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Because it made me smile.

"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. 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 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'tsee
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 home made 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 itthere.'
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."