Cause he's too cute to keep all to myself...
Saturday, August 28, 2010
A Much Needed Pep Talk
Woke up this morning to find this little gem. Thanks, Heidi.
This is an excerpt from The Invisible Woman by Nicole Johnson. It is something I read and reread often. Hope it touches your heart the way it does mine.
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 even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" 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, 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 hair 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 Carol , 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:
1-No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
2-These 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 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, Nicole. 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.
When I really think about it, I don't want my daughter to tell the friend she'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 her to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to her 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.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Roll out!
Didn't every kid in America grow up with a car like this? I know we owned at least two of these--a rusted silver one and a sweet mustard colored one with wood paneling. I know my Tia Estela owned a green one too. But seeing this car just brought back a million memories for me.
We frequented the drive-in in one. The back would be folded down and loaded with blankets and pillows and all sorts of toys and junk.
These puppies could hold like a whole army. My mom would drive us to Catholic school in one and all the kids had some kind of army vehicle name for it.
My brother was sitting the front seat once and he was hanging on to the door handle for safety only to hang on a little too tight, accidently open the door, and go flying out of car.
Once on our way to school the horn got stuck and we drove the entire way with this blaring horn going--as if the car didn't call enough attention to itself.
In my aunt's car I remember we (all the cousins) piled into one--from the rear door cause they all had those sweet doors in the back. As we were getting ready to drive away the driver tried to roll up the back window, not realizing one of my cousins had their head OUT the window and when everyone started to scream cause someone was stuck she panicked and couldn't figure out how to roll the window down.
Oh, the memories...I would drive one of these now over a mini-van ANY day.
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