Post by MIRIAM JACOB on Nov 26, 2009 6:22:23 GMT -5
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 me a question.
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; 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 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!
Hope this encourages you when the going gets tough as it
sometimes does.
We never know what our finished products will turn out to be
because of our perseverance.
response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while
I'm on the phone and ask me a question.
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; 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 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!
Hope this encourages you when the going gets tough as it
sometimes does.
We never know what our finished products will turn out to be
because of our perseverance.