"Invisible Mother"

I get tons of email. Well, not "tons," but a lot nonetheless. A lot of it is funny cartoons, videos, pictures, and stories that I cannot help but to forward on to my friends who also enjoy a laugh now and then. Sometimes, I get email forwarded to me that I delete immediately; advertisements, spam, pleas from the Democratic Party to support their "candidate." And then there are the emails that genuinely make me stop and think, make me appreciate my place in the world, and make me feel connected to others in my "situation." I am going to include one of those "stop, think, appreciate, and connect" stories that I received from a friend recently. I hope that it speaks to you in the same way that it spoke to me...

"The Invisible Mother"

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.'

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. 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 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 see 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.

---Wow. That says it all, doesn't it? We as women are very fortunate. We can do one thing that men will never be able to do - be mothers. We all complain about it sometimes; how our children misbehave, don't appreciate us, or that we don't have the freedom to do other things like we did before they came; yet, I believe that inside all of us, we beam with pride at the accomplishment that is motherhood. God willing, our children will grow up to be strong, sane, and productive members of society.

Invisible? Sure. But behind every doctor, lawyer, football player, or dancer - there is a mom.