Invisible...

Aubri, my sister-in-law, emailed this to me and I really liked it. Thank you to all of my invisible friends...and of course, my invisible mom!

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, 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 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.