Slaying Monsters

There are no monsters, we tell them. . . Then, I have a week like this one.

When the two older boys were littler, we had a Lysol can disguised with an after-market label clearly marked in my handwriting: “Go Away Monsters Spray.” Whenever one was stricken with some untamable foreboding, he was given full authority to give it a spray. It worked for a while, and perhaps not coincidently we were a particularly healthy family during that stint. In more recent times, however, especially as they have become more savvy about household cleaning products, we have relied heavily on spiritual warfare tactics. We pray together that God will protect us from harm. . . that He will make the bad dreams go away. . . that He will give us courage when we are afraid. And this, of course, is workable, too.

Yet, there is something in both of these methods which acknowledges that monsters (or any unrealized fear or evil) may, indeed, exist. With a cleverly disguised Lysol can or a prayer for courage, we equip ourselves for the possibility that we might actually need the Lysol or the courage. In fact, as the boys grow older we try to impress upon them the importance of the virtue of courage. Courage in the face of fear, instead of the lack of it. There is an obvious difference.

After all, some monsters are real. There are imaginable harms and possible evils which, though statistically improbable or otherwise unlikely, may befall us. And these are monsters. And the evil one knows it and how to use it.

In my own experience of motherhood, there are certain monsters I battle. They aren’t scaly with pointy teeth, but they are dark and creeping nonetheless. In every way, mine are as real to me as my children’s are are to them. For me, I think Lysol helps sometimes, but mostly I pray.

In my prayers, I am brought to the foot of the Cross. With my Savior before me bloodied and nailed, I sit with those words of holy Simeon to Mary:

“This child is destined to be the downfall and the rise of many in Israel, a sign that will be opposed—and you yourself shall be pierced with a sword—so that the thoughts of many hearts be laid bare.”

This prophecy for the mother of my Lord serves as a message for me and for all Christian mothers, I think. Pope John Paul II wrote: "While this announcement on the one hand confirms her faith in the accomplishment of the divine promises of salvation, on the other hand it also reveals to her that she will have to live her obedience of faith in suffering, at the side of the suffering Savior, and that her motherhood will be mysterious and sorrowful."

However irrational and varied our fears, as mothers we know that evil attempts to ferret out our faith and attack it where our hearts are. For as Christians, we want Christ for our children. Yet we cannot forget that the Cross is not a mere symbol of Him, but a way of life. Sacrifice and suffering are integral to the Christian following the Savior. And through the prophetic words of Simeon and the example of the Blessed Mother, we know that the vocation of holy motherhood is a special participation in the Cross as we anticipate and take up our own crosses and we wait and watch our children with theirs.

In truth, my babies are not mine. They are His. And though we wash our hands, hand out vitamins, buy organic milk, fasten seatbelts, put on helmets, buy insurance, lock doors, and spray Lysol, there is always the prophetic inkling that however tight I hold them while they will let me, my grasp is temporary.

It is part of my job, then, just as it was Mary’s, to live my life as a mother with a sort of sorrowful obedience of faith. Knowing that there are losses and crosses we and our children will inevitably carry and not fearing them. By grace, learning to have courage in the face of a monster or a sword. By grace, teaching instead of controlling and loving instead of possessing. By grace, becoming a channel for my children that they may hear the Voice of the Lord. And, then one day, rejoicing in the knowledge that my child’s heart was responsive to a Voice other than mine for the salvation of his soul.

And so, when my own monsters creep in my dark places, I pray the words of David. I join Mary in saying all those things I imagine she said in her obedience of faith—knowing the sword would one day pierce—as she tucked her Son into his bed or even as she watched Him pass her on a road destined for a place she could only have imagined among the worst monsters in her own nightmares:

"The LORD is my shepherd; there is nothing I lack. In green pastures you let me graze; to safe waters you lead me; you restore my strength. You guide me alone the right path for the sake of your name. Even when I walk through a dark valley, I fear no harm for you are at my side; your rod and staff give me courage. You set a table before me as my enemies watch; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Only goodness and love will pursue me all the days of my life; I will dwell in the house of the LORD for years to come."