No one can read a person as one reads a book. I have three sons and I once thought that after Martin; Mickey and Macky would be just simple copies of Martin. Nothing was farther from the reality. Sure, it is difficult not to see they are my sons; but each one is unique and totally different from the other. Even now, I am learning about them by the day: he who appears the strongest sometimes is the most fragile; behind the jaded and cynical persona (aka, mask) hides the most sensitive soul; the most sensitive and caring one is tested the most in his relationships; the one most craving for attention and affirmation is the most generous one.
The truth is each person is unique. Each person has a story all his own. There will never be another one quite like me. It is amazing that after billions of people who have existed, God has never repeated another one of us. Names may sometimes duplicate but the persons who go by the same name are never duplicates of each other. We are all originals.
Therefore, I should never judge others, nor typecast or box them into categories. I can never fully know their story for each one of us is still busy writing it out. I can never hope much less pretend to full understand another person. I can never truly know their pain and sufferings. I can only share and rejoice with them in their joy and happiness even as I feebly attempt to find out why. Presence, not understanding and much less explaining, is the best gift I can give others.
Then Jesus went home; and the crowd came together again, so that they could not even eat. When his family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, “He has gone out of his mind.” Mark 3:20-21