“Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.” — 1 Peter 5:7

I didn’t fully understand that verse until I had a spreadsheet of students, a phone that never stopped buzzing, and a heart that insisted on worrying about all of them at once.

Turns out God wasn’t just talking to people in crisis. He was talking to Dean of Students too.

Somewhere between my third alarm of the morning and my fifth cup of tea, I became a Dean of Students.

No one warns you that the role comes with an invisible clipboard. Suddenly my days had a schedule, and my schedule had me. Wake up. Pray. Plan. Show up. Repeat. I didn’t know discipline could sneak up on a person like that, but three months in, I was a woman who ran her day instead of the other way around. Small miracle, honestly.

Fellowship and Love

Then came the food. Oh, the food. Loving people well apparently comes with snacks, shared meals, and “just one more plate, you’ve earned it.” I added a little weight that season, and I regret nothing. It was fellowship, calories included.

But underneath the schedules and the snacks, something quieter was happening. Loving people stopped being a feeling and became a decision I made every single morning, sometimes before I even felt like it. My heart stretched in ways I didn’t ask for and couldn’t have planned.

When the Phone Goes Silent

And then, the tests. Because every good season has a plot twist.

There’s a particular kind of panic that hits when a student goes quiet, no message, no location, nothing, and you’re the one responsible for their wellbeing. They’re adults, yes. I knew that. My heart, apparently, did not get the memo. I’d sit there running every worst-case scenario, and then do the only thing that actually helped: pray. So I prayed. A lot. For students who were sick. For the ones who couldn’t fully clear their fees and carried that quietly, hoping no one would notice. For outcomes I had zero control over, no matter how many times I refreshed my phone.

Cast all your anxiety…

That’s really the heart of what God taught me that season: I could carry people in prayer without carrying the weight of playing God. Cast the anxiety, the verse says; not manage it quietly in a corner, not carry it until it wears you down, but actually hand it over. I had to learn that on repeat, sometimes several times before breakfast.

I learned to hold my emotions and my responsibilities in the same hand without dropping either, most days, anyway. Resilience wasn’t a personality trait I woke up with; it was built one tough decision at a time, usually decisions I didn’t feel ready to make. There’s no manual for how to comfort a worried parent, correct a student with love instead of judgment, and still show up cheerful the next morning. I learned it in real time, mistakes and all, and God was patient with every clumsy attempt.

Here’s what I know now: I am not the same person who walked into that office. Fears I carried in got conquered somewhere along the way, without me even noticing the exact moment it happened. God was so evidently on my side, in the sleepless worry, in the answered prayers, in the quiet ones who eventually resurfaced safe and sound.

I’m proud of that season. I’m proud of who I became in it. Somewhere along the way, “cast your anxiety on Him” stopped being a verse I’d memorized and became a habit I actually lived, one worried night, one answered prayer, one deep breath at a time.

Take the Clipboard

If you ever get the invisible clipboard handed to you, take it. Say yes before you feel ready, because readiness has a funny way of showing up after you start, not before. It might just be the season you didn’t know you needed too.

Narrated by Grace – Dean of Students, DTA 2026