A friend of mine posted this on her blog, and I thought it was worth reposting. All moms at times feel invisible, lost in a world of sippy cups, Disney movies, little kid-sized undies, and endless piles of laundry. When I read this, it was a great reminder of why moms do what they do, and that when no one else seems to notice, God sees. As the lady who wrote this says, being a mom is a great cure for self-centeredness.
Author Unknown-
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 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 Carol, 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 daughter to tell the friend
she'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 her to want to come
home. And then, if there is anything more to say to her 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.
