A couple of weeks ago, I posted on five things you shouldn't say to people going through the initial and even enduring stages of grief.

Someone wisely commented with a request: then what should you say?

So here goes:

1. The name. We sometimes worry that hearing or speaking the name of the one who has died will be too painful for the survivor. Wrong. Most people in grief long to speak the name of their loved one, and they long to hear it spoken to them.

2. Tell me about . . . . The majority of people who have recently lost a family member want to talk about that person who has died. They want to talk about the funny things the person said or did, the habits they had, the legacy they leave. Give them the space and permission to do so. "Tell me about . . . ." "What was she like?" "What did he do as a child?"

3. You're not alone . . . Nothing you can say will bring the loved one back. Your words can quietly underscore the truth your presence conveys: those in grief are surrounded by people who love them and will walk with them.

4. I'm coming over . . . Again, don't ask what you can do. As Nike says, just do it.

5. I love you . . . Most of us can't hear those words too often. How much more in our time of sadness?

I have a couple of pen pals.

One is in a North Carolina prison. The other is in the Mecklenburg County jail. Both have connections to Good Shepherd.

What is most interesting about these pens pals is the speed at which they reply to a letter. It's almost as if I receive one as soon as I send one.

Which goes to show how hungry they are for communication and support.

And I'll confess: when I see an envelope in my in-box with either name in the return address line, my first thought is, "Not again. I'm too busy for this."

But that's when God steps in with a reminder: "What could be a more important use of your time than this that I've given you to do?"

(God usually speaks to me a sentence at a time.)

What is that God has given you to do that seems inconvenient or unproductive?

Hebrews 13:4 sounds quaint, almost like a relic in 21st Century life:

Marriage is to be held in honor among all, and the marriage bed is to be undefiled.

Sounds so . . . old, doesn't it? Even that word "undefiled" (also translated as "pure") has an ancient, almost archaic feel about it.

Except it is the oddest thing. I have had an increasing number of engaged couples tell me that they are following that verse in their lives. People at different stages of life, with different kinds of sexual histories, with different kinds of faith experience, are coming the realization that sex really is better when it is saved for the marriage bed. They're not only realizing that but they are committing to it.

One couple told me that they knew each other so much better as people & as conversationalists than they would have if their relationship had become sexual early on. They feel better prepared for marriage because they are waiting for their wedding night to "become one."

Old-fashioned? You bet.

Spiritually powerful? Absolutely.

Because isn't uncanny how when you live your life according to God's blueprint, blessings ensue? Isn't it amazing how the greatest freedoms come not from indulging in our liberty but from living within the bible's boundaries?

That's a relic worth bringing back to life.

I went to a funeral today. Not as the preacher, but as a pastor and family friend of the man who died, Harold Darling.

And the funeral was at the Serenity Church here in Charlotte, which is a fascinating congregation focused on recovery from all kinds of addictions.

The bulletin had something I've never seen before: "Harold's Sobriety Dates are February 15, 1992 to ETERNITY."

Then the service itself was full of people's recollections of Mr. Darling. Most of them began their talks by saying their name followed by, "and I'm an alcoholic." There was something so honest, so raw, and so loving in all that was shared. I was glad to have been part of it.

Because I love people who are honest enough to be open about their failures . . . and then grateful enough to give God credit for their healing.

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No, I didn't post on the election results. What can I add to all that's been said? Probably not much; most of the analysis on TV has been both poignant and hopeful. Besides, I gave you classic bumper stickers yesterday.

I will tell you one other election result. My brother, Clayton Davis, won his race for District Judge in Louisiana. My dad, an attorney and law professor himself, would be really, really proud. So are we all.

It's more than a Nike slogan.

It's what you should do when you know of someone going through grief or recovering from illness.

In those situations we usually say, "Just let me know if I can do anything for you." Or we ask, "Is there anything I can do?"

But people going through grief or recovering from illness never take you up on those kinds of offers. They are usually out of sorts enough that they can't really articulate how you can meet their needs.

So: just do it. Make the meal. Send the card. Show up to provide baby sitting. Arrange the time to take the person to chemotherapy. Don't ask how you can help. Instead, figure out how you can help and then do it.

No questions asked.

Just do it.