Invisible Mom

[rjc]

Someone sent me the following. I do not know who wrote it but it was what I needed today, so this is especially to all the Moms.

>
> Invisible Mother...... 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 (or even
> on the toilet) and ask to be taken somewhere.
>
> Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm
> busy?' 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 taxi 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 sum a cum laude - but now they had disappeared
> into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's
> going; she's going; she is 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.
>
> 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 4:00 in the morning and
> bakes homemade pies. 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!

[Becks]

I just sent this to my daughter. She has 4 kids, is in her last semester of nursing school, and a lot of times feels overwhelmed. I think she will appreciate it.