Invisible Mom

 
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.'

Some days I'm a crystal ball; 'Where's my other sock?, Where's
my phone?, What's for dinner?'

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and
the eyes that studied history, music and literature -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 . She 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 she 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:'With admiration for the greatness of what you are
building when no one sees.'

In the days ahead I would read - no, devoured - the book. And I
would discover what would become for me, four life-changing
truths, after which I could pattern my work: 1) No one can say
who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their
names. 2) These builders gave their whole lives for a work they
would never see finished. 3) They made great sacrifices and
expected no credit. 4) The passion of their building was fueled
by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A story of legend 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. 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, no Cub Scout meeting, no last minute
errand 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.

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 3 hours and presses all the linens
for the table.' That would mean I'd built 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, he'd say, '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 mothers.

Great Job, Mom!

(This was sent to me by a dear friend. It was exactly what I needed so I thought I'd share. Hope it blesses you as much as it did me.)