Somewhere tonight a woman is wiping down a granite counter that is not hers. The children she has just put to bed are not her children. The house is quiet and very clean, and she has finally sat down on the edge of the small bed in the room off the laundry, and she is looking at a photograph on her phone of a half-built house in a village two thousand miles away. Her son is sixteen now. She has seen him in person four times in nine years.
Across the Caribbean and its diaspora there are countless people like her: housekeepers, nannies, carers for the elderly, live-in helpers. They keep other people’s homes running so that, one day, they might have a home of their own, or so that their children at home can eat and go to school. Many are treated with kindness. Some are not. Nearly all of them know a particular kind of tiredness, and a particular kind of tear, that the families they serve rarely see.
A God who keeps count
Psalm 56 was written by David at a time when he was far from home, hiding among foreigners, afraid and mistreated. In the middle of it he writes a line that has comforted wanderers for three thousand years: “You number my wanderings; put my tears into Your bottle; are they not in Your book?” (Psalm 56:8, NKJV).
There are two pictures in that verse. The first is of God counting a person’s wanderings: every move, every border crossed, every night spent in a room that was not home. Nothing about a migrant’s life is lost on Him. The second picture is of tears being gathered into a bottle, kept rather than wasted, as if each one mattered enough to be stored.
For someone who works in another person’s house, that is no small thing. Much of this kind of work is designed to be invisible. The floors are clean, so nobody thinks about who cleaned them. The elderly father is fed and turned and bathed, so nobody asks who stayed up with him at three in the morning. The family’s life runs smoothly, and the smoothness hides the cost. Scripture says the cost is seen. It is counted and kept.
When the wrong is real
It would be dishonest to talk about this only in terms of loneliness. Some domestic workers are genuinely wronged: wages held back, passports kept, promises about days off or a return ticket quietly broken. Scripture does not look away from that. The prophets repeatedly condemn those who withhold wages, and the letter of James warns that the unpaid wages of workers cry out, and that the cries of those labourers have reached the ears of the Lord (James 5:4).
That means two things. For those who have been wronged, God is not neutral. Your tears are not only stored; they are evidence, and the Judge of all the earth has them on record. And for those of us who employ others in our homes, it is a sobering reminder. The way we treat the person who cleans our house or minds our children is not a private domestic matter. It is seen by the same God we worship on Sunday.
If you are being mistreated at work, please do not carry it alone. Speak to someone you trust, your church, your consulate, or a workers’ support organisation where you live. Asking for help is not a lack of faith. If you are ever unsafe, seek help immediately.
The house back home
Many who work abroad are building something at home with every remittance: a room at a time, a roof one year, windows the next. Those houses carry a great deal of meaning. They are proof that the years away were worth it. They are the place where the family will finally be together.
It is right to hope for that. But it is worth remembering that the God who counts your wanderings is not waiting for the house to be finished before He is with you. He is present in the small room off the laundry tonight. The same psalm that speaks of tears in a bottle goes on to say, “In God I have put my trust; I will not be afraid” (Psalm 56:11, NKJV). David did not say that once he was safely home. He said it while he was still far away.
So stay in touch with your children, even when the calls are awkward and short. Find a church or fellowship where you are, even a small one, so that your faith has a household too. Keep good records of what you send home and how it is used, so that the house you are building is not undermined by misunderstanding. And let yourself rest on your day off without guilt. You are not only a worker. You are a beloved child of God.
A word to those who employ
If someone helps keep your home, this week might be a good time to ask yourself a few simple questions. Do I pay fairly and on time? Does she have real rest? Do I know the names of her children? Have I ever asked about the house she is building? Small acts of honour can make a lonely season much lighter.
For reflection
- Where have I felt invisible in my work, and what would it mean to believe that God has kept count?
- If I employ someone in my home, how might I treat them this week as someone God sees?
A prayer: Lord, You number our wanderings and keep our tears. Be near tonight to everyone who is looking after a house that is not their own. Where there has been injustice, bring it to light and make it right. Where there is loneliness, be their companion. And bring each one home in Your good time. Amen.
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