Several weeks ago, one of my students asked if they could meet with me during my office hours. I’m the Religious Studies Teacher and serve as Chaplain at my school, so something like this wouldn’t be out of the blue. I had noticed this student being particularly low around this time. They usually skip down the hall, joke with friends, and go out of their way to say “Hi” to everyone. But, something was going on.
When they came for office hours and immediately broke down. It wasn’t about grades. Nothing was happening in the friend group and nobody said anything hurtful. It wasn’t about their parents or siblings.
This student missed their grandfather.
He had passed much earlier in the school year and it was still so hard. The pain and loss of a loved one has no boundaries. They missed their grandfather terribly. And the worst part, from my point of view, was that they now started to worry about the rest of their grandparents.
Childhood is so quick. The process of becoming a human is difficult to navigate. Experiencing the absolutes of life as a child arrives as a heavy burden. The space we have to explore all of this and more as a child fosters the lasting habits and responses as an adult.
At the end of the meeting my student said, “When I young, all I had to worry about was learning how to balance on my bike. Now I have to worry about so many more things.”
There’s a bit of truth to that, right?
In Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Newt Scamander said “worrying means you suffer twice.”
I worry. I worry about a lot of things. I worry about people I love and my friends. I worry about work and my students. I worry about the future and the mystery it holds. I worry about the end of my life. I worry about love and loss. I worry about having and not having enough.
I have suffered twice.
Through years of exploring why I worry and many hours in therapy, I’ve come to realization that my worry all comes from my lack of control. Many things in my life haven’t gone the way I thought that they would go. The worry I once had about much of the way my life has gone is void and was never needed. Though, in the moments I thought I needed to worry I believe it was going to help.
That’s the problem, it’s never helpful.
This is Week 5 in Lent. How are you helping your congregation worry less? How are you encouraging your students to focus on today and not worry about the end of the school year? How are you helping those around you be present?
As you start your week, I challenge you to think about all the things that you worry about. Think about why you worry about all the things on that list. What are a couple of items you can release and not worry about?
This week, reflect on why you worry.
I’ll provide more observations about worry on Thursday. See you then.
I don't claim to know everything or get everything right. What I do have is a desire to create space for meaningful reflection. Because sometimes the most illuminating insights come from the most unexpected sources – even observations from a nobody.
Much grace and peace,
Andrew – a nobody.