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 Iâm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside Iâm thinking, âCanât you see Iâm on the phone?â
Obviously not; no one can see if Iâm 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. Iâm 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??Â
Some days Iâm not a pair of hands; Iâm not even a human being. Iâm a clock to ask, âWhat time is it?â Iâm a satellite guide to answer, âWhat number is the Disney Channel?â Iâm a car to order, âRight around 5:30, please.â
Some days Iâm a crystal ball; âWhereâs my other sock? Whereâs my phone?, Whatâs for dinner?â
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. Sheâs going, sheâs going, and sheâs 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, âI brought you this.â It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasnât exactly sure why sheâd given it to me until I read her inscription: âWith admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.â
In the days ahead I would read â no, devour â 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 â 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.Â
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, âWhy 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, âBecause God sees.âÂ
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was Almost as if I heard God whispering to me, âI see you. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does.
No act of kindness youâve done, no sequin youâve sewn on, no cupcake youâve 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 canât 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.Â
When I really think about it, I donât want my son to tell the friend heâs bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, âMy 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.â That would mean Iâd 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, heâd say, âYouâre gonna love it thereâŚâÂ
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if weâre 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.
The above was written by: Nicole Johnson
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Correction: Thanks to my wonderful readers, this beautiful essay is now correctly attributed to its author, Â Nicole Johnson, rather than âAnonymousâ which is how I originally found it. Thank you for your feedback!
Note: I originally published this post on May 5, 2013 – the original link was http://whatcomfamilies.com/2013/05/11/the-invisible-mother/