The Invisible Mother

I got this through an email but had to share it.  I think it has so many amazing points and really makes me think about my job raising Braden, Olivia and Norah.

The Invisible Mother

  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.