I have brought me.
I know you have seen me every morning … that I am here all day long … that I look the same as I always do …
But that’s not it.
You only see the outside like I did. And now I don’t – now I see the inside as well.
Jesus said to the disciples, “And I tell you, everyone who acknowledges me before others, the Son of Man also will acknowledge before the angels of God; but whoever denies me before others will be denied before the angels of God. And everyone who speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven; but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven. When they bring you before the synagogues, the rulers, and the authorities, do not worry about how you are to defend yourselves or what you are to say; for the Holy Spirit will teach you at that very hour what you ought to say.” Luke 12:8-12
Five days ago Oliver’s mum and dad left him and all his stuff… left a big bunch of lists and routines … and rushed off to catch a plane. Five days later I am a different me.
And you won’t know that from the outside.
So here is my show and tell …
Oliver lives in the moment and we are part of each of his moments. But (with hindsight) we were on the outside with our lists and routines which were “the gospel”. So his moments were not the moments they could have been, they were the “how it must be” moments. And that’s how I was on the inside (past tense) … I was outside.
Last night Oliver woke.
No crying. Just a “something isn’t quite right” noise. The “I can’t tell you in your language I only know mine” noises. So we gave him a bottle. And he settled. And then talked. A happy talk. And then a “I am not quite right” talk. Another “please hear me” sound in his voice. So I went through and picked him up.
A “no-no” on the lists and routine.
And he burped once and farted three times. And then “told me” that cuddles weren’t needed any more. So I put him down in his cot … sang a little … jiggled the cot a little … and all went quiet.
Oliver woke a few hours later.
Enough hours for it be a feed waking. And a minute or so later Nana was feeding him as usual.
And then not.
I hadn’t screwed the bottle-top properly and it was leaking. So a quick fix and he was feeding. And settled. And talking as usual. And then a “something isn’t quite right” noise. And then a “deffo not right” voice. Then “this needs fixing” voice. So I went through and picked him up again.
A “no-no” on the lists and routine.
His sleeping bag was slightly damp. But no longer warm-damp from that little spillage – now cold-damp. And his baby-grow was very slightly damp underneath. And (why not check now we are fully awake) his nappy felt like it could do with a change.
Sorting all that in a blacked-out room was never going to be a happy experience for him or me.
So lights on and “happy chatting” with an Oliver who was now wide awake and very pleased to chat back! And then more lights on to find a fresh nappy … and a fresh baby-gro … and a a fresh sleeping bag … And more happy chatting AND giggling AND snuggly games AND an evolving “day-time-fun-time” session … Then he was all done.
So a rerun of his “night night Oliver” routine.
The tummy rub … the smiles … the goo-goo talking … the loud kiss-smacking on my fingers … Oliver’s giggles and gurgles back … a final elaborate “goodnight” … and then lights out again. And the singing and jiggling … the stillness and quiet … the sleeping again.
All of that was (past tense) a “no-no”. Five days ago that “no-no” was the gospel.
And now it’s not.
THAT is my show and tell.
Because I never knew I was different five days ago … I was just me on the outside and the inside. And I still am – just a slightly different me – a slightly changed me.
And a little of that might show on the outside.
I might be a little more gentle with you. A little more in your moment than I was before. Maybe not enough for you to notice. Not straight away.
Might take a few days.