{"id":574,"date":"2008-04-16T08:25:46","date_gmt":"2008-04-16T13:25:46","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.toonesalive.com\/blog\/family\/?p=574"},"modified":"2008-04-16T08:25:46","modified_gmt":"2008-04-16T13:25:46","slug":"Perspective: The Invisible Woman (by Nicole Johnson)","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.toonesalive.com\/blog\/family\/?p=574","title":{"rendered":"Perspective: The Invisible Woman (by Nicole Johnson)"},"content":{"rendered":"

"As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right." <\/span>This poignant essay was shared at my Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) meeting yesterday. It really struck a chord in my heart, and I’m excited to have found it’s from a book called The Invisible Woman: A Story for Mothers<\/a>.  Here’s the YouTube version<\/a>, which is very, very good (about 5 minutes).<\/p>\n

\n
\n
<\/span><\/a>The Invisible Woman<\/font><\/strong><\/u>
by Nicole Johnson<\/p>\n

<\/em><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

It started to happen gradually \u2026<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

One
\nday I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we
\nwere about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him,
\n"Who is that with you, young fella?"<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

"Nobody," he shrugged.<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?"<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/a>I
\nwould walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something
\nto my family – like "Turn the TV down, please" – and nothing would
\nhappen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I
\nwould stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little
\nlouder, "Would someone turn the TV down?" Nothing.<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

Just
\nthe other night my husband and I were out at a party. We’d been there
\nfor about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was
\ntalking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a
\nbreak in the conversation, I whispered, "I’m ready to go when you are."
\nHe just kept right on talking.<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

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.<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

I’m invisible.<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

It
\nall began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the
\nway one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and
\nask to be taken to the store. Inside I’m thinking, "Can’t you see I’m
\non the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I’m on the phone, or
\ncooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the
\ncorner, because no one can see me at all.<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

I’m invisible.<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? <\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

Some
\ndays I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a clock
\nto ask, "What time is it?" I’m a satellite guide to answer, "What
\nnumber is the Disney Channel?" I’m a car to order, "Right around 5:30,
\nplease."<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

I was certain that
\nthese were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied
\nhistory and the mind that graduated summa cum laude – but now they had
\ndisappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. <\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

She’s going \u2026 she’s going \u2026 she’s gone!<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

One
\nnight, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a
\nfriend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip,
\nand she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was
\nsitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well.
\nIt was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down
\nat my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was
\nclean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid
\nI could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty
\npathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package,
\nand said, "I brought you this."<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

It
\nwas a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn’t exactly sure why
\nshe’d given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with
\nadmiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

In
\nthe days ahead I would read – no, devour – the book. And I would
\ndiscover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after
\nwhich I could pattern my work:<\/span><\/div>\n
    \n
  • No one can say who built the great cathedrals – we have no record of their names.<\/span><\/li>\n
  • These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.<\/span><\/li>\n
  • They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.<\/span><\/li>\n
  • The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.<\/span><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n
    A
    \nlegendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the
    \ncathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny
    \nbird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why
    \nare you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will
    \nbe covered by the roof? No one will ever see it."<\/span><\/div>\n

    <\/p>\n

    And the workman replied, "Because God sees."<\/span><\/div>\n

    <\/p>\n

    I
    \nclosed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was
    \nalmost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see
    \nthe sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No
    \nact of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no cupcake
    \nyou’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are
    \nbuilding a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will
    \nbecome."<\/span><\/div>\n

    <\/p>\n

    At times, my
    \ninvisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is
    \nerasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own
    \nself-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.<\/span><\/div>\n

    <\/p>\n

    I
    \nkeep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one
    \nof the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished,
    \nto work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of
    \nthe book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built
    \nin our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to
    \nthat degree.<\/span><\/div>\n

    <\/p>\n

    When I really
    \nthink about it, I don’t want my son to tell the friend he’s bringing
    \nhome from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning
    \nand bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three
    \nhours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I’d
    \nbuilt a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come
    \nhome. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add,
    \n"You’re gonna love it there."<\/span><\/div>\n

    <\/p>\n

    As
    \nmothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re
    \ndoing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will
    \nmarvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been
    \nadded to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

    "As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right." This poignant essay was shared at my Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) meeting yesterday. It really struck a chord in my heart, and I’m excited to have found it’s from a book called The Invisible Woman: A Story for Mothers.  […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-574","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pkzLf-9g","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.toonesalive.com\/blog\/family\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/574","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.toonesalive.com\/blog\/family\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.toonesalive.com\/blog\/family\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.toonesalive.com\/blog\/family\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.toonesalive.com\/blog\/family\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=574"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.toonesalive.com\/blog\/family\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/574\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.toonesalive.com\/blog\/family\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=574"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.toonesalive.com\/blog\/family\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=574"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.toonesalive.com\/blog\/family\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=574"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}