[FW]The Invisible Woman

[Guest guest]

The Invisible Woman

By

It started to happen gradually. One day I was

walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his

hand and we were about to cross the street when

the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with

you, young fella?"

"Nobody," he shrugged.

"Nobody?" The crossing guard and I laughed. My

son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I

thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?"

I would walk into a room and no one would notice.

I would say something to my family - like "Turn

the TV down, please" - and nothing would happen.

Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the

remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then

I would say again, a little louder, "Would someone

turn the TV down?" Nothing.

Just the other night my husband and I were out

at a party. We'd been there for about three hours

and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking

to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when

there was a break in the conversation, I whispered,

"I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept right

on talking.

That's when I started to put all the pieces together.

I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone

can see me. I'm invisible. 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.

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 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 banana 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 fuelled 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.

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