For some, language is their palette. For others, actions are how they express themselves.

Yesterday I wrote about language, and the invention of new words. As you may have guessed, words seem to be my medium. I have written stories and poetry as far back as I can remember. I have read incessantly since I cracked the alphabet code with Dr. Seuss. I usually have 3-4 books in progress at any given time; I read hardback, paperbacks and digital books with equal commitment and joy. I re-read books like old friends, so I keep a library of favorites handy, and revisit them every few years, which means I may have re-read some books 10-20 times already (or more, I confess). And I love word games like Boggle and Bananagrams and Scrabble and others.

I think out loud. I actually talk through ideas, and narrow down or process things by discussing them verbally. And I use lots of words. I mean, look at the blog entries. I’m not a concise person. So for me, although words are my palette, I can overuse them. I can rely too much on them, and use words, when I need to put my hands and feet to work instead, and follow through on what I just said.

Sometimes I am so busy talking, I’m not listening. I fill up silences, instead of letting them inform me. I create noise, instead of staying inside the quiet moment and learning where it might lead me.

Listening is its own art, and has its own relationship with words, non-words, and what is expressed without language.

Now my husband, Chris, is about as different from me as is possible. He’s a person who observes and listens. He processes information quietly, and puts together the pattern and the dynamics in his head, getting a “big picture” perspective on a situation. When he finally speaks up, usually his words are meaningful and to-the-point.

Although he isn’t usually a man of words, his verbal input carries significant weight. Generally, Chris is a man of action and follow-through. You can see his commitment, compassion and connection in the way he handles a project or pays attention to a person.

He will demonstrate that he’s been paying attention to someone he cares about, because when he makes you a cup of tea, he brings the milk and honey you like to put in it. And he doesn’t just bring the carton of milk and jar of honey. He provides a creamer filled with just enough milk and a dish of your preferred sweetener. Plus he’ll offer the accessories you might need, like the spoon, saucer, tea bag dish and a napkin. And maybe deliver it on a tray.

Chris notices what will make someone happy, and he arranges all of the supporting details so that you don’t necessarily have to ask for anything else. You know, in that moment, that he thought about all of your needs beforehand. And he delivered a complete solution when he prepared the care package for you.

This is a small example, but he’s the kind of guy who packs and carries a bike repair kit in his car, so that if he sees a cyclist broken down on the side of the road, he likely has the tool or gear they need to make a quick fix. He’ll stop and help. And he’s got his bike rack handy, so if he has to give a lift instead, he can do that, too. Plus he’s willing to be available in that way. He wants to help, if he can.

Or when he helps organize a youth group trip? Maps. Lists. Batteries ready. Flashlights. Water bottles. First aid kit. Gear packed and ready. Extra this and that, stowed away for need. He’s prepped and ready to participate, but also to provide support to the whole group.

I would say he’s really a man who speaks through his actions.

Our daughter Sarah? When she was a toddler, I used to think she was “all Chris.” Wired just like him.

Now I realize Sarah’s her own person. She uses language more readily. She’s a gifted writer, though she only uses it as needed, rather than as a preferred art form. She uses language precociously, voluminously, to communicate her wants, needs, and feelings. Her college essay, for instance, was a powerful part of her application process. She paints vividly with words.

Now she uses words that I wouldn’t touch. (At least out loud, where anyonce might hear me.) She’s bold and colorful and dangerous and gifted with language. Unfiltered. And maybe like me, language comes too easily for her, sometimes.

I’m grateful that she has this capacity for self-expression. I think it’s a significant part of who she is: a source of strength, equilibrium, independence, and healing. A way to connect. In other ways, language is how she forges paths toward the woman she’s becoming.

Now there have been a few times in my life, when language failed me. When I knew there wasn’t a word that could bridge a gap that divided me from someone else. When an action – or inaction – on my part had spoken too loudly, and created hurt, there weren’t any words that could mend it. Language actually became an obstacle … a barrier … like trying to put a band-aid on a wound that needed hands-on care instead.

Sometimes words can heal. Serve to create bridges from one shore to another. Or make stepping stones on which we teeter and balance, while we negotiate the journey to safer ground. Sometimes, though, language is the flood tide itself, that rushes up and over people in its path, filling up silence, and hiding underlying actions.

Actions. Words.

There is a message within what our hands and feet accomplish, whether we hold tight or let go, stay put or take the next step. So what our actions say and express? Just as important as what our tongues may tell us, and what our ears might hear.

I honor people who are gifted with words, because words move me. But I also honor the people in my life, and those I have yet to meet, who share themselves by the way they touch the world.