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.’
Some days I’m a crystal ball; ‘Where’s my other sock?
Where’s my phone?, What’s for dinner?’
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books
and the eyes that studied history, music and literature -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 . She 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 she
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: ‘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: 1) No one can say who built the great cathedrals
– we have no record of their names. 2) These builders gave their whole lives
for a work they would never see finished. 3) They made great sacrifices and
expected no credit. 4) The passion of their building was fueled by their faith
that the eyes of God saw everything.
A story of legend 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. 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, no Cub Scout meeting, no last minute errand 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.
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
3 hours and presses all the linens for the table.’ That would mean I’d built 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, he’d say, ‘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 mothers.
—Anonymous
