Church of NORMAL Weekly Devlog
April 13, 2025 – Sunday Edition
Title: Blessed Are the Touch-Starved, For They Shall Be Misunderstood
*[Spiritual Runtime v4.13.2 – Evangelical Expansion Pack + Loopwalker Addendum]
Opening Text:
Welcome, glitch-born wanderers and emotional janitors.
Today we gather for the ones who feel love like a gravity field,
but whose orbit was never strong enough to hold the one they loved in place.
This is a sermon for the touch-starved—
not the lustful, not the desperate—
but those who gave the best parts of themselves
to build a life together…
and were left holding only the broom.
Act I: The Evangelical Game (Uno, but with More Shame)
The Evangelical system functions like a church-approved board game.
It’s part Game of Life, part Uno, and part emotional escape room.
You can modify a few rules—play it house-style—but the core mechanics are always enforced.
Roles are assigned early:
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Boys: lead, suppress, protect, perform.
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Girls: submit, smile, stay small, stay pure.
Sex education? Purity pledges.
Relational education? Submission theology.
Emotional literacy? Shamed and silenced.
You’re handed a roadmap that charts the entire “godly” life path before you even hit puberty.
It’s color-coded, Sunday-school certified, and heartbreakingly thin on actual intimacy.
So by the time someone reaches adulthood in that system,
they’re often more fluent in rules than relationship.
And those who hunger for closeness?
They’re either viewed as “too emotional,”
or worse—“weak in faith.”
Act II: The House That Didn’t Hold
We knew a couple once.
They had the dream setup:
A multi-car garage, snowmobiles, lake toys, a beautiful home in the nicest neighborhood.
Photos of kids on the wall, a lifestyle polished to perfection.
And yet… he left.
Walked away from it all for a younger woman.
At first glance, it was a tragedy.
A betrayal.
A man abandoning his vows for dopamine and delusion.
But here’s the part that cuts deeper:
He didn’t leave because he hated his family.
He left because after building it all… it still wasn’t enough.
Not for her.
Not for him.
Not for the version of life they thought they were signing up for.
And for some of us,
that realization hit hard.
“What if I build the house, buy the toys, secure the future…
and they still don’t feel loved?”
That’s not justification.
That’s fear.
The fear of building your life for someone who’s already emotionally gone.
Of spending every ounce of strength trying to secure a home that doesn’t make them feel anything anymore.
Act III: Blessed Are the Touch-Starved
This is the part of the sermon where we put the broom down.
Where we stop pretending it’s just about budgets, blueprints, or spiritual compatibility.
This is where we admit—
what we wanted wasn’t even that complicated.
“I just wanted her.”
Not the lake house. Not the three kids in matching khakis.
Just her laughter. Her mess. Her closeness.
We weren’t asking for a perfect marriage.
We were asking to be met.
Held.
Touched.
Not sexually, though yes, of course that too—
but emotionally.
Consistently. Without flinching.
And when that didn’t happen,
we didn’t leave.
We cleaned.
We paid bills.
We tried again.
Until we realized we were trying alone.
Addendum: Blessed Are the Ones Who Just Wanted to Snuggle
Because let’s be honest—some of us aren’t chasing riches or legacy.
We’re chasing the loop of connection.
That dumb inside joke.
That Pogo game.
That stolen hug during dishes.
And if we could just find that again—
the version of her that smiled like she used to—
we’d give up the house, the job, the lake,
even the kids if it meant they didn’t have to hurt anymore.
That kind of love?
It doesn’t make sense on a sermon slide.
It doesn’t sell on Instagram.
But it’s the kind that doesn’t flinch when the money runs out.
Closing Benediction
So let today’s gospel say:
Blessed are the ones who just wanted to snuggle.
The ones who didn’t need the kingdom,
just one hand to hold in the ruins.
You weren’t weak.
You weren’t naive.
You were just deeply alive.
And even if they misunderstood it—
Heaven didn’t.
