The Invisible Mother

I read this story a long time ago, but don't know where it ever came from.  I found it the other day and was touched all over again by its profound meaning.  I have not truly ever felt invisible, but there are so many times that I have wondered if anything that I do makes any difference at all.  On days like that, I need to read this again and remember that the masterpieces of lives unfolding before me are truly making a difference.  Only God knows how He will use my children, but for now, I will cherish every moment of being their mother.  I will pour all that I can into them and do it to the very best that God has enabled me to do. 

When my children were very small, I was praying one day and asking God how I was to be a witness for Him when I was home all day with just my children.  He helped me to see that they were my current mission field.  I was to win them to Him and show them His love in the world around them, so that they would serve Him with all their heart.  I have never forgotten that and strive to do so, daily.  I consider it the highest honor to have a small part in creating such amazing masterpieces - ones fit for the King's use!  I hope that this little story will inspire and encourage you as it has so often done for me.

I am 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, 'Pick me up right around 5:30, please.' 

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied  and the mind that had dreamed of greater things-- 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. My friend 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 my friend, 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, 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.  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 going to love it there.'  

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. 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.

Keep on building, moms - don't ever give up on your cathedrals!