It started with a question

Disclaimer: I wrote this for my records more than anything - it's extremely long and a bit emotional!

Earlier this week my kids were both in the office hangin' out - Trevor was playing X-Box and Zoë was on the computer. They both took their turns calling out to me for help with one thing or another, never at the same time mind you, so I lost track of how many times I actually went in there. One of the last times I went in to help Zoë with something (before sending them to the showers) Trevor asked me this question, mind you he never took his eyes off of his game:

"Mommy, how do you always help everyone with everything they need?"

The only response I could come up with was, "I don't know - I just do."

He said, "But you always know the right answer. How do you do that?"

I just shrugged it off by telling him I didn't know. I was probably in a hurry to get something done, or maybe I didn't want to tell him the truth - that I don't always know the right answer. I want him to always think I'm right - what's wrong with that?! I also want him to know I am always there to help him, which I think he does, so that was that.

Well, today at lunch I logged on to check my e-mails and came across one from Brad's cousin, Michelle Troxell. She found this story on a friends blog and shared it with a bunch of us. As I was reading it I couldn't help but think of this conversation I had with Trevor. I cried - not just a little teary, I cried. I had red eyes and streaked cheeks for the rest of my work day. I wish this story was written to include both Moms & Dads, mostly because Brad does more on a daily basis in comparison than what I think I do and I think he deserves to feel needed too, but this was obviously written by a woman to include only the feelings of women, so take it for what it's worth.

At some point in our lives we feel unnoticed, invisible if you will, and not because we're not gratified by the work we do as Moms & Dads but because we are human and every once in a while humans tend to be a little selfish. Sometimes we just want to be told we are doing a good job, or that someone really does appreciate all the little things you do for everyone around you, even if you know it's appreciated. I got more gratification from Trevor's question than he will ever know.

Enjoy the story - with some tissues! You're gonna need 'em!

The Invisible Woman

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 sum a cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going; she's going; she is 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. 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 EuropeI 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 going to 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.