Some days we feel seen, and some days we feel utterly unseen. Aye, there’s the rub. Just when you think you have “Uber” tattooed on your forehead, or “cleaning service” written across your t-shirt, your kids up and surprise you. A fellow alum and I have been laboring – yes, laboring as varsity lacrosse team parents for two years now. The glamorous tasks we undertake would shock and amaze you. I sometimes ask myself, “Does this really matter to my daughter?”
Tonight at the lacrosse playoffs somewhere in Canton, GA a monsoon took over in the last 10 minutes of the game. I was standing there with my stats partner, getting soaked to the bone while the rain was coming in sideways. We attempted to keep the game stats going until the paper turned illegible and the lightning alarm rang. I started running for cover when my daughter overtook me. “I love you mom!” she shouted as she ran by. I was seen. I was surprised, and I was seen.
For moms who have moments of feeling unseen, please read (or re-read) this great story, even though it is a little long. I’ve seen it many times before, but it bears repeating as we prepare to celebrate Mothers Day.
“The Invisible Woman – When Only God Sees” 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.
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.
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 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 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.”
So what does the Word have to say about moms?
“Your adornment should be … the hidden character of the heart, expressed in the imperishable beauty of a gentle and calm disposition, which is precious in the sight of God.” – 1 Peter 3:3-4
“As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem.” – Isaiah 66:13
“I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of Him. So now I give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord.” – 1 Samuel 1:27-28
“And Mary said: “My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. From now on all generations will call me blessed.” – Luke 1:46-48
I have heard before that a mother’s love for her children is the closest that we can get on Earth to our Father’s love for us. Here’s to all the moms out there – those who are living and continuing to bless us in ways seen and unseen, and to those who have passed and continue to cheer us on from heaven.
Love to our moms, and to those who love us like moms!
Happy Mother’s Day!