out of fear of going far away. I responded, “If that’s where God wants you to go, that’s fine. But don’t make that decision because you’re afraid of going out of state. Don’t make a decision based on fear.” And I thought, What am I doing? She just said she wants to stay close to you! Why are you telling her to go?

Because I’m almost 100-percent certain it's the right thing for her—to forge her own path.

I told her months ago that, though it was hard to see it then, at some point she would just know where she should go. Just like every other decision in our lives, God would make it clear, and He would give her peace. And now, she feels a strong pull toward a college that wasn’t even on her radar before November, and we wait (quite impatiently) for that coveted acceptance letter. The anticipation and anxiety can make you crazy, and everything is made even more complicated by the pandemic and the uncertainty of whether classes will be held in person. It’s hard to plan even the basics of your future when the very fabric of normal life itself seems to have unraveled.

After the sounds of her various Ryley-noises have bounced off our walls for almost 18 years … after she’s literally filled every square inch of our home with her personality, her hair, her boundless energy, her love … How the heck are we supposed to live without her? How is Ryan supposed to teach at the school without her poking her head in his classroom and dumping her heavy backpack on a desk before flitting off to after-school activities? How are we supposed to fill our evenings? Will we even remember to eat?

The truth is, we’ve been empty-nesting for some time now. When she got her driver’s license 18 months ago, a friend told me that this is when it starts. She’s already been creating a life for herself at work, in her youth group, with her friends. But always, after being away for a few hours, she comes home—and tells us all about it, leaving a trail of her belongings from the front door all the way down to the family room (while often bearing Starbucks drinks for her dear ma and pa). Soon, she won’t. Maybe she’ll text us. If we’re lucky, she’ll call. It will be a quiet existence, I think. Maybe we’ll pursue some of our budding hobbies—gardening for me and a forge for Ryan. More reading, perhaps. More travel. Whatever this new existence looks like, it will definitely have less of the physical presence of Ryley. And that makes me sad.

Just like I did when I was pregnant and scared to death of childbirth, sometimes I have to remind myself of where I fit in the big picture. Every human being on the planet is the result of a pregnancy and childbirth. I convinced myself 18 years ago that if billions of women could give birth, I could do it, too. In the same way, I realize that every adult on the planet (well, all adults living on their own, anyway) had to grow up and leave their parents behind at some point. I did it. Ryan did it. Our parents did it. Of course we’re not so self-involved to think that what we’re going through is anything new.

It’s the natural order of things—the circle of life.

“I just can’t believe we’re at the end,” Ryan said in the midst of a somewhat emotional talk he and I had one evening.

Oh—not the end of our parenting, of course. Just the end of the "day-to-day." The end of her childhood—which, my goodness, has been a lot of fun.

Truthfully, we want her to go and be all the things she wants to be and do all the things she wants to do. Nothing would make us prouder than having raised her to be self-sustaining, self-sufficient, and confident. But I also remember how after my first semester at college, I returned home for Christmas, and everything felt different. Because I was different. That knowledge creeps around in my head, reminding me that even when she comes home, it won't be the same.

Part of me wants to just soak up this precious remaining time and not worry about finding words for it. But I know, deep-down, that I have to write it. This is how I process my deepest feelings and come to terms with them. It’s just me and my emotions, fighting it out with words. Not even the pandemic affected me enough to inspire me to write about my personal introspection. 

But this? Of all the parts of her story thus far, this is the most important one. This is the part where she flies.

Stay tuned.