The Caregiver

by Deborah Tremblay
(Watervliet, NY)

The Caregiver

The diner downtown was the only place I had not applied for work; it seemed my last hope for finding a job. I approached the pleasant, grey-haired owner, who apologetically explained that no suitable openings were available. The mounting rejections began to heap themselves upon my shoulders. As I left, desperation nipped at my heels.

I’d filled out the application through strained, squinted eyes; I had no glasses. Tessie, my two-year old daughter, had accidentally broken the frames. When I’d scraped enough money together to pay for their repair, Tess had gotten sick. I used the money to pay for her doctor’s visit.

I meandered down the dirt-swept street. All around me, strangers hurried off to work or were preoccupied with cares of their own.

'Cast your cares upon Him, for He cares for you,' an inner voice beckoned.

'Good Old Mrs. C,' I thought. 'She’s got a Bible verse for every occasion.' Still, I turned the words over in my mind. Did God really care that Tess and I were all alone, when my husband, had not?

Hunger gnawed at me. It was tough toward the end of the month when our food stamps began to run out. In fact, I skipped an occasional meal so that Tess would have enough to eat. Despite stringent budgeting, the welfare checks she and I survived on would not stretch to cover all our needs. Mrs. C called it, “having too much month left at the end of the money.”

I sought part-time work—the modest income would pose no threat to the assistance we received, yet it might relieve the burden somewhat. I knew I had no real job skills; wiping noses and tying shoes did not mean much in the job market. Besides, who would care for Tess? The thought of leaving her in someone else’s care all day long wrenched my heart.

I smiled as I thought of her. The image of her sassy strawberry blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes put the spring back into my step. I forgot I had pounded the pavement for six months with no hint of a job and that the only pair of shoes I owned was wearing through.

As I neared our apartment building, I anticipated my daughter's greeting and the way she always wrapped her little arms around my shoulders. When Mrs. C opened the door to her apartment, I was not disappointed. I gathered Tess in my arms and was rewarded with a peanut butter-and-jelly kiss.

Mrs. C read my face. “Don’t worry dear,” she said. “The Lord has a way of giving us not what we want, but what we truly need.”

Back upstairs in our apartment, I glanced around at our meager belongings. 'What we need is a better life,' I thought dejectedly.

I sang to Tess as I bathed her. Afterward, she splashed around happily while I dried my tears on her little pink bath towel. I dressed her then put her down for her nap. She curled up into a contented ball, instantly asleep. She did not lay awake worrying as I did; she trusted me to take care of her. At that moment, I envied my child’s simple faith. From the depths of my hurting heart, I prayed, 'if you’re really there and you really care like Mrs. C says, show me, Lord.'

My phone rang just then. I got few calls since Tess was my only family. When I answered, the owner of the diner was on the line. “My sister owns a daycare center,” he told me brightly. “She’s been looking for an assistant but hasn’t found anyone right for the job.” He paused. “I remembered the way you looked when you spoke about your daughter today. You...seemed like you might enjoy this kind of work. Interested?” he politely asked.

A fresh bout of hot tears streamed down my face. God did care, enough for the Holy Spirit to grace my tiny kitchen with His presence. It didn’t take much for me to imagine that Jesus sat across the table, His Hand over mine. A tremendous burden lifted from my shoulders as I realized that my Heavenly Father had just sung to me. Not only did God care, He could be both a Husband to me and a Father to Tess.

Once she awakened, I scooped Tess up and danced her around her plain, little bedroom.

Three days later, we walked hand in hand to the first day of my new full-time job! It had benefits and paid enough to support Tess and me. My new boss enrolled Tess in her daycare program free of charge; this meant I could work and take care of my daughter at the same time. This arrangement fully met all of our needs and was a far better remedy to our problem than my own solution would have been.

Excitement built as we neared the daycare, I swung my daughter up on my hip, picked up our pace, and began casting all my cares and worries upon Him—the real Caregiver.