Some Days

Some days just never end. Today is one of those days. It's not even noon yet and I'm at my wits end with everything. Allan has a long day and night at school today...GraceAnne is stir crazy and making me nuts...Violet is demanding as ever and all I want to do is crawl back into bed and take a nap; but I can't. My goals for November probably won't work out for me because no one seems to want to have a party. I've tapped all my friends and family. For the 3rd day, there is no one here to work on the house because of God knows what excuse today. I want my toilet and my sink back and sometimes it's easy for me to forget my Blessings--that Allan has the ability to go to school and work towards a degree and will soon have a job. That the kids are here with me and not in heaven like one of our others. That GraceAnne can and wants to run and jump and play. That my business is growing, even if not at the pace that I designate. That the house is being worked on at all. And so many other Blessings.

I know that a lot of you feel this way sometimes, too, so I thought I'd post something that I have kept in my inbox for a long time that gives me motivation. Let me copy and paste so I can do some dishes and bake some cupcakes with my daughters. There's work to be done!

"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 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 hair 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. 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." 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 showed 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. Then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, I'd like him 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. One day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women."

Hope you all have a great day and a good rest of the week!

1 comment:

Gayle said...

That's a great story. I understand what you mean...sometimes I feel very invisible and sometimes I forget how lucky I am. I hope today is a brighter day for you.