Worry is a driving force in my life. If I’m running an event, planning a project, or even just thinking about the future, I worry. I harness that worry, thet stress, and make things happen. If I’m stressing about something not happening, I touch base with people, double check details, and make sure it happens.

But at the minute, there is a lot of untamed worry about. I’ve not needed this blog for a long time. It’s like a little social panacea, topping up my life when my social levels are too low. I can’t remember the last time I thought my social levels were too low. Because I have gaming groups, church meals, services, and an incredibly socially rewarding job all to hand.

Until Tuesday.

On Tuesday, I had to close two face to face gaming sessions, for the interim, at least. I had to write out to the people in the church group I run and say that we couldn’t meet this month, and do so with the knowledge that this means the group will probably be shut down until early October. I watched, with an increasing feeling of helplessness, as cancellations of groups, concerts, and events poured into the office.

And at the end of the day, a friend asked how I was, and I all but burst into tears. Because everything was going wrong, and there was nothing I could do to make it right, no way to ride that wave of stress to a solution.

Someone said to me “You have to look at the positives…”

IT’s a banal piece of wisdom, and very difficult in the current shitstorm of everything. But I stopped, I breathed, and I looked at what I can do. My projects that have been in the preparation stages for the last few months are actually more needed than ever. Work on livestreaming means that people who are stuck in their homes can feel some connection with their home church. The ubiquity and ease of use of mobile phones means that we can ask readers and intercessors to record themselves reading and send it in, to add it to the livestream. All of which helps to keep our little family together.

I have an unusual job. Part IT person, part caretaker, part events manager, and at the minute mostly handwash monitor. I don’t have the luxury of working at home. I can’t bring the church building home with me. And while a mass of cancellations have washed in, we still house lifeline services. Services to help with homelessness or addiction meet in our walls. Which means I don’t have the luxury of self isolation. It also means that I know I have a job and that that job is safe.

Unlike thousands of people in the hospitality industry. I’ve reached out to my close friends in bars and restaurants, who I know are going to feel this crisis far more than many, to at least offer a meal. A space to sit and chat. Something, anything to beat the soul destroying properties of isolation.

There are little things that everyone can do. In small ways, we can help our friends and families through. It’s not going to be easy, and it’s going to be dark. But you can do only what you can do.