Mommy Encouragment!

I was reading on my friend Kerri's blog and she had this letter on it (origin unknown) so I decided to copy it into our blog. It's so interesting how this came at a time I have been thinking about a lot of these things. I've realized a lot of things in leaving my career of teaching and deciding to be a full time mommy. Teaching provided me with daily success, daily visible growth in my students, and measurable increases in their knowledege and understanding of the world around them. There was such concrete things being learned every day in my classroom that I could leave and feel like I had made a difference. Being a mom is very different. There are days when I wonder if anything I'm doing is causing growth and learning in Natalie. I still can't even get her to sit through an entire book!! I don't see measurable increases in her knowledge every day like I did in teaching. I know some of that is because I had 32 kids to draw from and at least one was going to learn something from me. :) The realization that everything I do all day long is being watched by our little girl is very weighty. There isn't anyone else that she spends so much time with and learns so much from. Yikes!! Am I doing the best I can all day long, every day? Am I showing patience and love in every situation? Am I showing her true joy and peace and contentment in all I do? I can only hope I do and it's because of all those things that I find being a mommy all day is tougher than it was to teach all day. I have a lot to learn and James & I were just telling Natalie today that she's going to have to be gracious with us because we've never done this before and we're going to learn a lot of things from her and make many mistakes along the way. I don't wonder what my purpose is because I know that at this stage of my life it is to be the best wife, mother, and friend that I can be. Sometimes it gets monotonous and I miss being an integral part in 32 little kids' lives and engaging with their families but I know that the most important little kid and family right now is my own. I may not be able to see daily benefits of what I'm doing but I know that down the road there will be great rewards, a strong family with many great memories and hopefully children who know their parents love them and considered them a blessing and a joy and not a stress or a burden.

"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, 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.