It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn’t exactly sure why my best friend had given it to me until I read inscription: “To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.” In the years ahead I would read – no… I would devour the book.

No one can say who built the great cathedrals of Europe – we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifice and expected no credit.

I closed the book, feeling the missing pieces fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, “I am watching you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when those around you are blind to what you do. 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.”. “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 the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective, 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 create something on which your name will never appear.

The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals can 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 ho 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 the dinner my mom prepared.”


Author Unknown

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