In our last city, we had a girl come to our house 6 days a week in the afternoons to help me clean and sometimes do a little cooking. In our new city, I have a woman who comes 5 days a week in the mornings. She cleans and cooks, too. When I lived back in the States, I used to think that having a ‘maid’ was such a luxurious thing. I could never imagine having a person who would clean up after me or cook for me. My Mama taught me to do my own work! My Country taught me to be independent! I’m learning.
I choose to call a person who comes and works in my home a house-helper. I have heard other international workers use this term and I think it fits better than ‘maid’ or the more common ‘servant’. Really, I chose to call my last house helper ‘family’. My new HH is following suit quickly. Really, she is a helper. She helps me with things that my hands could do if they weren’t tied up with things I was already doing. I often work next to her. We wash veggies or prepare food together. I tidy up the schoolroom while she vacuums. We stop for a drink or for some tea sometimes. The greatest part is that she and her family live right next to us. Our kids play in the yard together while we sit in the sunshine and attempt to chat. It usually works pretty well and we end up laughing together about something or other. While Chris was away for a few nights, she even stopped by in the evenings because she was afraid that I would feel alone -- a situation that is considered very serious here!
When I was first getting used to having help, the hardest part was my darn independence. It was so difficult to have someone else in my house every single day. Maybe I wanted to nap. Well, I couldn’t very well nap while a girl who could have been my daughter was doing dishes in the other room. Maybe the kids were misbehaving. I didn’t want someone else watching me disciplining them and judging my methods. Maybe I just bought something new. How could I enjoy my new acquisition that cost more than the person who was right there sweeping the floor earned in a whole month? It struck me to the core so that I struggled every day with it. Still, I realized that in this new place, there was more work than my hands could handle. I’m still wrestling with transition stress and learning language. I still feel lost at times. Having the extra help gives me a chance to focus a bit more on my kids, or visiting neighbors, or getting out of the house.
So, I learned to love her. I learned to sit with her and try to learn from her. She taught me a lot of language while we shared tea and biscuits. She also seemed to soak in a lot of lessons that I hope she will carry as she blossoms into a young woman.
I have been told I get too friendly with ‘the help’. I have been told I am too trusting. I guess I’d rather that than have a stranger in my home. I’d rather be a friend than a boss. I have been admonished that if I am too nice, it may hurt someone in the end. What does that mean? Maybe I have more to learn. I try to pay a fair, though not exorbitant wage. But, I treat people like people. My new helper and I are much more alike than different. We both grew up in farming families. She misses the fields and open spaces and small towns. We both have kids and want to raise them well. Our husbands are both good men. We value honesty and right dealing. I have cried with her because she has felt as alone and stuck in her home as I have in mine. We are so thankful that God brought us together.
One of the blessings and curses of having her in the house is that she gets to see every moment in my life. Take today. If I was going to write a story about today, I could give you several different versions. Too much has already been written about social media and how we can put our own versions of ourselves out there, so I won’t bother. Doors do this. Fences do this. Walls and gates do this. When I have my doors closed in my own home and no one is visiting, I am my true self. When the door opens, a person gets to see polished me. I have probably tidied up (which may surprise some of you who have visited me before). I have probably bathed (not something that happens every day anymore). I have probably given my children the ‘obey and be kind’ pep talk. But when my HH comes in, I don’t get to pick the moment. She has seen me in triumphs and tragedies -- and has only worked for us for a month.
If I were to tell the story of today, I could brag it as a triumph: “Today, I was out of bed before 6 AM, I folded and put away laundry, cooked and deboned 8 chickens, saved the bones and broth, fed the children, and had them pick up their playroom all before lunch.” Or I could tell it as a tragedy: “Today, I grumped at my children and told them that they couldn’t eat breakfast until their room was clean, I lost my temper several times in the process, got the kitchen super-dirty, and didn’t give my kids anything to eat until 10:30 AM, all this in front of my neighbor.” You see, depending on if I wanted you to think I was awesome or feel sorry for me, I could open my door how I like. My HH saw it all. She applauded with me when the kids finished their room. She looked worried when they were whining and fussing through the whole thing. She helped me with the chickens when I looked like I was going to cry. She rejoiced with me when all the chickens were finished. Then, she cleaned up the kitchen while I got the kids some brunch.
