Becoming Intentional III

Presence Over Presents

Today, I'd say was a very beautiful day for me.
Apart from Sunday being my favorite day of the week—because it gives me time to recharge (physically, spiritually, and emotionally/socially).

I usually spend Sundays resting at home, or hanging out with the boys to play football (twice a month), or just catching up with friends.
Most times, I hang back after church to say hello, check in on people, and just spend time with some of the people in my life. At the end of the day, I’m always burnt out, but I feel fulfilled because I know everyone has left with a piece of me that they’ll carry until we convene again.

Today was different.
My cousin dedicated her baby, so I had to leave in between both services at my church to attend theirs.
It was a growing church, not so far from mine, but it was my first time ever going around that area.

You know those community churches where everyone knows everyone by their first, middle, and last names? Yeah, that’s her church.
I know this because while we stood in front of the church for their "Family Thanksgiving," the pastor literally called the families by their names, their kids’ names—and maybe gave out too much information at some point—but I figured it was normal for them. Lol.

I was looking at my uncle, a retired Reverend in Assemblies of God, and half the time he seemed so lost. And I knew why—because their system was very different from what we grew up in, and what I’m used to now. It was a culture shock. Yes. That’s the word.

What really intrigued me was that he, my uncle, came all the way from Ebonyi to Abuja for this dedication. His first son came from Port Harcourt for the same.
And me? Honestly, I didn’t even feel like going because I was—and still am—very exhausted from several work trips and the dues of adulting.
But I dragged myself there, and I realized one thing:

As we grow and mature, responsibilities do not reduce. In fact, we keep on taking on more and more, because our needs keep growing.

So showing up is not about convenience.
And I am not talking about just "being there." I mean being physically present for your people—family, friends, loved ones, colleagues, everyone who matters. Too often, we try to substitute this presence with money, gifts, or a quick phone call, convincing ourselves that it balances things out. But deep down, we all know: no gift card has ever replaced a hug. No wire transfer has ever laughed with a child. No “I’ll make it up to you” has ever held someone’s hand when they were breaking.

I had mixed feelings because I realized I had missed out on a lot that had happened in their lives.

Two of my other cousins who were also present had given birth, and their babies had grown so big—and I didn’t even know their names.

The most heart-wrenching part was that they both named their babies after my middle name—Chidiebube. Two different variations, same exact meaning. And I wished—oh God, I wished I had been there.

It made me think back, and I realized that this particular family of mine? They always show up, physically, for each other. No excuses.

I remembered the time I had a fight with my dad. It was this uncle and his son (my big cousin) who drove all the way from Enugu to our home in Ebonyi and called me out so we could fix things.

I remembered when my kid sister passed out of NYSC in Abuja and I couldn’t go because I was in Katsina for work.

I remembered when my very good friend and brother, Splendor, had his wedding in Ebonyi. I was supposed to be among the groomsmen, but I was in Abuja, and I couldn’t afford the trip to and fro, plus the suit, without falling into serious debt.

And then I remembered one time I got it right: when my older brother was matriculating in Ebonyi, and I traveled from Owerri with a matric cake to surprise him.

I also remembered that I started the culture of celebrating special days in my family, because to them, everyday was just everyday.

But I was drawn to tears. I'm actually crying while writing this.
I really wished I didn’t miss so many of these special moments.

The world is changing, yes—but some traditions must not die. Because in the end, it is not technology or career milestones or money in the bank that keeps us human. It is presence. It is the shared air of laughter, the hands we hold at funerals, the songs we sing at weddings, the faces in the crowd when life gives us milestones.

If we lose that, what then are we chasing money for? What’s the point of having everything, if the people we love can’t feel us close?

I'm happy that I'm still young and I am realizing early now. And that I met many for them today, played with them, took a few pictures and videos.

However, we must know that money was meant to serve us, to make life easier. But if it steals us away from the very souls who give our lives meaning, then we’ve missed the point entirely.

So let me remind myself: showing up will never be convenient. It will cost effort, time, sacrifice, even discomfort. But it is worth it. Because every moment I show up, I leave behind a piece of myself that money can never replace.

From today, I will show up more often. I will be there—not just in spirit, not just in text messages, but physically present—for my people. And I hope you do the same. Because in the end, presence is the real gift.