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Category: Writing and Poetry
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 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, and 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 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 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. Great Job, MOM!
>>
>> Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know..... I just did. The
>> Will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not
>> protect you.
5:44 AM
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