As I was out walking the other morning, I was thinking about you.

I mean the generic internet you, I suppose, the whole world of people who might read my words (and certainly won’t). But I mostly mean the you who choose to subscribe to what I write and the you who probably don’t read these words but who I think about.

There are a few hundred of you altogether. I know about some of the people who are looking for jobs. Some who just got jobs. The person whose husband died unexpectedly at the beginning of the week. The people whose child started school for the first time, the people whose calling has fallen apart, the people who ae anxious about the people around them. 

Like you, I want to be helpful. 

What I know, though, is that I struggle figuring out how to provide support in group settings. 

When I’m talking to a grieving family, I’m so aware of what this person might need as opposed to what that person might need. A spouse of 50 years is experiencing a different sense of loss than a child of 45 who had a deep and delightful relationship than a child of 40 who has been estranged for a decade than a sibling who is the last remaining member of their generation. All of them hurt, each hurt is different. And what I’d say to one if we could talk alone is different than what I’d say to another. 

And I’m aware of timing. There are things that are True and may not be helpful at the moment. There will be other moments, but not this moment.

So you and I both do what we can. And be grateful that we can talk with God who actually knows and works individually. Even with my words sometimes.

And, as I said in my note the other day, I love you.