Invisible Mom

This is for those times when you feel like you haven't accomplished much, or when you feel, like I do sometimes, that what you do really doesn't matter so much.

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 hair 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.

Great Job, MOM

Me

Me

i look in the mirror
and yet, ...do not see my own reflection
my image of me is one of the past
i see before someone i do not know
yet fear all the while
she is my mother in so many ways
that it makes me weep
and i float away on my own tears

back to a land of memories
of old and young and good and bad
i see myself then and imagine myself now
a grown up me still....searching for that lost childhood

the mirror image tells me she is me.
and i am confused and alarmed
my panic rises and my thoughts are lost
i begin the ride of my own fears

i see flashes of my past within the new
the past pain floods my being and overwhelms me
my heart races like a speeding bullet
and yet, the old ways to calm myself are there

the image has eyes to make you cry
within thier depths lie pain and sorror
her feelings and pain a symbol of her life
and yet....all the while she crys

i do not know the image i see
my fear hides her away
the tears i cry blur her vision
and the memories escape to a childhood of long ago
once again the saddness rules
and the image is no longer mine


slthomas

To My Angels

To My Angels

though you may not walk among me
your always by my side
your never from my thoughts
from you my tears i do not hide
you will never walk with others
and no one else will know your touch
you were so alive to me
and i love you very much
today i sat and thought of you
i cried a mothers tears
i dreamed of holding you in my arms
of lifes hopes and fears
but you walk among the angels
you sing thier joyful song
you touch my heart when i need you
and never leave me long
i walk lifes bitter path
and count my angels three
i shut my eyes and see
in my heart your always with me
s.l.thomas

Parable of the Old Mule

Once there was a farmer who owned an old mule. One day the mule fell into the farmer's well and the farmer heard the mule 'praying' or whatever mules do when they fall into wells.

After carefully assessing the situation, the farmer sympathized with the mule, but decided that neither the mule nor the well was worth the trouble of saving.

Instead, he called his neighbors together, told them what had happened and enlisted them to help haul dirt to bury the old mule in the well and put him out of his misery.

Initially, the old mule was hysterical! But as the farmer and his neighbors continued shoveling and the dirt hit his back, a thought struck him. It dawned on him that every time a shovel load of dirt landed on his back HE COULD SHAKE IT OFF AND STEP UP! This he did, blow after blow. "Shake it off and step up...shake it off and step up...shake it off and step up!",

He repeated this to encourage himself. No matter how painful the blows, or how distressing the situation seemed, the old mule fought "panic" and just kept right on SHAKING IT OFF AND STEPPING UP!

It wasn't long before the old mule, battered and exhausted, STEPPED TRIUMPHANTLY OVER THE WALL OF THAT WELL! What seemed like it would bury him actually helped him...all because of the manner in which he handled his adversity.

THAT'S LIFE! If we face our problems and respond to them positively, and refuse to give in to panic, bitterness, or self-pity ...THE ADVERSITIES THAT COME ALONG TO BURY US USUALLY HAVE WITHIN THEM THE VERY REAL POTENTIAL TO BENEFIT US! "Never be afraid to try something new.

"Remember that amateurs built the ark. Professionals built the Titanic."

Also, remember, more importantly, that when God is for us, who can be against us

The West

This poem is one of my favorites. It was written by E. A. (Earl Alonzo) Brininstool, who was born in 1870. Something about this poem calls to my soul and expresses a feeling that I hold deep inside my heart.

The Poem is called, The West.

The West

When you have lived out in the West,
Till it becomes a part of you,
And you've a feeling in your breast
No other spot on earth will do;
When you can call the desert home,
And love the ranges vast and drear,
Then every butte and rocky dome,
And stretch of sage will grow more dear.

When every flaming sunset seems
To hold you by a magic spell,
And you have visions in your dreams
Of mesa tops and chaparral;
And when the rolling prairie land
You love more than the city street,
Then shall you know and understand
The charm which draws your eager feet.

When all God's great out-of-doors
You worship with a new delight;
When rocky ridge and canyon floors,
Show added wonders day and night;
When wide, free plains seem reaching out
To welcome you with open arms,
You will have learned, without a doubt,
The secret of the great West's charms.

When you can ride each lengthening trail
Without a sense of loneliness;
When every coulee, draw and swale
Hold beauties which you may possess;
When you can read the starry Skies
Beneath which you lie down to rest,
Then shall you know and realize
The fascination of the West!

From Trail Dust of a Maverick, 1914