I don’t get to pick my moments with her. but, I do get to pick who I give credit for the triumphs to . . . and who takes the blame for the tragedies. She is already one of my best friends here and I trust her so much. I pray she will see God’s hand in my struggles and successes and that it will give her encouragement for her own. May that be the way my life plays out in front of all people. Closed doors will only make others admire or pity me, judge or praise me. Let’s just live life together through our open doors.
I choose to call a person who comes and works in my home a house-helper. I have heard other international workers use this term and I think it fits better than ‘maid’ or the more common ‘servant’. Really, I chose to call my last house helper ‘family’. My new HH is following suit quickly. Really, she is a helper. She helps me with things that my hands could do if they weren’t tied up with things I was already doing. I often work next to her. We wash veggies or prepare food together. I tidy up the schoolroom while she vacuums. We stop for a drink or for some tea sometimes. The greatest part is that she and her family live right next to us. Our kids play in the yard together while we sit in the sunshine and attempt to chat. It usually works pretty well and we end up laughing together about something or other. While Chris was away for a few nights, she even stopped by in the evenings because she was afraid that I would feel alone -- a situation that is considered very serious here!
When I was first getting used to having help, the hardest part was my darn independence. It was so difficult to have someone else in my house every single day. Maybe I wanted to nap. Well, I couldn’t very well nap while a girl who could have been my daughter was doing dishes in the other room. Maybe the kids were misbehaving. I didn’t want someone else watching me disciplining them and judging my methods. Maybe I just bought something new. How could I enjoy my new acquisition that cost more than the person who was right there sweeping the floor earned in a whole month? It struck me to the core so that I struggled every day with it. Still, I realized that in this new place, there was more work than my hands could handle. I’m still wrestling with transition stress and learning language. I still feel lost at times. Having the extra help gives me a chance to focus a bit more on my kids, or visiting neighbors, or getting out of the house.
So, I learned to love her. I learned to sit with her and try to learn from her. She taught me a lot of language while we shared tea and biscuits. She also seemed to soak in a lot of lessons that I hope she will carry as she blossoms into a young woman.
I have been told I get too friendly with ‘the help’. I have been told I am too trusting. I guess I’d rather that than have a stranger in my home. I’d rather be a friend than a boss. I have been admonished that if I am too nice, it may hurt someone in the end. What does that mean? Maybe I have more to learn. I try to pay a fair, though not exorbitant wage. But, I treat people like people. My new helper and I are much more alike than different. We both grew up in farming families. She misses the fields and open spaces and small towns. We both have kids and want to raise them well. Our husbands are both good men. We value honesty and right dealing. I have cried with her because she has felt as alone and stuck in her home as I have in mine. We are so thankful that God brought us together.
One of the blessings and curses of having her in the house is that she gets to see every moment in my life. Take today. If I was going to write a story about today, I could give you several different versions. Too much has already been written about social media and how we can put our own versions of ourselves out there, so I won’t bother. Doors do this. Fences do this. Walls and gates do this. When I have my doors closed in my own home and no one is visiting, I am my true self. When the door opens, a person gets to see polished me. I have probably tidied up (which may surprise some of you who have visited me before). I have probably bathed (not something that happens every day anymore). I have probably given my children the ‘obey and be kind’ pep talk. But when my HH comes in, I don’t get to pick the moment. She has seen me in triumphs and tragedies -- and has only worked for us for a month.
If I were to tell the story of today, I could brag it as a triumph: “Today, I was out of bed before 6 AM, I folded and put away laundry, cooked and deboned 8 chickens, saved the bones and broth, fed the children, and had them pick up their playroom all before lunch.” Or I could tell it as a tragedy: “Today, I grumped at my children and told them that they couldn’t eat breakfast until their room was clean, I lost my temper several times in the process, got the kitchen super-dirty, and didn’t give my kids anything to eat until 10:30 AM, all this in front of my neighbor.” You see, depending on if I wanted you to think I was awesome or feel sorry for me, I could open my door how I like. My HH saw it all. She applauded with me when the kids finished their room. She looked worried when they were whining and fussing through the whole thing. She helped me with the chickens when I looked like I was going to cry. She rejoiced with me when all the chickens were finished. Then, she cleaned up the kitchen while I got the kids some brunch.
I don’t get to pick my moments with her. but, I do get to pick who I give credit for the triumphs to . . . and who takes the blame for the tragedies. She is already one of my best friends here and I trust her so much. I pray she will see God’s hand in my struggles and successes and that it will give her encouragement for her own. May that be the way my life plays out in front of all people. Closed doors will only make others admire or pity me, judge or praise me. Let’s just live life together through our open doors.
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