Irony of the Irish Holy Day?

As I have commented before in this column, Sunday mornings are one, if not the only time, the streets are "dead" here in San Juan, Puerto Rico. As we travel to go and worship on Sunday mornings, we NEVER have to worry about the traffic...there is none. Even when we get out of worship services and go to lunch, we are usually one of the first people at the restaurant around 1:00 pm. But that was not the case this morning.


I noticed on my way to worship that there seemed to be more people out than usual and when I left services to go to our favorite restaurant, I hit a major traffic jam. It wasn't long before I passed a float and realized I had come upon the ending of the "St. Patrick's Day" parade in, coincidentally, San Patricio, the shopping area I was headed for. The crowd was enormous and it took me a while to make my way through to the parking garage.

As I sat in the traffic, I thought how ironic; here are all of these people celebrating the life of a deeply religious man who devoted himself to worshipping and serving God (though I disagree with his theology, he did devote himself to what he believed was worship to God) and yet the only time you will see them up and out on the "Lord's Day" is if they can have a party. What would Patrick think? Would he be pleased to know that the legacy he has left behind has become nothing more than green tinsel and shamrocks, green beer and parades with leprechauns?

But, then again, isn't that what so many have done with the life of Christ as well. They have reduced His legacy to nothing more than hiding Easter eggs and chocolate bunnies in Spring and Christmas trees with packages in Winter and this was not a man we celebrate, but the very Son of Jehovah God--Creator of the universe! What must He think????

Humans have a way, through their arrogance, of trivializing greatness. We have a way of making common that which is extraordinary. We have done it with everything from the honor that should be given to the office of the presidency to respect for (or lack of respect for) the American flag, from disrespect for motherhood to calling the miracle of conception of human life nothing more than unwanted "tissue". We have even reduced the awesomeness of a Divine Creator into nothing more than a "Big Bang". Aren't we amazing! or is it that we are just plain foolish?

The irony of the parade today, the fact that we CAN all get up early on Sunday morning, points to our total disrespect for Greatness; our disrespect for our Great, Loving, Patient and always Merciful Father who loves us despite our utter disregard for Him and His commandments to assemble with the saints on the Lord's Day.

Dana Burk

A Tribute to "Real" MOMS

(Another great article for you mothers who often feel you are unappreciated. I have felt that way myself. I do not know the author...isn't that ironic.) --Dana Burk

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 am 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.

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 $%^ 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 banana 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 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 w as 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, 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 him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're going to 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.