The Invisible Woman
This was posted on a message board I'm on, and had been sent to her in an e-mail, so I'm thinking it's become public domain . . . for all the other moms who sometimes feel invisible (religion mentioned) . . .
The Invisible Woman
By Nicole Johnson
It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my
son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross
the street when the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you,
young fella?" "Nobody," he shrugged. "Nobody?" The crossing guard and I
laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street, I thought, "Oh
my goodness, nobody?"
I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would
say something to my family - like "Turn the TV down, please" - and
nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the
remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a
little louder, "Would someone turn the TV down?" Nothing.
Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party.
We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I
noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when
there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when
you are." He just kept right on talking. That's when I started to
put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think
anyone can see me. 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 this for you."
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 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.
The Invisible Woman
By Nicole Johnson
It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my
son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross
the street when the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you,
young fella?" "Nobody," he shrugged. "Nobody?" The crossing guard and I
laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street, I thought, "Oh
my goodness, nobody?"
I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would
say something to my family - like "Turn the TV down, please" - and
nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the
remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a
little louder, "Would someone turn the TV down?" Nothing.
Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party.
We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I
noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when
there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when
you are." He just kept right on talking. That's when I started to
put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think
anyone can see me. 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 this for you."
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 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.