The "Invisible" Mother

I received this as an email about a week ago, and then again today -- It is so good, that I wanted to post it and share with all of you out there in the internet!

A Mothers story “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 Im 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. Shes
going, she's going, and shes 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 wasnt 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 youve 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.