The invisible mom

I got an email today with a wonderful story and I just wanted to share it with any other moms out there. I do not know who the author is, but here it is:


It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lackof response, the way one of the kids will walk intothe room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken tothe store. Inside I'm thinking,'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not; noone can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, orsweeping the floor, or even standing onmy head in the corner, because no one can see me atall. I'm invisible; 'The Invisible Mom.'Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Canyou fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even ahuman being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?'I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is theDisney Channel?' I'm a car to order,'Right around 5:30, please.'I was certain that these were the hands that once heldbooks and the eyes that studied history and the mindthat graduated summa cum laude -but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter,never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, andshe'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, andshe was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in.I was sitting there, looking around at the others allput together so well. It was hard not to compare andfeel sorry for myself as I looked down at myout-of-style dress; it was theonly thing I could find that was clean. My unwashedhair was pulled up in a hair clip and I was afraid Icould actually smell peanut butter init. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turnedto me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'Ibrought you this.' It was a book on the greatcathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactlysure why she'd given it to me until I read herinscription:'To Charlotte,with admiration for the greatness ofwhat you are building when no one sees.'In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - thebook. And I would discover what would become for me,four life-changing truths, after which I could patternmy work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals- we have no record of their names. These buildersgave their whole lives for a work they would never seefinished. They made great sacrifices and expected nocredit. Thepassion of their building was fueled by their faiththat the eyes of God saw everything.A legendary story in the book told of a rich man whocame to visit the cathedral while it was being built,and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the insideof a beam. He was puzzledand asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much timecarving that bird into a beam that will be covered bythe roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workmanreplied, 'Because God sees.'I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall intoplace. It was almost as if I heard God whispering tome, 'I see you, Charlotte. I seethe sacrifices you make every day, even when no onearound you does. No act of kindness you've done, nosequin you've sewn on, no cupcakeyou've baked, is too small for me to notice and smileover. You are building a great cathedral, but youcan'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 isthe cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness.It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. Ikeep the right perspective when I see myself as agreat builder. As one of the people who show up at ajob that they will never see finished, to work onsomething that their name will never be on. The writerof the book went so far as to say that no cathedralscould ever be built in our lifetime because there areso few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.When I really think about it, I don't want my son totell the friend he's bringing home from college forThanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning andbakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkeyfor three hours and presses all the linens for thetable.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or amonument to myself. I just want him to want to comehome. And then, if there is anything more to say tohis friend, to add, 'you're gonna love it there.'As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. Wecannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day,it is very possible that the world will marvel, notonly at what we have built, but at the beauty that hasbeen added to the world by the sacrifices of invisiblewomen. Great Job, MOM!