I Need the Human Touch (and, no, I am not soliciting)
The tiny white threads of surrender fall on me today. I am broken in a way that is hard to define without sounding like a slutty girl Linda. I miss the human touch. I miss all that comes with the human touch. A person that wants to be with you so much that nothing else matters. For many, the act of making love is something that is easily given. For this girl, I am old fashioned and committed to honoring the faith I profess, but I long for any touch.

I didn't grow up in a real touchy feely home. I never felt like I needed to be touched, but I derived great pleasure in holding my baby brother, babysitting, and by being rocked by my grandmother. In high school, I feel to running. The more I ran, the fatigue muted the pain I felt inside and the wanting of feeling like I mattered to someone. While running became about so much more, I would be lying if I said that today the two and a half hour run wasn't a refection of that same teen sentiment.

In my adulthood, I began to realize the power of touch when my oldest son, Patrick, was born. I was a collegiate scholarship athlete who was in a bad marriage. I was on the pill when I got pregnant. I had very mixed feelings about my pregnancy, but that paradigm shifted when Patick was placed into my arms. I never felt such a powerful love and sense of rightness as I did in that moment. I couldn't stop holding him, touching him, and kissing his little bald head. I felt that same pull with Josh, Emily, Alex, and Tiger. Nothing in my life was more important or worth fighting for as much as those five wonderful human beings that I was trusted with. It was natural to rain down love and affection on them because the pull was so deep. As they grew and I returned to work, I would run to the baby room at the child development center every day. I would rock or hold the screaming babies and talk gibberish and sing terribly to them. The touch calmed them as much as it allayed my fear, apprehension, and workaholic tendencies. All people, newborns through the dying eldery person needs to be touched.

With the children grown, and my job involving older children, I feel more alone than I would like to admit. I crave any touch. The newborn baby or a masseuse killing my aching running muscles. While I would like to have the touch of love again, I do not mistake the act for love. I am not willing to cheapen something I hold so dear. My heart may give out the first time I am touched with agape love, but then I would die happy, would I not? I miss what comes with the love shared with a man. I miss the knowing looks, the inside jokes, the desire to want to spend time with someone, and the familiarity of another's body. I am scared to even contemplate this aspect of a relationship. As much as I want and desire touch, when it comes to physical loving in a relationship, that will wait until the emotional and spiritual needs are met. When those sparks ignite and blaze, maybe then. Until then, I may have to run more, get a dog (if only I were not traveling so much this summer), look forward to loving and kissing on my precious baby grandson due in May, and, I think I need to learn to talk to myself. If only I could get used to the quietness of the four walls and the sense of being all alone, I would be fine. God can remove that need, can he not?

With Valentine's Day looming, I retreat. I am lonely and unsure. I am second guessing myself at every corner. I threw up the white flag of retreat and I will sit and watch the tiny shreds of gossamer fall upon the pieces of my heart. I will close my eyes and hide for awhile because while this feeling is so crushing, this too will be compartmentalized and overcome with faith. I do believe. I do trust. I do want.