MamaBlogga

I wish I could say I wrote this; I didn’t, but I found it moving enough to remember it six months later.

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? 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. 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 sum ma cum laud - 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.

Author Unknown from The Invisible Woman by Nicole Johnson (thanks Jennifer!), though I first saw it at Kasie Sallee’s blog, The Art of Life

I discussed some of the same things I’ve been writing about in the Making Mother’s Day Merry series with my mother via email. Since I’m not on that “lofty peak of experience,” I figured I’d talk to someone who is (or at least, almost is—my youngest sister is a junior in high school).

I don’t think that anyone fully realizes the greatness of what they are undertaking until they look backwards. I don’t remember a lot of defining moments during my “active duty” status of motherhood that made me say, “Yep, I am doing what I was destined to do right this moment.” But, there were those moments of supreme joy that still warm my soul. Times like seeing the unbridled happiness in Brooke’s eyes when she felt the wind on her face, or watching 3 girls run to help a lady in a store who had dropped her money, or hearing you solo in orchestra playing “Amazing Grace” or seeing Jaime opening her acceptance to BYU, or watching Jasmine sleep in her crib. There is joy in the journey every day if you just look.

It is interesting to hear you girls’ perspectives on your childhoods now. There are many things that I have forgotten that you girls remember and cherish that make me think that maybe I did some things right.

If I could do anything over again, I would worry less about things that really didn’t matter, and just enjoy the wonders of childhood with my girls. I would be more patient, more loving, more generous. I would discipline with more understanding and love. I would read more stories and more scriptures to you. I would just enjoy the very fleeting moments I had with my girls.

Once when you were you were about 6, I had to give a talk on motherhood. At that time, when we went shopping Jaime and Brooke rode in the shopping cart and you held onto the side. People thought the younger 2 were twins. Many times people would look at me and say, “Wow, you have your hands full.” I related that in my talk, and added my response, “Yes, and it is a fullness I have chosen.” Your blog title says you are searching for fulfillment. I think you have it. Your heart is full of what you have chosen. A little boy in your home and a little girl under your heart. Today is the day to enjoy the fullness.

I think all great and monumental tasks are made up of small, drudgery filled daily tasks that seem mundane, unimportant and boring. And yet, each of those smaller tasks are the bricks that build a beautiful creation. We all just need to learn to look at the bricks and appreciate their beauty and have faith that if the foundation is strong, the building will last.

This doesn’t really answer, I know. But in the immortal words of my autistic student, “I’m giving it all I got!”

Thank you, Mom, for your insights—every time I read them, I cry. I blame the baby .

I know that I, like a lot of other mothers, can’t wait until my children are older. When Hayden doesn’t have to bug me for every Goldfish and glass of water, when the baby doesn’t kick me all the time, when Hayden grows out of the “Drama King” stage (aka the terrible twos), etc., etc.—then I’ll be able to say “this was worth it.”

But y’know what? The reason I started this blog—and Making Mother’s Day Merry—is because I don’t want to look back and say “this was worth it.” I want to be able to look at them now (okay, well, look at Hayden for now) and say “This IS worth it.”

I know, perhaps all too well, that this won’t happen every day. But I can’t wait until they’re older to finally begin to think that I’ve made the right choice with my life.

Of course, I do hope and expect to have a day when my children are grown and off on their own, leading good, responsible lives when I will be able to say “This has been so worth it.”

But today, I’m not condescending from that lofty peak of experience to tell you that joy can be found when you finally make it up there. Frankly, I can’t promise that to myself or to anyone else.

Instead, I’m trying to gain at least a little of that mountain-top perspective where I am today. If I don’t start working toward enjoying motherhood today, I’m really not sure I’ll ever get to a point where I can look back and say, “Yeah, that was worth it, after all.” I’m not sure I’ll have anything to look back on with fondness if I don’t appreciate what motherhood is today.

Yes, motherhood entails work. But that is not what motherhood is. And if I don’t take time to enjoy motherhood now, I think that motherhood will never be anything more than just work to me.

So, no, I can’t wait until my children are older. I simply can’t wait that long to, as I said on Wednesday, recognize “that raising my children is important, and quite probably the most important thing I’ll ever do—to understand that it’s a task that’s worth doing.”

Yesterday, I asked:

Do you find it difficult to honor motherhood? I know I do! If so, why do you think that is? Is it the nature of the work? Pressures from others? Pressures and expectations from yourself?

For me, it’s a combination of the three, of course, but mostly expectations I have for myself, followed by the repetitive and even “drudgerous” nature of the “work” of motherhood.

But even as I pondered that, I realized that my underlying assumption here is misleading. Yes, motherhood is work. It’s hard work, even. But motherhood itself, motherhood as an institution, has very little to do with the maintenance- and housework that we commonly associate it.

As I’ve said before, motherhood isn’t about housework. It’s not about cleaning or cooking or organizing, though all those things are part-and-parcel of the tasks that come with having children. But “Motherhood is not, at its heart, about doing. Motherhood is about being. Because motherhood isn’t just something you do; it’s who you are.”

Granted, these tasks are important—and time consuming. But perhaps if we separate the day-to-day chores that accompany (or are simply magnified by) the arrival children, we’ll be able to slowly begin to see motherhood in a positive light.

What do you think? Can we mentally separate the maintenance of our children (and our own) from the meaning of motherhood?

I find it interesting that in the King James Version of the Bible, nine of the ten commandments are negative commandments: don’t do this, don’t do that. Even “Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy” goes on to say “thou shalt not do any work. . . .” To break these commandments, you have to actively do something: kill, cheat, worship a graven image, etc.

There one exception, one commandment that could be broken by simply a sin of omission: “Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land with the Lord thy God shall give thee.”

Traditionally, we understand this commandment to mean “obey your parents,” but that isn’t what it says. It says to honour. (Perhaps your wedding vows contained the promise to “love, honor and obey,” three different concepts.) This particular word choice can add a lot to our understanding of not only this commandment but also the kind of value that we should place on motherhood. (I’d love to hear any insights gained on this from the original Hebrew, too, if anyone has any!)

What does it mean to honor motherhood? We can pretty easily define motherhood, and we’ve even done so in one of our most popular group writing projects.

So what does it mean to ‘honor’ motherhood? In my scriptures, a helpful footnote gives a few synonyms for ‘honour’: “respect or value.” This goes far deeper than just obeying your parents’ rules until you get out of the house, and expecting the same from your children.

Truly honoring motherhood means to place value upon the efforts that we make as mothers every day, and not just because these efforts give us food to eat, clean clothes to wear and a clean house. Honoring motherhood means recognizing that raising our children is important, and quite probably the most important thing we’ll ever do. It’s a task that’s worth doing, worth doing well, and incredibly challenging.

Do you find it difficult to honor motherhood? I know I do! If so, why do you think that is? Is it the nature of the work? Pressures from others? Pressures and expectations from yourself?

Are you counting down until Mother’s day? If not, here’s a heads up: it’s coming up in about three weeks (May 11!).

In honor of this most awesome mothering holiday, I’m planning a series of posts on honoring, appreciating and showing appreciation for motherhood. I would love it if you’d join me in making Mother’s day merry!

Naturally, you can do this by reading and commenting on my posts here. You can also do this by specific suggesting subjects for me to write on. But best of all, you can do this by posting your own post about honoring motherhood. You can call for the world to sit up and notice moms; you can remind your kids and husband of all you do for them.

Won’t you join me in celebrating all that mothers have done for us, and continue to do today?