The Invisible Woman

I got this in an email today. How appropriate!

Perspective: 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?' said 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 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.