Obviously, I'm getting lazy. Here I am posting other people's stuff for the second post in a row. Unthinkable! But this one is such a magnificent answer to the rediculous, clumsy lyrics that make up the featured song in my last post. What have they--NOW and ERA--built? Angry, cursing women bent on destroying the tenderest and most helpless of their kind. They claw away at the very foundation that this country is built on--children. They tell us go...work, make something useful of yourself. We'll take care of your children during their most impressionable years. We'll line them up high chair to high chair and spoon feed em' the party line. Never mind their tears, or yours. This is what they fought for and now you better fall in line.

Not this mama. I will be content to be invisible. To build my four cathedrals in obscurity. For some day, my Father promises, that my reward will be great.

Read, sister mamas, and be blessed....




> Invisible Mother......> > 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 sum a cum> laude - but now> they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be> seen again. She's> going; she's going; she is 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> 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.> > We never know what our finished products will turn out to> be because of> our perseverance.

Not this mama. I will be content to be invisible. To build my four cathedrals in obscurity. For some day, my Father promises, that my reward will be great.