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Our young grandson is out of sorts.  That’s a medical term for not being one’s usual jolly self – not being as balanced as usual – being a tad clingy – a tad needy.  It could be teeth.  It could be a slight infection.  It could be a phase.  It could be anything and everything.

He has a noon nap (lucky chap!).  Usually a giggly routine – a cuddle and a just-in-reach play with the plastic-beads hanging from the ceiling light shade … a switching-on of his white noise machine … a wave goodbye to himself in the mirror … a tickle routine … and lights out together … door shut together … slump in my arms … head on shoulder … and – – – – s..l..e..e..p…

Today a whinge and grizzle.  A tear and a screaming complaint.  A loud reluctance and a forceful unhappiness.  Our young grandson is out of sorts.

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And the only response?  A slightly tighter cuddle.  A slightly more intense “shhhhhhing”.  A closer embrace.  An empathetic voice.  A meeting him where he is.  And within seconds he was gone – fast asleep in my arms even before laying him in his cot.

I am out of sorts right now.  Too long with building work in the house.  Our home which is also my office.  Too long with a dog more and more “out of sorts” with the noise and different people in and out.  Covering a colleague and then two.

Today a grump and an irritation.  A tear and a complain.  A reluctance and unhappiness.  Our older grandad is out of sorts.

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And the only response?  I have to spend all day apologising as well as trying to feel less out of sorts.  No one will meet me where I am.  Everyone runs for cover.  It’s my fault.

How wonderful to be comforted.

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No having to ‘fess up my “sins”.  No having to apologise to anyone.  No sitting alone in a roomful of people.  No “anything” I “have to” or “should do”.

Just an arm to lean in to.  A shoulder to snuggle against.  A soothing word.  An understanding of where I am and coming to where I am.

We don’t do that to each other.

We do the “How dare he”.  We do the “What’s up with him?”  We do the “Leave him alone the grumpy sod!”  It’s not just the homeless we steer clear of – the beggar in the street – we do to each other all day and every day.  Being “out of sorts” is okay.  The consequences are not.

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I know someone who doesn’t see the consequences.  Someone who doesn’t need me to confess my sins.  Someone who is not so very offended.  Someone who is content with my lack of worship and fear and trembling.  My lack of gratitude.  My consequences of being out of sorts.

We make a big deal out of being “right with God”.  We have various rituals and traditions.  Various words and verses.  The right way of being right with God.  Screaming “Just leave me alone” is not in the manual as an appropriate response. Although – of course – we have examples of that in the bible as well.

But try screaming “Leave me alone – fuck off the lot of you!” as a response to “Let us now pray” in church on a Sunday … well it’s not very Christian is it!

I know someone who cares not a jot. Someone who sees behind and between – inside and deep-down – someone who comforts me as we comfort this wee out of sorts grandchild today.

Because it is always “today”.

I rarely plan my “rebellious nature”.  I enjoy being in balance.  I seek balance.  I desire joy.  I invite connection.

Even when I am out of sorts.

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