Underpayed but Eternally Rewarding

THE INVISIBLE MOTHER

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.'

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 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. 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, devour - 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 everything.

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.

April Lynn Konyu