I wrote this post for part of a gush thread… but due to server problems I couldn’t reply:

I’m very much not the person to express things physically… like
running round madly etc. I’m not a huggy person.

Yes there are many occasions when the situation requires more than words… I guess I just generally tend to empathise differently (although yeah… attempting to speak
someone elses love language is a rewarding thing to do, it’s curious how the
general principles seep into other areas of your life.)
I’m a ‘be there’ person… an ‘advice’ giver (:) words and time). I’ve never been overly good at letting somone cry on shoulder kind of thing, I shy away from it.

I can stand back, see how it works with others. I can understand, because I’ve had brief insights of it in my own life. Generally speaking, physical stuff its not really
my way of expressing how I feel.

Now I don’t know. I wonder if along the way some of that expression of self through ‘physicality’, what? disappeared, or is a lesser known side of myself, even to myself and not one that I excercise frequently.

I have felt the need before.

All I could do then was run. (yeh ok a 12year old’s grief over a pet. still significant)

To scream at the world at God… but that is still using words.

Being keyed into reading body language… maybe it’s more an interpretation of understanding, and adapting to fill that role, to love the person in they way they are loved best. It’s fulfilling. But I don’t know.


how do I express myself?


The Cider House Rules

…I haven’t come away from a movie so quietly disturbed like that for a long time, not since Dead Poets Society.

Are the base layer issues too close to home?
The idea too align with what Mon’s been through… no it wasn’t an option for her, but did the thought cross her mind?

So strange… so rich in symbolism but passive.


a rethink on tolerance, on understanding.

an acknowledgement of my foolishness to ever offer advice.

a warning to not assume the depth of feeling or comprehension.

the importance of life.

no words.

Psalm 139
fearfully and wonderfully made. I know that full well.

who justifies the wrong?
you do.

not angry, just…why?
what’s it like God to know their hurt?


I’m sitting here, the sun is over my paper. The light shows up every slight pit and texture. Is that how it is when you look at me? Your light, your holiness exposes me. What looks smooth – white, ready to fill with words – when under close inspection looks rouch, is marred and dented. I could go on about metaphors – my mind creates them constantly. What do you see when you look at who I am? You know every detail, every smooth, every rough, every covered section. You know what words my choices will write on my life, you know what words I will let you write and those I’ll scrawl in my own impatience.
God you remind me over an dover how you chose me, how you love me. When I went to walk yesterday, to be alone, to even maybe spend some time talking with you – you were reminding me just how much you love me. It was strange but I hardly got a word in edgeways. You slowed me down. It wasn’t an overwhelming sense of anything, it wasn’t audible, it wasn’t filling, crowding my mind. Just a heightened sense of being right where I was, a greater reality. It was an understanding. Your still small voice. You don’t work like we do.
Those words fail to explain it, it wasn’t surprising or magnificent. I felt like me, not anything more.

This is how much you love me. More than experience here will allow me to understand. More than anyone can tell me, stress upon me. More than a walk and a faint idea. More than the words that can be written. More than a touch. More than a smile. Much more.