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 - 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: "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 s o 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 ri ght 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.
>
> 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 see 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.
> 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 - 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: "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 s o 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 ri ght 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.
>
> 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 see 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.
