The womanly art of being a nag

Probably one of the most devastating things I've heard in the course of this whole Brittany Maynard situation came from the lips of her mother. "It’s not my job to tell her how to live, and it’s not my job to tell her how to die."

Well, actually, that's precisely what a mother's job is. Mothers should tell their children how to live. I thought that was common knowledge, but in the words of Chesterton, "Common knowledge is not so common" anymore.

She goes on to say, "It's my job to love her through it." Yes. That is a statement with which I can agree. Brittany's mom was correct in saying that a mother's job is to love her child through the pain, through the confusion, through the fear, through the darkness.

The problem is that these two sentiments were allowed to coexist in a rational mind. A mother cannot simultaneously love her child through the pain and allow her to endanger her immortal soul through an act of usurping the decision that is God's alone. Mothers who know the value of a healthy soul would walk through hot coals to prevent their children from eternally separating themselves from God.

I know this because my mother did this for me. In a time in my life that was filled with confusion and doubt, my mother became a horrible nag. She would call me constantly to check up on me, she scheduled people to meet with me, and she prayed like a mad woman that I would repent. It annoyed me that she was telling me how to live, that she wasn't trusting my baby adult brain. Many of those decisions I ended up making during that time were a direct result of trying to get her off my back. Thank God she annoyed me. Thank God she was a nag.

I suspect that St. Monica was also a nag. I'm sure that it frustrated Augustine to have this "crazy" lady showing up in places and weeping over his soul. He recalled his gratefulness that she had never given up on him in his Confessions:

"For almost nine years passed, in which I wallowed 'in the mire of the deep' and in the darkness of error, and although I often strove to rise out of it, I was all the more grievously thrust down again. But all the while, that chaste, devout, and sober widow, one such as those you love, already livelier in hope, but no less assiduous in weeping and mourning, ceased not in all her hours of prayer to lament over me before you."

A mother's number one job is getting her children to heaven. Concern for the soul may not ever be trumped by concern for the body. Care for the soul demands that we scrutinize decisions that are made out of fear or in the midst of suffering. On a natural level, mothers have been trained to do this by the pains of birth and the emotional demands of motherhood. But training must not be limited to merely natural realms.

We are in the midst of a spiritual battle. We mothers need to arm ourselves with prayer and sacrifice. We need to make frequent use of the sacraments, and we need to be prepared to be seen as nags, definitely by the culture, but perhaps even by our own children.

Sometimes the only thing standing in the way of eternal darkness is the nagging of a good mother.

St. Monica, pray for us.

Spending time with my little guy

The greatest blessings are those unexpected gifts which come straight from Heaven. The time spent with my youngest son these past three and a half years that has impressed this truth upon my heart. His existence began with a fortuitous miscalculation, opening the door for God to bless us with a most needed addition to our family. We didn’t know we needed him until he was here, but we trusted in the excitement of our children despite our own concerns (money, space, time – the usual).

It wasn’t until a test revealed a concern about my pregnancy that we realized our material concerns were mere cobwebs in comparison to a possible threat to the life of our unborn child. The rest of the pregnancy consisted of monthly blood tests, multiple sonograms, and then a miraculous solution which the doctors could not explain. Our little Sebastian was born just before the spring of 2007, perfectly normal and healthy.

He now accompanies me in my daily errands, asking me questions, exploring the world, and keeping me stocked with an abundant supply of hugs and kisses. The older children are in school, so we have our special time together each day. Since I am not distracted by other things or people at this time in my life, I find myself imagining through this special relationship with my son, what joy Mary experiences in her Son.

My little guy has awakened in me a deeper love for Christ in the midst of our daily routine. I’m his girl, you see...his breakfast date, his lunch date, his dance partner, his carpool ride. He is always with me at this special time in his life, just as Jesus accompanied Mary during His first thirty years on earth. When people underrate the special relationship between Mary and her Son, I have to wonder if they have ever fully appreciated or accepted the love between mother and child. It is truly a gift from God.

A mother’s powerful love

Today we celebrate the feast of one of my favorite saints, St. Monica. I love St. Monica because she had the tenacity of a faith-filled mother, and without her constant intercession and suffering on behalf of her misguided son, we would not have the great St. Augustine, his skillful defense against the Pelagian heresy, or his beautiful theological works. St. Augustine offered momentous contributions to the Church in a time when people were confused about doctrinal fundamentals. A man with such an important role in the Church would have simply “not been” if not for a mother’s love.

It cannot be repeated enough that mothers have great power, but not in the way society defines power. This power cannot be claimed, bought, or even earned. It is a gift that grows within the recipient, sparked by humility and an awakening of love. It is nourished by the Sacraments and flows out of the recipient. This power comes from Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God.

Some women clamor for what they have been told will give them greater power. They cry about the injustice of not having their contraceptives covered by insurance. They whine about having pressure from the Church to vote with a Catholic conscience on matters of life. They complain about not getting to stand in front of a congregation and “play priest”. In each of these attempts to grab for power is the failure to understand that in denying who they are as women, as mothers, as sisters, they are giving up the only true power that was ever available to them.

St. Monica, though she most likely didn’t have to struggle with such silly notions of a modern feminist agenda, must have struggled with questioning the pain of motherhood. Her son was blatantly living in a sinful manner, not having regard for moral teaching or authority. She must have found the burden of being a wife and a mother difficult. She must have felt completely powerless, but in that powerlessness, she found a strength that did not originate from her own doing. She found the power of a mother’s love that Mary knew, a love that would suffer completely for the love of her Son.

Looking forward

One of the great joys of motherhood is knowing that all the effort, all the tears, all the messes and the daily grind of life is not pointless. We are raising a small army of warriors for Christ. It is not a physical battle (although some days I think my kids could hold their own in that way as well) but primarily a spiritual battle in which the spirit of the world constantly seeks the weak and the disillusioned as its prey. Strong souls and strong minds will allow the light of Christ to work within them and through them to combat the culture of death with love.

It is so gratifying to have conversations with my older children now that involve faith and morals. I sometimes smile at the prospect of some poor atheist encountering my grown children and being totally caught off-guard by their cheery quick-witted responses. This, more than anything on earth, is what I look forward to...seeing my children in action for Christ.