Thursday, November 8, 2007

i am invisible

i did not write this but wanted to share with any one who is a mom. it really helped me put my life in perspective.

I can be 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, “Pick me up 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 ... 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 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


Melek said...

wow. i love that. it's such a great analogy, bc that's exactly what you're doing.

i'm sure it's hard to be a mom. i have great admiration for moms, and especially for you bc you're so good at it. i marvel at how you do it. not that you have crazy rotten boys to deal with, but bc you've kept them from being that, instilled manners and kindness in them, and one day, they will grow up to be the Notre Dame Cathedral of their time. :)

Drewpy Drew said...

At the youth conference I went to this summer, they had a parade of missionaries from around the world. It was amazing and humbling to see the front line workers in God's plan.

Then at the alter call five of the kids from my group came down. Wow! God showed me my place in his plan. We all serve in our way. The glory is for Him, not us. God is truly amazing.

Great post.

Jen38 said...

Kay, I love this! I hope someday my kids can say “You're gonna love it there,” to their friends as well.

I have noticed that society often ignores and finds Mother's with small children and the Elderly as invisible. Their lives are too busy to stop and help, or do the right thing. This is kind of off-topic, but I think it is fascinating. Usually the one that does help is the busy mother with all the crazy children, pausing to open the door for the elderly old man at the mall.

I hope to be that kind of person that keeps my eyes open, and can teach my children to do the same for all people. In essence, adding my small bit of mortar towards the greater work of the grand Cathedral.

Dancin Queen said...

I love this story, and can never hear it too many times! Thanks for posting it!

hotmamabeads said...

So many times we only see the drudgery of laundry and dishes, neverending tasks and forget to focus on the people that we serve and the real reason we do it! Thanks for the reminder.