Author: Tamara Belanger (Page 11 of 74)

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, come down from the Father of the heavely lights, who does not change like the shifting shadows.” – James 1: 17

I like how Tuesdays are laundry day for the preschool house on the grounds of the school where I work, and every time I walk in to get the bag full of the week’s wipe ups from snack time and painting projects, it’s story time and the kids are gathered round the teacher eager, necks craning to see the pictures as she holds up the book.  I close the door behind me on my way out and I smile at the warm I feel.

I look forward to the sameness of every morning when I wake the girl and she sleepy stumbles past me to her dressing room just off the kitchen, her eyes are slanty closed and she squeaks out “mornin.”  I ask her the questions.  “Sleep well?  Want some coffee?  What are you hungry for?”

I love how my co worker and I move around each other in the school kitchen like a well choreographed musical scene, each of us picking up where the other left off, the cheese cups all filled and put in rows just so, the dishes used and the dishes washed; scrub, rinse, santize, repeat.  I know where things are and I know how to use them, the hum of the place predictable and sure and comforting.

I like how Silas sits at the table in the school store, always first in the door. Erick drops his back pack and heads for the bean bag chairs in the corner, makeshift bed till the bell rings.  Tanner never fails to smile the brightest of smiles,  Emma and her young charge, Griffin, follow close behind.  She yearns to tell me what she’s dealing with and asks for advice.  She listens intently and nods her head and heads down the hall with a hug.  Shane sorts out the candy bowl, Neva never passes the door without coming in just to greet me.  These are the rhythms, the motion of the morning.  It feels familiar.  It feels like home.  I look for them like little beacons, assurances that I’m still on the path.

These “constants” are here for right now.  They’re like candles in the window, little heart smiles.  But next year, next month, next week, tomorrow……people move, kids grow up, clothes get outgrown, opinions shift, presidents get elected, supermoons come and go,  you used to not like sweet potatoes and then one day you try them and turns out, you changed your mind.

My soul longs for constant.  I stare out the window of my cozy sitting room, and look at the suns rays coming in as the day ends and begins to make ready to turn into Wednesday.  The heat lays on my skin and feels like a hug.  This changing world unnerves me sometimes.  I jump from rock to rock in the life puddle and balance myself just so, wanting to stay there.  And then the water washes up and I’m compelled to move on.  It presses on me, this thought that this world isn’t my home, no matter how good it gets, no matter how bad it gets.  It’s not where I will find that constant I feel hungry for.  I know Who is though, and I sing to Him to steady myself when the unsureness sets in.   ” I’m just a passin through.”

The days beat a faster cadence than they used to.  My daughter is a mama now, my granddaughter and her teeth and steps and words and sounds are the focus of much oohs and ahs.  She learns something every day.  My boys are men , the legos stored away and I wait eagerly for special times when they each come back “home” for visits and their deep voices and tall statures still take me by surprise.  I’ll see another girl get married soon, her hand taking hold of the man she’ll see changes with herself and off they’ll launch.  And it’s sunrise and it’s sunset.  And all is well, because He tells me He will still be there,

Of old you laid the foundation of the earth,
    and the heavens are the work of your hands.
²⁶ They will perish, but you will remain;
    they will all wear out like a garment.
You will change them like a robe, and they will pass away,
²⁷     but you are the same, and your years have no end.
²⁸ The children of your servants shall dwell secure;
    their offspring shall be established before you. Ps 102

Father?  You’re still there…..yes?  I sit a little tired, a little worn, the restless angry fight spent.  I’m so broken, God; so messy, so petty and petulant.  Sometimes I’m weak and make choices that spin out tentacles like a crazy light show out of control and they spark and snap.  Sometimes I’m strong and good and walk worthy.  Often I’m wrong, times I am right; then times I am right and wrong.

Truth is, God, I march myself into the courtroom, all puffy and peacock like, and justify myself with spittle flying out the sides of my mouth, my eyebrows raised for effect.  I. Am. Me.  I proclaim.  Here is my evidence.  I scramble for collected grievances; life’s documentation that it is hard and it is confusing and it is long…..no matter how short it is;  Proof that it hurts and I need the purchase order to buy myself the win.

Oh but then?  After my own echo dies down and I lie listless?  My heart hears a hopeful wind breathe gentle.  You’re here.  I can feel You.  Be my lantern, my compass.  I’ve somehow lost my way.

“Silence is your only claim to wisdom” – Job 13, The Message

Sometimes I have days, chunks of them, when the words in my mind go quiet, almost by command; outside of my own will.  I sit on my lily pad like a wide mouthed frog and occasionally feel a welled up thought rise in my throat and I burp it out, lick my lips and settle myself, shifting to and fro, back onto my lily seat and look around quietly at the world.  And then?  And then there are times when the words have formed a league and bang insistently on the door to be written out.  I can always hear their footsteps before they knock.  I began this piece at 11:15 this morning, sitting in my car in a graveyard.  I felt Him urging me to write, I could feel the “message” forming like an egg that’s being fried in a pan, the white morphing from the clear goo when it’s first cracked.  I shoved my hand blindly in my purse and fished for what felt like pen and paper and wrote out this paragraph on the back of a church bulletin.  And then I got here.  And stopped.  “Wait.  Be silent.”  How odd that I would pulse out words, glad to have my “voice” back and then……come to the end of a sentence and have no idea where to go next.  So.  I got out of my car and walked towards this bench and took up it’s offer and sat.  “Be silent.”

A few days ago, I was worried about my yard.  It’s growing time and with my one boy gone far to South Africa, my other scaling Montana’s mountains and my one here working full time, I felt that creepy uppy thing that gets me most in the middle of the night start in.  I couldn’t sleep because my grass was waving like a prairie, my lawnmower doesn’t work, I have no extra cash to pay for it and no idea what to do about any of it.  Those little things that make a woman alone feel most definitely alone and eat at my peace like little mice.  So, I told God my dilemma.  Two days later I came home to a tiny yellow post it on my door.  “If you need help with your yard or getting your mower started, I can help.”  There was a phone number and a mans’ name.  “Ok.  But God.  Remember?  I don’t have money for this.  And besides.  Who is this man??”  So I ignored it.

Last  night I fell asleep early on my couch.  My girl sat quiet watching a movie when the post it note man showed up.  “Tell your mom I used to cut the grass for the man who lived here for years.  She doesn’t have to worry about paying me.  I just thought she might need help.”  So I called him tonight and told him my story.  Told him that I’d taken it right to my Father, who owns the cattle on a thousand hills, and asked Him to show me what to do.  “I’m a Christian,” says post it note man.  “I was driving by your house and noticing your grass growing and kept feeling like I was supposed to stop and offer to help.  My pastors’ kids go to your school.  I’ll be there tonight and get your grass taken care of.”

I’ve learned to keep company with being quiet.  Here lately I lean into the silence to listen.  It’s then I am learning wisdom.  It’s then I know better what to say when I speak.  I’ve come to tell you this.  He doesn’t have to show up?  But He always does.  If you’re watching for Him.  Sometimes He leaves His words on post it notes.