I wanted to share this with you. It's called "Invisible Mother" -- I received it today and I am not real savvy at copying and pasting, but I think you can understand the message. Enjoy!
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. > > > > I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the > eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - > 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. 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 Charlotte , 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 t > heir 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, ------ put your > name here----. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one > around you does. No act of kindness you've don e, 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 f riend > 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 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 women. > > > > Great Job, MOM! I love you! > > > > Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know... I just did. > > > > The Will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not > protect you. > > > > This is beautiful and makes a ton of sense. To all the wonderful > mothers out there.
1 comment:
Hi All --
I wanted to share this with you. It's called "Invisible Mother" -- I received it today and I am not real savvy at copying and pasting, but I think you can understand the message. Enjoy!
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. > > > > I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the > eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - > 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. 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 Charlotte , 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 t > heir 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, ------ put your > name here----. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one > around you does. No act of kindness you've don e, 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 f riend > 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 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 women. > > > > Great Job, MOM! I love you! > > > > Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know... I just did. > > > > The Will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not > protect you. > > > > This is beautiful and makes a ton of sense. To all the wonderful > mothers out there.
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