The Invisible Mom

[Guest guest]

Someone sent this to me and I had to share with you

all. I am sure some of you need to hear this about

yourself.

;-)

I'm Invisible (Read to the end)

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, and

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 as I looked down at my

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 I

could actually smell peanut butter in

it. 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 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!

Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know..... I

just did.

nna

Mommy to Freddie 6 yrs

Full Inclusion Kindy

The Will of God will never take you where the Grace of

God will not protect you.

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