The Invisible Mom

A friend of mine sent this to me and I enjoyed it. Although I may not feel invisible I was still able to relate.

The Invisible Mom

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the wayone of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and asks tobe taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on thephone?" Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, orsweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because noone can see me at all. I'm invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I amonly a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Canyou open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a humanbeing. I'm a clock to ask,"What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide toanswer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Rightaround 5:30, please." I was certain that these were the hands that onceheld books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduatedsumma cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, neverto be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone!One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the returnof 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 sittingthere, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down atmy out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean.My unwashed hair was pulled up in a hair clip and I was afraid Icould actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic,when Janice turned to me with a beautifull y wrapped package, and said, "Ibrought you this." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn'texactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of whatyou are building when no one sees." In the days ahead I would read - no, devoured - thebook and I would discover what would become for me, four life-changingtruths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built thegreat 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 buildingwas 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 whileit was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the insideof a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so muchtime carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No onewill ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees."I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almostas 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'vebaked, 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 iserasing 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 willnever 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 couldever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing tosacrifice to that degree. When I really think about it, I don't want my sonto 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 handbastes 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 himto want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to hisfriend, 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.