I love a good story.......

Ok, so the last week or so have not been the best of my life. I have been a little overwelmed and stressed to say the least. I was staring off at my computer today checking on everyones blog's ( the only thing that I can do that wont talk back to me or cause me more drama ) and I came across Hilary ( williams ) and Tyler's. Not only is their son adorable but she posted this story. I love the way that the Holy Spirit works. I could not have read this story at any better point in my life. So, thank you Hilary for posting it and thank you to Kathy Vest, mother of 6 year old triplet boys,who wrote it. I don't think that you will know what an inpact it had on my day and outlook on my life......


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?"

Obviosly 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. I'm invisible.

Somedays I am a pair of hands, nothing more: can you fix this? can you tie this? can you open this? Somedays I am 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 from college but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.

She's going, going, gone

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. She had just got back from a fabulous trip, and she was going 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 that I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic when she 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 my friend, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees"

In the days ahead I would read 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 build the great catherdrals- 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 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. I see the sacrfices you make everyday, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no seguin 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 invisibilty 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 antidode to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the roght perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of those 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 child to tell his friends that they bring home from college for thanksgiving " My mom gets up at 4am and bakes homemade pies and then she hand bastes a turkey for 3 hours and presses all the table linens" That would mean I'd build a shrine or 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 mother's, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing i right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have build, but the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.