Two years ago my friend went to England and she brought me some of my very favorite things: chocolate, Jane Austen postcards, and a book entitled, “The Trouble With Women.”
This book, a brilliantly humorous bit of text poking fun at all the age-old stereotypes and myths about women, opens by prodding the question, “Ever wonder why women are absent in history books….it’s simply because they did not exist!”
When I first read this passage I laughed out loud. It’s true, the number of women mentioned in history books is extremely lacking. As I unpacked my books during our last PCS move, I read that first page again with a different perspective. A more broken, troubled, and less hearty approach.
Being a mom to military children is a challenge. So many times I’ve laid awake at night wondering if I am enough for them. Am I adequate enough to be the only one to rock them in my arms and calm their fears and heartache when their dad is gone? Am I doing a good enough job “showing love for two” when I’m the only parent at home for months on end? Can I provide them with enough stability in an unstable world? These questions plague my thoughts in cycles, and often they accompanied by another set of thoughts. Am I invisible? Am I losing myself in a work that is thankless, hard, and long? What about my dreams? Am I “just” a mom?
Motherhood is funny like that, like the invisibility cloak was draped over us and we had no idea…It explains all those times when no one responds when we point to the stairs and plead for clean rooms, ask for help taking out the trash, or putting the toilet seat down. I flipped through the same book my friend gave when as we were ready to PCS again and noticed something I hadn’t noticed before – she had put a paper in the back of the book.
It was a short story entitled the “Invisible Mother.”
Perfect enough, it told of a woman who had just had a friend return from England- the woman’s friend had given her a book about cathedrals. The woman thought it was quite an odd gesture until she noticed an inscription inside the book that read: “With admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.” My eyes watered when I read what followed. Not on the behalf of guilt but rather validation.
There were four core lessons the woman learned after reading the book:
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.
4. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
After reading this I felt understood and embraced. It was like God whispering, “I know you, I see you, every day, every sacrifice, and every act of service, I see YOU. Every birthday party you celebrate alone, every stuffed animal sewed back together (or in my case glued). Nothing is too small or too lackluster for me to notice. I’ve trusted you with building a great cathedral, I need you to build it even if you can’t see the greatness that will become of it. I can see it.”
What cathedrals are we building? Being a mom is difficult. Being a mom to military kids proves to be even more daunting. Yet there’s something incredibly special about mothering children born into a lifestyle filled with hardships they never asked to endure.
Because of the circumstances surrounding the life they were born into, my military kids see sacrifice. They practice empathy. They notice heartache. They often confront fear and overcome challenges far beyond anything their peers have to encounter and overcome. They are the cathedrals. They are the masterpieces that will remind the world that good exists and perseverance is possible. We, their mothers, are building great cathedrals.
As builders of cathedrals, it can feel as though we will forever remain nameless. While God sees everything, we also have a responsibility to find and see each other. Right now your life might be all about the hands that deliver dandelion bouquets and the souls you were given to mother. For a long time, your children’s views of you will be a narrative of how you mothered them, but one day they’ll grow up and insist that you see them as more than the little hands with the dandelion bouquets and they’ll finally see that you are much more than just a mom. Until then, we have to see each other. We need to bring back the village mentality and redefine mothering as a practice that should never be done in isolation, especially within the military community. We need each other. No one ever built the great cathedrals alone. We have to remind each other that we are worthy of goals and dreams, and love both within and beyond our mothering roles.
There are times when I feel inadequate, isolated, insignificant and unseen. These challenges are real but they do not define my experience as a mother to military children. I’m grateful to do a work that will transcend temporal and present times. I am a builder of better tomorrows because of the hands that deliver bouquets of weeds and art painted with my own fingernail polish. I do not do this work alone. As a village of military spouses and military families, we have to see “our mothers.” We have to build together. Here’s to those who have embraced, cared for, taught, and loved our military children. Your work is important. We see you.