If you were an admissions counselor, I would be automatically denied because I failed to post this letter on my usual time on my usual day.
Reason for denial: can’t make deadlines.
If you were an admissions counselor, I’d call your office and you’d answer:
G: “Hello this is Heaven’s Office of Admissions, this is God. How can I help you?”
m: “Hi. My name is m. I can’t tell you how excited I am to be talking to you right now. I’ve wanted nothing more than to go to Heaven since I was a little kid. I have heavenly paraphernalia plastered all over my room, I’m the owner of at least 5 WWJD bracelets, and I have a Jesus fish on my bumper sticker. I’m a diehard Heaven Christians fan!”
G: “Did you just use ‘Christians’ as a mascot?”
m: “Yes. No. Maybe. Yes.”
G: “When would you be looking to start?”
m: “Well, as much as I know I should want to start any time, I’d be okay with pushing it off until it’s the right time to go.”
G: “We do run on a rolling admissions basis.”
G: “For those who qualify.”
G: “What’s your GPA?”
G: “Our baseline is a 4.0.”
G: “Hello? Are you still there?”
m: “Yes, sorry. I just stopped breathing for a second.”
G: “Well don’t do that just yet. We haven’t finished the application process yet.”
m: “Do you make exceptions on a case by case basis at all?”
G: “I’m pulling up your transcripts now and I see you got a D in gym class.”
m: “My sneakers didn’t fit right. My big toe was popping out of the top. It affected my kickball skills.”
G: “You failed home economics.”
m: “The oven temperature was clearly off. And you honestly couldn’t even taste the plastic wrapper in the cake. It melted away because of the excessive heat.”
G: “I’m afraid that given your academic history, you wouldn’t be able to handle the demands of this institution.”
m: “But what if I sent you some references?”
G: “Your mother doesn’t count.”
G: “I’m just checking my e-mail now and I see you sent me your statement of purpose already:
I’m sexting you my statement of porpoises.
Sent from my iPhone”
m: “OH NO!”
G: “Oh yes.”
m: “@#$% auto correct!”
G: “You just swore.”
m: “Oh @#$#@%. I just swore on the phone with God. And @#$% I just did it again.”
G: “I’d like to thank you for your call and for your interest, but I’m afraid we can’t accept you at this time. I do wish you the best in your future endeavors.”
m: “But where else is there?”
G: “The only other option is a program far, far south. I hope you like hot weather.”
Thankfully this is not how you roll. Getting into Heaven is actually easier than getting into Harvard.
Thankfully you are NOT an admissions counselor. And if you were, you would be the worst admissions counselor ever—you let anybody in who believes in your Son.
And you do have unbeatable retention rates.