Invisible Mom
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
summa cum laude -but now, they had disappeared into the peanut butter,
never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's 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 t o 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 3 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 gonna 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, Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know... I just did. The Will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not protect you.
This is beautiful and makes a ton of sense. To all the wonderful
mothers out there.
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
summa cum laude -but now, they had disappeared into the peanut butter,
never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's 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 t o 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 3 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 gonna 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, Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know... I just did. The Will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not protect you.
This is beautiful and makes a ton of sense. To all the wonderful
mothers out there.
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