When I was teaching full-time, over the years I had hundreds of students come for office hours just to off-gas about the mess they were wading through. After early missteps, I learned that as a low-power representative of an institution, my real job wasn’t to fix anything. It was to witness—to give full attention—to walk beside that fellow soul and acknowledge their pain.

There were students getting kicked out of their homes for being gay, students trying to finish degrees while holding down multiple jobs, students in the throes of depression. There were, of course, always students just tired as hell and worried about grades. I had no specialized expertise to offer other than being a human being who could hold space for another. Usually they’d talk until they were emptied out a bit, and then we’d just sit there with whatever truth had surfaced.

I’d tell them plainly thatthe weight they were bearing was heavy. Above all, I ratified their experience. And if they were open to hearing it, I’d go ahead and share some things I’d observed about them.

“You’re going through a lot, but it has never stopped you from being a voice of reason in critique…” “You figured out how to navigate a design app, even with your dyslexia!”

Those small, honest reflections of their observable, provable traction in the world—of the fact that they were still moving under their terrible weight—it seemed to give them a moment of light. From there, we could usually talk about some next steps, maybe even a plan. Nobody left my office feeling like they’d been talking to a wall, and some even left with a path forward.

I came later to realize that this was my first inroad to actual ministry—that soft skill of making sure someone is not alone in the face of a worldly worry. Having company is the base unit of God’s love.

It was a delicate moment to keep alive, and I would often blow it by offering advice when no one asked for it. I would start diagnosing when I had no real grasp on the situation. I would sit in my position in my life and, as an observer, speak as if I were clinging to the same internal cliff that they were on. And this was when I meant so well! It wasn’t cruelty on my part—it was the urge to quickly ease someone’s pain, to help as swiftly as possible. It was taking on too much, and I had to forgive myself for all that. I tried to do better over the years for all of my students.

Lately, I’ve been working hard to build a financial cushion for when I might attend seminary. It hasn’t happened yet. Despite the coordination and effort of my wife and I, people just aren’t hiring graphic designers like they used to. The segment of the world that I serve is under direct attack from many different sides, so it’s hard.

Yesterday, after weeks of working before and after my day job and getting all worked up and not breathing, I spoke from my unprocessed anxiety in a setting where it wasn’t productive to do so.

It wasn’t the time, it wasn’t the place. I know better. I have the tools, I just forgot to use them.

So today I’m remembering. I am forgiving myself.

On the one hand, no one has to ever solve someone else’s problems when people just need to be heard—when they just need to let it out. Listening itself is deep compassion. Bearing witness and walking alongside someone is part of God’s love—a massive part. And needing witness is not a weakness or a defect. It is the beginning of finding the next moment of light.

I am granting myself that moment of light today, and I am wishing light for you as well.

God bless you and keep you.

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