Cathedrals

It seems everywhere I look these days, incredible, devoted, passionate, powerful, uh-maze-zing mamas are feeling overworked, underpayed, waaaaaaay under-appreciated, and dare I say it - BORED!!!! 

We don't mean to feel this way. 

I mean, honestly, we know we're supposed to be loving this. 

Feeling that warm materal glow every time we lay eyes on our precious little bundles from aBoVe. 

Counting our blessings, one load of laundry at a time. 

(That's a LOT of blessings, people.) 

But the truth is, there are days that we mommas ask ourselves, "What am I doing here?"  "What is this all for?"  "Am I going to wake up in 20 years and realize all I've done is the dishes?" 

"And who's going to care?"

I was talking with some sweet friends today about just that, and one of them sent this story (sorry, I don't know the author).  It actually made me cry because I've been working on a few "birds" lately myself. 

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 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. 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 3 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.

This thing we're doing, mommas...

...it's hard.

We all think so.   

Sometimes we cry when it all gets too heavy. 

Sometimes we feel like it's not enough. 

Sometimes we think no one sees. 

But God sees. 

Every bird.  Every beam.  Every builder.