Wednesday, April 27, 2011

For All Of The Mothers

I received the following in an email from a very dear friend. I don't know who wrote it originally, but it is truly something that all mothers (and even fathers) should read.


a message many moms need to hear:

It all began to make sense -- the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids would 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 taxi for order, 'Right around 5:30, please.' Some days I'm a crystal ball; 'Where's my other sock? Where's my phone? What's for dinner?'

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history, music and literature -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 . She had just returned 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 she 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: 'With admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'

In the days ahead I would read - no, devoured - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:

1) No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.

2) These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.

3) They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.

4) The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw


A story of legend 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. 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, no Cub Scout meeting, no last minute errand 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.’

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 3 hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built 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, he'd say, '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 mothers.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Letting Go and Letting God

The chances of Mike and I ever having another baby are very, very slim. We have accepted and are totally at peace with this. Lately, I have been making an effort to simplify my life, including getting rid of clutter. Part of the purging of "stuff" included getting rid of a lot of our "baby things". We no longer have a crib, a high chair or a stroller. Well ok, the stroller is just in the back yard, but it has officially been given "toy" status. Just now, a big, white, donation truck came and picked up two big, black, bags. One of them was full of all of my "gender neutral" and "boy" baby clothes. (The baby girl items are currently with a sister-in-law who is about to have another girl.) All week I have been dreading the arrival of this truck, because it would mean saying goodbye to so many items that I have had since our 14 year old was born. That, and a fear of Murphy's Law; for as soon as another of my sisters-in-law did the same purging, she got pregnant.

While finances are tight, it isn't so much the thought of having to buy all new things that had me worried, though there are any number of things I would rather spend money on right now. The big worry was the thought of upheaval. Where would we even *put* another child in our tiny house? With my health issues, it is important to me to have as much of a flexible day as possible; a baby would throw much of that flexibility out the window. could I even handle having another little one to look after? The way I feel most days, that answer would be "no". All of this reminds me of my favorite quote from Mother Theresa: I know God won't give me more than I can handle, but sometimes I wish He didn't trust me so much".

All this said and done, I must admit that the anticipation of letting go was much more painful than the actuality of it. When I saw the truck pull up out front I didn't feel a pang of regret, but rather of a weight being lifted from me; as if God was saying to me: Don't worry, I have this in hand, my love.

Have a blessed Easter, everyone.