I go to church, headphones and sunglasses at the ready. I can’t decide if I like hearing my own voice or not, with the headphones on, but anything beats the band (no pun intended… okay, so, a little pun intended…). Not that the band isn’t delightful, it’s just loud. And so, headphones. Tonight the sermon is about the God of Christmas. I try so hard to focus and process the pastor’s words, but they’re flying around the room at a million miles per hour and I can’t keep up. My brain is singing In Christ Alone, a favorite hymn, with my fingers wiggling the words out into the air.
There is faith, hidden in my fingers.
I’ve been perseverating on Wretches and Jabberers. I cry every few minutes as I watch it. I asked Mom why it’s so emotional for me. My brain is calm, but my eyes keep crying. Is it because I have an arthritis fever? Is it because of my ear being infected? Is it a med issue? Or is it just… expected? Unable to type about it and process it because my computer is playing the film, my eyes continue to cry.
But there is emotion, hidden in my fingers.
It’s hard to explain my communication ability. If you’re talking about objective information or even personal information which I’ve had the time to process by typing, you might be surprised how well I can speak. Dare I say, almost typically? That might be a stretch; I’m not sure. But, sometimes I don’t feel atypical when I speak. If I haven’t previously analyzed the subject matter by typing, or in any situation with more than one other person, I tend to be very quiet. Quiet, that is, until the emotion which I cannot process becomes overwhelming, and I scream and cry and growl. This is no rare occurrence. Then, of course, there are the times that I am completely nonverbal.
Regardless, there are words, hidden in my fingers.
I often don’t appear that I’m paying attention. And, truth be told, sometimes I can’t make sense of the world around me. I tend to pick out bits and pieces and string them together in such a way so as to make sense to me, but your original meaning might get lost in my stringing.
There is always intelligence, hidden in my fingers.
I never knew I appeared cold and emotionless, especially toward others. Apparently, my inability to engage in small talk comes across to the world as being uncaring. The truth couldn’t be further form this. Sometimes, I care so deeply that I can’t even look at a person. Verbally, I might show love by repeating myself or saying “hi” a hundred times. I can’t ask how are you, and I can rarely say I love you to other people… and so, I say hi.
But if you listen, there is love and compassion, hidden in my fingers.
I don’t process much when I’m not typing. Often, I feel like I am at the whim of my emotions, which make no sense to me. I’m crying. But am I said? What caused the tears? I can’t say, because I don’t know. A whole day’s happenings build up inside me, and they need a way out, but without my laptop (my iPod is good for basic communication, but I am less than eloquent on it), I am unable to understand the world.
There is ability, hidden in my fingers.
Though my voice
Does not have the words
To strike up a conversation,
My fingers hide friendship.
Though my ears
Do not hear,
So that I can make sense of the world,
My fingers listen so that I can understand.
Though my eyes dart back and forth
Rarely pausing to meet yours,
My fingers can see within,
And know a person’s heart.
Though I might never
Ask you how you’re doing today,
If you type to me,
My fingers will join you
In both the good and the bad.
Though you would not expect,
From such a quiet girl,
The hope and dreams
To change the world
I will do just that,
From behind my keyboard,
With my fingers.