When we are with people who are grieving or suffering, we may feel need to fill the awkwardness of the occasion with words. Not to say something, we fear, is to let them down. We may even find ourselves avoiding the bereaved because we're afraid we won't know what to say.

Author Joe Bayly, who lost three sons through death, described two examples of comfort he had received during his deepest grief: "Someone came and talked to me of God's dealings, of why it happened, of hope beyond the grave. He talked constantly and said things I knew were true. I was unmoved, except to wish he'd go away. He finally did.

"Another came and sat beside me. He didn't talk. He didn't ask questions. He just sat beside me for an hour and more, listened when I said something, answered briefly, prayed simply, left. I was moved. I was comforted. I hated to see him go."

Job experienced similar emotions. In his grief, he too had craved silent support from his friends. He cried out, "Oh, that you wouldn't be silent, and it would be your wisdom!" Instead, he was worn down by their many words.

The next time you're with people who are grieving, allow your presence to be their comfort. A well-timed silence is more eloquent than wor