The Invisible Mom: A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, in a far away place, I had a job. I sat in my office and worked, and people liked my work, and gave me money.

I had co-workers, managers, and assistants and other people who talked to me and asked me questions and liked my ideas.

There was also someone in the office called "The Custodian." The Custodian was someone we rarely noticed or paid much attention to. When we came to work in the morning, our wastepaper baskets had been emptied, our desks were dust-free, and the floor was vacuumed. Occasionally we left a brief note for the nameless Custodian, when we needed something done better or had an unusual request. But for the most part, The Custodian was invisible, ummentioned, unrecognized.

A few years ago, it occurred to me: I have become The Custodian. I move, invisible, through the house, using my mysterious magical powers to make clean socks show up in drawers, hot food appear on the table, and stains disappear from neckties. I can't turn a pumpkin into a carriage, but I can make it into a pretty good loaf of pumpkin bread.

This lack of visibility has occasionally made me a little sad. Lately, it's made me just a bit annoyed. My kids are old enough now, I think, to notice and acknowledge that they have a mother, and that she works hard for their benefit.

Then this past Sunday I was writing to my son Danny, who is serving a mission in the Philippines. I didn't have much to say about my week, so I wrote about the church meeting we had attended earlier that day.

Today Sacrament Meeting was all about worshiping the Savior through music. It was just musical numbers and people talking about the songs they were performing. It was really good.

Andrew Johnson played "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief" on his violin, with his mother Rosie accompanying him on the piano. It was beautiful, and made me think of you. Do you remember that when you were about two years old I used to sing that song to you? You loved it, and asked me to sing it often. "Sing 'the man' song," you'd say.

I learned that the song was originally a poem called "The Stranger" by a good man named James Montgomery. He wrote it in 1729 as an answer to the question in Matthew 25:37-38: "Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungered, and fed thee? Or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?"

I can't know this for sure, but I think the man who wrote the poem that became the song would have liked King Benjamin's sermon: And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God (Mosiah 2:17).

When I heard the song today, I thought about yesterday, when we had a day of service in our ward. We (our family) cleaned the church and then went to a single sister's house to pick up sticks and rake leaves. I realized that we needed more rakes and bags than we had, so I asked Dad to go home and get some. He asked me, "What's our goal here?" and I didn't know what to say, but after he left I knew the answer: Our goal here is to serve our neighbor the way the Savior would. And that means doing the best we can.

That is what you are doing now, Danny. You are reaching out to the stranger, to the poor wayfaring man of grief. You are living the Gospel of Jesus Christ, teaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and serving as He would. Of course, you are not doing it perfectly. But you are doing it with a clean heart and an eye single to his glory. And what a great blessing it is to be able to serve that way!

And then after the meeting I went to nursery and built a ramp for the kids to slide their little cars down. They flew off the table and if they landed in the bin I put on the floor, we clapped and cheered. Then we had fruit snacks and mini-marshmallows and I taught a lesson about the sacrament. Good times!

The Church is true, Danny, whether you are in the High Priests quorum or in the nursery; whether you are in Providence, Utah or in the Philippines. We ever pray for thee — keep up the good work.

With great love,

Mom

After I wrote this, I suddenly realized something kind of big: it's not always a bad thing to be invisible. A lot of the time, it's best to serve anonymously.

Christ didn't put on a show of good works. He served quietly; sometimes invisibly.

And, behold, there came a leper and worshiped him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean. And Jesus put forth his hand, and touched him, saying, I will; be thou clean. And immediately his leprosy was cleansed. And Jesus saith unto him, See thou tell no man; but go thy way (Matthew 8:2 - 4).

And they bring unto him one that was deaf, and had an impediment in his speech; and they beseech him to put his hand upon him. And he took him aside from the multitude, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spit, and touched his tongue; And looking up to heaven, he sighed, and saith unto him, Ephphatha, that is, Be opened. And straightway his ears were opened, and the string of his tongue was loosed, and he spake plain. And he charged them that they should tell no man (Mark 7:32 - 36).

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When I thought about that, I felt better— better about my life and my role in my home. I decided I could, and should, find joy in serving my family in an unpretentious way.

Don't fairy tales always have a happy ending?