Not Invisible

Her hands stilled over the pot she stirred. A tear slipped down and salted the spaghetti boiling away in its pot. This day had been exceptionally rough. The kids wouldn't concentrate on their schoolwork, and the laundry multiplied even as she finished a load. Added to that, the two new boys they were fostering were having a hard time adjusting. 

She sighed and the spoon slipped from her grip. If only her own mom didn't live so far away. She could really use a hug, a chat, and a cup of coffee with a little lunch. Then maybe if she could have ten minutes in the presence of her dad's quiet strength and humor she wouldn’t be so lonely. 

Glancing at the clock, she began stirring again. Jerry would be home in fifteen minutes, and he'd be hungry. A brief smile flashed across her face, illuminating her eyes for a moment. Remembering the night she and Jerry met always had that effect. Some would call their meeting at that dance a coincidence, but she knew it was God's timing. Now, fifteen years later, their marriage held strong.

In the next room she heard the kids bickering. It sounded like they were picking on Matt again. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. 

“Will they ever get along? Can't we ever have a full day without someone arguing with someone? All my encouragement falls on deaf ears. Nobody sees me. They see the cook, they see the laundry-doer, they see the maid. They don't see me.” Another tear splashed onto the stovetop.

“My daughter,” a voice whispered in her soul. “I see you. I know that a pot of spaghetti means: I love you. I know that clean laundry means: I will always care for you. I see your hurts and your joys.     

One day, they will too. One day they will see your passion and your compassion. They will see your creativity and your wisdom. They will see your bravery and your strength. 

One day they will be husbands and wives and they will remember the lessons you taught them about marriage and compromise and giving the benefit of the doubt. 

One day they will be parents and they will remember your patience with them and the ways you modeled my love. 

One day their relationship with me will be stronger because of their relationship with you. My daughter, press on for your labor is not in vain.” 

The reminder sank deep into her bruised heart, easing some of the pain.  She took a deep breath, wiped her cheeks and gave the cooking noodles a vigorous stir. The kids needed her, her husband was hungry, and she was a daughter of the King.