I'm invisible

A friend shared this with me and I thought it was Beautiful. I can totally identify!

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 himto 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.

Heard in the Trenches

Zoe was eating almonds and accidentally bit her cheek. She was consoled and calmed down. A few minutes later, she says, "Mom, I'n not talkin' to you. I'n talkin' to dese almonds."

Me: "Okay Zoe."

Zoe: (adopting a fierce scowl) "Almonds! You in big twouble!"
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Chris has been constantly thwarted in his attempts to open his Chiropractic office. There have been so many snags and he's been quite frustrated. So, when he walked into the room and announced, "Well I got two things done today. . . " I was thrilled for him.

"That's great hon, what were they?"

He looks at me with a wry grin and replies, "Diddly and Squat!"
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I'm afraid my Kolbi is now in the pre-teen note-writing phase of young girl-hood. It cracks me up and takes me back to my own girly-note-writing stage. I just had to share some of her fun notes . . . .

First of all, this goes back to Christmastime. I know, I'm a slacker. She brought it home from her primary class where apparently they were supposed to make a card with a home-made "gift" or promise for someone. This was her promise to me . . .How's that for selfless Christmas-spirit sacrifice?

I woke up from a Sunday afternoon nap during which Chris had taken the kids for a walk. On the counter was a small bowl full of little flowers and this written on a sticky note . . . (translation: Dear Mom, I hope you like the flowers even if they are dead. I LOVE you! Love, Kolbi)

Finally, my favorite and the most recent . . . It was covertly slipped into the back pocket of my jeans . . .
(Dear Mom,
There is a vary cute boy in my class.
And I don't know what to do about it.
Please help! He is ador-able!
(DON'T BREATH A WORD TO DAD! He'll W-I-G WIG!)
P.S. His name is Colton.)

Ah, young love! All I can say is Colton better watch out for Kolbi's Wig-wearin' dad!!
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Zoe was coloring and digging through the bag of random crayons. From the other room I hear her say, "Whoa!! Oh my goodness!! I LOVE pink! Pink! Pink! Pink!!"
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Zoe was sitting in her chair with a wash cloth. She'd hold it up in front of her face and you could hear her little voice say, "Peek-a-boo! Where are me?"
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Aiden, Zoe, and I were driving one day and I saw a car painted like a zebra as advertisement for something. I point it out to Aiden and he eagerly pipes in, "I want that when I'm big as a dad!" Then out comes the pouty lip, he folds his arms huffily, and in an angry, 'It's not fair' voice he declares . . . "But I won't get it!"

Surprised by this turn in the conversation, I ask, "Why not Aiden?"

"Because!" He pronounces hotly, "I'll be a Dad! And dad's don't get good presents for Christmas, only kids do! I'll just get a watch, or a tie or something boring like that!!"

Me: (Giggling) "You ain't kiddin' bud!"

Aiden, Aiden. Wherefore art thou Aiden?

I know Aiden doesn't hear me. I talk, and talk, and talk until I'm blue in the face and he doesn't hear me. I know his ears work. You say the word chocolate or pizza and his ears sprout satellite dishes that can pinpoint the sound of my voice to the exact geographic location. Ask him to do something for me? His ears shut completely off. I've known this for a while now ~ that he's deaf to my voice ~ but yesterday I finally got a glimpse into what he actually hears when I talk.

We were trying to head out the door to go to the library. I'm struggling to do a very wiggly Zoe's hair and I asked him to get his shoes and put them by the front door. He walks away and I don't see him for several minutes. When he returns I ask him if he took his shoes to the front door. "Oh! No! Just a minute." and he disappears down the hall again. Again he's absent for several minutes. When he returns I ask again, "did you put your shoes by the front door?"

"What?" He says as he absently begins digging in a drawer for something forbidden to play with.

My hands are caught up in the little rubber bands that are half in Zoe's hair as she's turning the sink on full blast and squirting soap all over her sleeve. "Did you put your shoes by the front door?" I repeat.


"No."

I'm counting to ten under my breath . . ."Why . . . not . . .?" I ask desperately trying to hang on to what's left of my sanity.

"You told me to take care of my dirty clothes. I did that."

I was shocked. I'd been asking him to do that all morning. Now he finally does it!? "Actually I asked you to get your shoes and put them by the front door." I state as I rescue the roll of toilet paper before Zoe can unwind the whole thing.

He stares blankly off into space. Then he proceeds to grill me with questions about Star Wars and if Wolverine can beat up a jedi. "Aiden," I interrupt, "Look at me." He looks over at my knees. "Look at my eyeballs!" I amend. It takes several seconds but he finally meets my gaze. I use my slow, deliberate voice, "Please . . take your shoes . . . to the front door." He nods and walks off.

Meanwhile, Zoe's attempting to climb up on the sink and kiss her reflection in the mirror. He returns quickly. "Did you get your shoes?" I ask.

"No." He replies.

I'm beyond exasperated at this point. "Why not!?" I ask in a decidedly not very loving mommy voice.

"Because!" He says in an equally exasperated tone, "You . . told me . . . to go . . . lock the front door!"