Ode To Motherhood
Thinking back, it now begins to make sense; the blank stares; the lack of response; the way one of the kids would walk into the room while I was on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I was thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not; no one could see that I was on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one saw me at all. I was invisible. Some days I was only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?? Some days I was not a pair of hands; I was not even a human being. I was a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I was a remote control guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I was a car with an order to pickup, 'Right around 5:30, please.' Weren’t these the hands that once held books and the eyes that poured over history and music and art and the mind that graduated with honors - but now those hands had disappeared into the crustless peanut butter & jelly sandwiches they made, those eyes had disappeared while reading the same sentence in the “Are you my Mother?” book over & over again and that mind had disappeared while stirring oatmeal idly over the stove every morning - never to be seen again. There she goes! She's going, she's going, she's gone!
One night, a group of us were visiting with a friend of ours over dinner. We were celebrating her return 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, drinking their martinis, taking in the room while making smart, fabulous remarks and it was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was starting to feel pretty pathetic, when our celebrated friend turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'Here, 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 Ruth-Ann, 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 actions in this life:
1) No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
2) These nameless builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
3) They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
4) 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 little 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 end up only to 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, Ruth-Ann. I saw the sacrifices you made and the little things you still do every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no salty tears you’ve kissed away, no cub scout patch you’ve sewed on or scarf you’ve rolled ‘just right’ or derby car you’ve helped carve, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You were helping to build a great cathedral, but even now you cannot see what it will become.'
At times, my invisibility felt like an affliction. But now I’ve come to realize that it is not a disease that has erased my life. In fact, it was and still 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 children to tell the friends they bring with them while visiting on holidays, '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 them to want to come home…that’s all. And then, if there is anything more to say to their friends, to add…. 'You’re going to love it there.' As parents, 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 has been built, but at the beauty and strength and potential that was added to this world by the sacrifices of ‘The Invisible.’ Only after becoming a parent myself, do I realize how invisible we are to our children growing up and I think back now to the sacrifices you made Mom, all the clothes you sewed for your girls, and the thousand little things you did every day and I want to say, “I see you Mom. I love you Mom.” “Thank you.”
Ruth Rhinesmith - Ode To Motherhood
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