Drafts of My Heart

Draft 4: The Language of the Quiet Ones

"The Language of the Quiet Ones × The Window of the Soul"

What I've realized in life is this, I'm not the only quiet person.

There are others like me. Maybe even quieter. People who sit in the corners of rooms and observe, people who listen more than they speak, people who feel everything deeply but rarely show it with words. I used to think I was alone in this silence, but I've learned we're everywhere...soft souls in a loud world.

For someone like me, silence has never been empty. It's full of detail, meaning, and emotion. Observing became the most natural and comforting thing I do. I've come to love the language that doesn't need to be spoken. Body language often says what mouths are too scared to admit. A shifting posture, a nervous hand, a sudden glance away, they all speak.

But my favorite part? The eyes.

The eyes, I believe, are the truest windows of the soul.

When I look into someone's eyes, I see more than just color. I see stories. Emotions. Pain. Hope. Even when someone says, "I'm okay," their eyes may quietly whisper, "I'm tired," or "Please see me." A blank stare isn't always empty. Sometimes, it's full of words that never made it out.

There's a certain kind of connection that happens when quiet people notice each other. I think we recognize one another, not just through conversation, but through presence. Through the way we sit, how we listen, the slight tilt of the head, or the softness of a smile. We speak in small gestures like an encouraging nod, a hand placed gently on someone's arm, a smile that reaches the eyes.

When I'm around someone like me, I become even more intentional with how I communicate. I give more nonverbal cues, leaning in to show I'm listening, smiling with my eyes to say "I'm glad you're here," or using small acts of kindness as a way of saying "You matter to me." Because I know they're reading me too. I know they're noticing the things that go unnoticed by most.

One of the quietest gifts we carry is this ability to see past surface-level moments. We notice what's behind the words. We feel the disconnect between what someone says and what they actually mean. We trace patterns in people, the way they speak when they're nervous, the things they do when they're hurting. We feel it before it's ever said.

That's the power of silence.
It listens deeper.
It sees clearer.
It understands without demanding explanations.

My quietness has helped me understand people more and not less. Because I've learned that communication doesn't begin and end with speech. Some of the most powerful things are said in complete silence. A tear rolling down someone's cheek. A smile that flickers for just a second. The way someone avoids your gaze or holds it just a little longer.

Words are powerful, yes. But silence holds its own language, and for people like me, it's where we've always felt most at home.

Quietness gives us the ability to see beneath the surface. We recognize patterns most don't notice, how someone repeats a phrase when they're unsure, how their tone shifts when they talk about someone they miss. We connect dots others don't even realize are there. That's not just being observant...that's emotional intelligence. That's compassion.

But the world doesn't always see it that way. Sometimes, people mistake quietness for weakness. They think being soft-spoken means you have nothing to say. But they don't realize how much strength it takes to feel deeply and stay grounded. How much grace it takes to understand others in silence, and still choose kindness over needing to be heard.

This is something I've learned not just through experience, but through Jesus.

Jesus wasn't loud to be powerful. He wasn't showy to be known.

He often withdrew from the crowds to pray in silence. He met people in quiet moments, at a well, on a boat, beside a tree. He noticed the ones others overlooked. He listened before He spoke. He saw hearts without demanding explanations.

When the woman with the issue of blood touched the hem of His garment, He didn't shout. He turned and looked. His eyes met hers. And she knew, she was seen.

When Peter denied Him three times, Jesus didn't rebuke him with angry words. The Gospel of Luke tells us Jesus looked at Peter. Just one look and Peter remembered everything.

That's the kind of presence I long to carry. Quiet, but full of understanding.

Jesus wasn't silent because He was weak. He was silent because He didn't need to prove anything. He understood the power of presence. The healing found in being seen. The love in simply staying near.

That's why I no longer see my quietness as a flaw.

It's a reflection of the One who made me.
A quiet heart that listens deeply.
Eyes that notice the overlooked.
A spirit that speaks softly but carries love with intention.