A Safe Place

The following poem sums it up well. In tribute to mothers everywhere:

A SAFE PLACE

She tied your laces so you would not trip,
and held your hand so you could not slip.

She gently wiped your runny nose dry,
and held you close when you would cry.

She sewed the button on your shirt,
and kissed your knee to stop the hurt.

She wrapped Life's gifts in ribbons and lace,
and handed you a world that was a safe place.

The years passed quickly, and along the way,
she guided you so you would not stray.

Now she needs you to hold her hand,
when she's too frightened to understand.

She needs you there to lend an ear,
to aches and pains she cannot bear.

And turn her fears inside out,
and smile for her while she may pout.

She's earned the right, as you well know,
to call you back after she's let you go.

So hug her now and hold her dear,
as she did for you in yesteryear.

- Ruth Sochaczewski
with permission from Horizons Magazine

Invisible Mothers

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, and 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. 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. 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.

CHRISTIAN

by Maya Angelou

When I say... "I am a Christian"

I'm not shouting I'm clean livin.

I'm whispering I was lost, now I'm found and forgiven.



When I say..."I am a Christian"

I don't speak of this with pride.

I'm confessing that I stumble and need CHRIST to be my guide.



When I say... "I am a Christian"

I'm not trying to be strong.

I'm professing that I'm weak and need HIS strength to carry on.



When I say... "I am a Christian"

I'm not bragging of success.

I'm admitting I have failed and need God to clean my mess.



When I say... "I am a Christian"

I'm not claiming to be perfect,

My flaws are far too visible but, God believes I am worth it.



When I say... "I am a Christian"

I still feel the sting of pain,

I have my share
of heartaches so I call upon His name.



When I say... "I am a Christian"

I'm not holier than thou,

I'm just a simple sinner who received God's good grace, somehow.