Cathedral Builders

This is a story for all of the invisible cathedral builders commonly

known as mothers...





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'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 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.

-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, 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.



Great Job, MOM!