Mothers! You are like the builders of great cathedrals. What you are doing is largely invisible. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what you have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of your love.

It all started for Rose one day as she was walking her 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 five. But as we crossed the street I thought, Oh, my goodness, nobody? I am invisible. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie that? Can you open this? Some days I’m not even a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a clock to ask: What time is it? I’m a TV remote to answer: “What number is the Disney Channel?”

There is a legendary story about a rich man who came to visit a great cathedral while it was being built. 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.” The workman replied, “Because God sees.”

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. No great 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 four 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 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.”

Mothers! You are builders of great cathedrals. You cannot see the fruits of your labors. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what you have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the invisible sacrifices of your love.

–From a story by Nicole Johnson.