I have concluded that I must begin to die.

I know this isn’t what I was taught by the world. I was taught that I must try to succeed and prosper, to conquer and master. I was taught that women do not need to give up their lives to a little house, but can “dream big” and do “anything she puts her mind to.” I was taught that I can choose to have a husband and children if I would like, but that I can also have a rewarding and fulfilling career.

But I don’t want to. I choose to begin to die.

A Mother Must Die to Give Life

In his tribute to the Christian Mother, Fr. John A. O’Brien wrote:

“When the child is born, the mother begins to die–die for the new life dearer than her own, die in service for another, die in dreams of peaceful valleys she shall not enter, die upon battlefields whose shouts of victory she shall not hear.”

I sometimes forget the importance of my role as a mother. We are told in our society that our “job” can simply be given to someone else who can do it much more proficiently that we can. The idea that daycare providers, teachers, professional cleaners, microwavable dinners, can easily do what we do is proclaimed by the media, public education, and socialistic politics.

But it’s not true. We mothers are the only ones who care for the souls of our children–not to mention their physical beings–to the point of giving our lives for them. We are told we do not need to give so much of ourselves to our children, but this is a lie. How did so many of us come to somehow believe that our children no longer need to be protected and fought for? As if there was no battlefield.

A Battlefield of Undying Love

There is a fierce battle waging against our children. Who is there to protect them and guide them in the righteous path? Bad influence through television, music, books, curriculum, and friends are lurking everywhere. Is it not utterly apparent that in the last century many evils have crept into our children’s lives? The Christendom that past mothers enjoyed is long gone. Our times to fight for the souls of our children is right now. More than ever before children need their ever-present mothers at their side.

Joanquin Miller wrote a beautiful poem in honor of the necessity of mothers in the battle for a child’s overall well-being and soul:

The bravest battle that ever was fought!
Shall I tell you where and when?
On the maps of the world you will find it not;
‘Twas fought by the mothers of men.

Nay not with the cannon of battle-shot,
With a sword or noble pen;
Nay, not with eloquent words or thought
From mouth of wonderful men!

But deep in a walled-up woman’s heart –
Of a woman that would not yield,
But bravely, silently bore her part –
Lo, there is the battlefield!

No marshalling troops, no bivouac song,
No banner to gleam and wave;
But oh! those battles, they last so long –
From babyhood to the grave.

Yet, faithful still as a bridge of stars,
She fights in her walled-up town –
Fights on and on in her endless wars,
Then silent, unseen, goes down.

Oh, ye with banners and battle-shot,
And soldiers to shout and paise!
I tell you the kingliest victories fought
Were fought in those silent ways.

O spotless woman in a world of shame,
With splendid and silent scorn,
Go back to God as white as you came –
The Kingliest warrior born!

Indeed, the greatest of battle is for the man’s soul. And there is precisely where the mother’s undying sacrifice is found. Not in offices or schools. Not in hospitals or government buildings. Her sacrifice is found in her home. The greatest of battles has always been fought in homes.

Sacrificing Her Life for Her Child is a Mother’s Mission

I don’t want to paint a masterpiece. I don’t want to write a great play. I don’t want to rise to be a great government leader or a well-known personality. I don’t want to join an army and fight a battle to protect our country.

I want to die for my children. I am called to do so. I don’t always know what that will look like. A difficult pregnancy. A difficult temperament. A difficult year. A difficult temptation. A difficult society. A difficult church. Through it all I want to be their rock, their little image of Jesus.

I’ve been told I can have it all–the American, feministic dream. But I proclaim: No! Not if having it all means the loss of my children’s souls. They need a mother. And I am willing to be the one who would die for them. My one and only dream is for my family to reach the heights of heaven. Until then I will be on the battlefield. I will sacrifice my life.

Mary’s Offering of Her Life

Mary swept the floor. She washed dirt from their clothes. She cleaned dirty dishes. She changed the diapers of the God-man. She was simple. Her life was not magnificent in the eyes of the world–it was looked at in disgust! Her life was nothing in the eyes of the world! She was a nobody!

Then let us be nobodies. Let us make simple meals. Let us wipe away tears. Let us read little stories. Let us give kisses during illnesses. Let us sing lullabies. Let us pray humble prayers. Let us give birth.

Let us begin to die in our little Nazareths.

Let us allow her Immaculate Heart to Triumph.