August 22, 2014

Invisible Mom

(author unknown)
It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school.

I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the
crossing guard said to him, “Who is that with you, young fella?” “Nobody,”
he shrugged. Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but
as we crossed the street I thought, “Oh my
goodness, nobody?”

I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to
my family – like “Turn the TV down, please” – and nothing would happen.
Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there
for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, “Would someone
turn the TV down?” Nothing.

Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We’d been there
for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to
a friend from work. So I walked over, and w hen there was a break in the
conversation, I whispered, “I’m ready to go when you are.” He just kept
right on talking. That’s when I started to put all the pieces together. I
don’t think he can see me. I don’t think anyone can see me. 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.

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, p lease.”

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 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 banana 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 wa s 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 jo b 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 any- thing 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.

Hope you’re inspired,
Brandy
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Comments

  1. Danielle says:

    Brandy,

    Thank you for sharing this story that I have heard so many other times. I needed to hear it again since I was feeling very discouraged last night and this morning and this has really helped brighten my day.

    Thank you and have a wonderful day :)

  2. Totally inspired and definitely needed this today! Thank you!

  3. Wow, how I have felt like this lately. Sometimes, it is hard to see the big picture. Thank you for sharing this with all of us. Truly inspiring. Thank you.

  4. Rebekah J says:

    Definitely needed that. Thanks!

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