I Am Invisible

Sigh...Have you ever had one of those days? Today was one of those "mommy days". I have just one request...and this is it...

Please oh please...can I PLEASE have the opportunity to use the bathroom for 2 seconds without someone busting in..."Mom, what are you doing?"...or "Mom. I have dink uh milk." Are you kidding me? Don't even think I get time for an uninterrupted bath either. I'm relaxing in the tub and the door bursts open. "Mom, I'm hungry. Can you make me a snack?" Um...really? I'm fairly certain that Dad is in the kitchen and could get you a snack. You're 6. You can't get an apple out of fridge without help? "I can't eat apples because it hurts my loose tooth and I need it cut. Can you cut it for me cuz Dad's busy." Did it ever cross your mind that at this moment, I might be busy too? Of course not. Mom's are never busy right? I sigh as I let out the bath water and grab a towel.

It's not just in the bathroom either. I am trying to make Mark a follow up doctor's appointment from his surgery 3 weeks ago. Can I hear one thing they say? Nope. My ears are filled with the screams of my 2 year old. "Mom! Mommy! Mom! Mom? Where boo blanket? Mom! Mom! MMMMOOOOOOOMMMMMYYYY!!! UUUUUHHHHH BBBBBLLLUUUUUEEEEEE BBBBLLLLAAAANNNNKKKKKEEEETTTT!!!! Mama! Mom!!MOMMY!!" All of this is complete with the proverbial tugging on the leg of my jeans.

Let the pity party begin.

Why does no one recognize my efforts? I literally fall into bed at the end of the day after laboring for my family. Rarely, do I have any time for me. Rarely do I have any time to read a book I'm interested in, as opposed to improve my family, learn how to homeschool my 7 year old, how to potty train my 2 year old and how to improve my marriage. Some days, there isn't even time for scripture study unless I cut out what little sleep I get. I hold the title of "Mom" but really, I'm a chauffer, cook, maid, nanny, and sometimes slave. I do so much every day. Most of it doesn't get noticed. When was the last time someone recognized that they had clean sheets on their bed. Or said, "thanks for dinner mom" instead of "mama...it's yucky". I don't really need the "thank you". I just want to know that what I'm doing matters...to somebody...anybody.

Thankfully, I get through the day without killing (or maiming) anyone and I have time to catch up on blogs. A friend of mine had posted this a few days ago and it was literally (as the title says) healing balm for my soul. I thought I'd share it with you because I am assuming that there are other women out there who feel like me.

Healing Balm For My Soul

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 sum ma 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.