bless my birth

> >’I'm invisible.’> >> >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 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 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:> >> >’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> >their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They> >made great sacrifices and expected no credit.> >> >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, Charlotte. 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 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.Thanks to my encouraging friend, Christina for forwarding this to me today.