There is something interesting about the way we come to know people.

At first, we are curious.

When someone is new to us, we want to hear their stories. We notice the little things. We listen closely. There is a natural curiosity about who they are, what they think, what has shaped them.

But as the years pass, something changes.

Familiarity settles in, and without realizing it, we begin to fill in the blanks ourselves. We think we know what someone is going to say. We know their stories. We remember who they were during certain seasons of their life. Eventually, the picture we have of them can feel so complete that we forget they are still becoming.

I’ve been thinking about this lately because of my writing.

Writing has become one of the places where I get to understand my own thoughts a little better. Sometimes I write about something I have never really said out loud. Sometimes I don’t even realize what I think about something until I begin putting the words down.

And it made me wonder how much of one another we actually know.

Even the people we have loved for years.

Perhaps that is one of the strange things about being human. We can know someone’s story and still not know what is happening in their heart today.

We can remember who they were and miss who they are becoming.

We can love someone deeply and still never think to look a little closer.

Not because we don’t care.

Sometimes we simply assume there is nothing new to discover.

I’ve wondered if that is part of why we so often wish we had known someone better after they are gone.

Suddenly, the things we once overlooked become precious.

A handwritten note.

An old photograph.

Something they wrote.

A story we had heard before but never really listened to.

A little piece of their life that was always there, waiting for us to notice it.

And then we realize how much there was to know.

I think that is what makes loss so painful in a way that has nothing to do with the length of time we knew someone. Sometimes we can spend decades with a person and still leave parts of them undiscovered.

Not because they were hiding.

Because we thought we already knew.

There is something humbling about that realization.

People are much deeper than the versions of them we carry in our memories.

They continue to change. Life continues to speak into them. Experiences leave their marks. Their understanding of God, of themselves, of love, of life can become very different from what it once was.

And unless we remain curious, we can miss all of that.

Maybe knowing someone isn’t something we accomplish once.

Maybe it is something we keep doing.

We keep listening. We keep noticing. We allow the person in front of us to be more than the person we remember.

I’ve come to think that this is one of the quiet ways we love people well.

We don’t assume we know everything about them simply because we have known them for a long time.

We leave room for something new.

We read the words they write. We listen to the thoughts they share. We pay attention to the things that have become important to them, even if they weren’t important before.

We allow ourselves to meet them again.

Because one day, if we are not careful, we may find ourselves wishing we had.

And I would rather know the people I love while they are still here.

Not just the history I have with them.

Not just the version of them I have grown accustomed to.

But the person they are today.

There is still time to discover that person.

And perhaps that is something worth doing while we have the chance.

Have you really looked at your people lately?

Until next time,