The Invisible Mother

I got this forwarded to me today and thought it was nice.

Invisible Mother......

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the
way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask
to be taken to the store.

Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'
Obviously, not.
No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor,
or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I'm invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands,
nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being.
I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer,
'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30,
please.'

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes
that studied history and the mind that graduated sum a cum laude - but now
they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen
again. She's going; she's going; she is gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a
friend from England ..

Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and
on about the hotel she stayed in.

I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so
well.
It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself.

I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully
wrapped package, and said, I brought you this.'
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe .

I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her
inscription: 'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are
building when no one sees.'

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would
discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could
pattern my work:

No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their
names.

These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see
finished.

They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.


The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of
God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the
cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny
bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why
are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be
covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman
replied, 'Because God sees.'


I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.

It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you,
Charlotte . I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does.
No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake
you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile
over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now
what it will become.'

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a
disease that is erasing my life.

It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the
antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one
of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work
on something that their name will never be on.


The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever
be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to
sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend
he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4
in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a
turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That
would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to
want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to
add, 'you're going to love it there.'

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if
we're doing it right.

And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at
what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by
the sacrifices of invisible women.

Great Job, MOM!