A friend just emailed me this awesome story that really spoke to me, so I wanted to include it on our family blog and eventually in the book that will be made of this blog so I could look back on it again and again....
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, 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.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
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I just love this.
ReplyDeleteawesome.
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