The 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 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 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 4:00 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 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, MOM!