“Only those who decline to scramble up the career ladder are interesting as human beings. Nothing is more boring than a man with a career.”
― Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago 1918–1956
Being a mum in the 21st century of woke idealogues, cultural degenerates and racial propagandists is challenging to say the least. Keenly aware of the cultural and political climate surrounding us, most red-pilled mummas are forced to contend with the evil spirit of this age at a personal and spiritual level. We are in the business of intentionally and consistently countering every nefarious jab at our young, mindless, impressionable off-spring. It’s where the rubber hits the road we are affected and bombarded daily, and not just in the muesli bar aisles of Coles supermarkets where specials beckon us consume endlessly, but in our families, schools and churches.
It’s the middle of the road mummas whose hearts break when we see our children being indoctrinated by leftist dogma, the degenerate entertainment industry and flesh-feeding consumer lifestyle. It’s our children forced to accept feminism, transgendarism and anti-Christianism. What are mums to do but shut up, grin, and bear it, join a political group or lobby group or any group and get in the ring and fight like crazy Karens shouting for people to wake up and take the red pill. There is room for all that and more, in Christ. Until we swallow the Jesus pill, we can never be truly effective or red-pilled.
Having raised seven human beings of my own, I can tell you firsthand, sin lives in the heart of every individual. From the minute these beautiful babes are born, they have needs, sometimes we can fulfil their ever-longing, somewhat parasitical needs, often we cannot. Try as we might to establish near perfect lives for our less than perfect offspring, we fail every time. Well-intentioned mums try desperately to protect our children from the ills of the world to the point of eliminating competition, keeping up with the Jones’ and pandering to their every desire. All the while, unintentionally fuelling the evil onslaught inflicted upon us by the powers that be, through consumerism and hedonism. Wrapping our children in cotton wool, we added to the world’s problems. We fell for the cultural narrative, aspiring to perfectionism through the aesthetically pleasing, luxury Western lifestyle. Personally, I imagined sending my children to childcare and dreamt of ways to earn more, be more and have more. After all, life was for the taking, carpe diem, right? Wrong. Turns out, life and living are more than the endless consumption of goods and services.
Thank God, I woke up! And not “woke” in the liberal sense of the word, I mean spiritually awakened. In Christ. So I spent most of the other half of mumma life purposely resisting the culture. In a desperate attempt to protect our children from the potential degeneracy encroaching upon their lives, we pulled them out of school and home-schooled. We controlled their friendships, social media and entertainment, whilst immersing them deeply in the church, hoping all this would lead to them resisting the culture for themselves and ultimately their salvation. At this point, the closest we have come to achieving these goals are 2 baptisms and constant backsliding. The result of twenty plus years of resistance, censorship, pushback, constant infighting, debates, heartbreak, and pain has resulted in very little on their spiritual and social lives. Sure, I get glimpses of hope in some interactions, but only Christ knows and understands the depths and needs of the human heart.
Society reflects the family, so whilst muesli-brained mummas look out for the specials, we know whom to look for as especially needed to fight back against the spirit of this age. It’s by the power of Christ we make that umpteenth phone call to a teacher regarding inappropriate content in our students’ health curriculum. It’s the love of God which compels our fingers take to the keyboard to write yet another email on why we think a book should be banned from the reading list.
It is we who are forced to watch prayerfully and almost haplessly as our children are tattooed, prostituted, and brainwashed by the cultural imaginary. We endure their eye rolls and their back chatting whilst ignoring their constant requests for the latest gadgets and fads. We are the ones desperately pleading with them to understand the lyrics of the latest song by that new degenerate rap (BS) artist. We caution them to rethink the Tik Tok lives through which they vicariously live, to put on a longer skirt or longer top or just to cover their butts! We beg them not to watch the latest Hollywood blockbuster or at the very least, question the underlying ideology in the movie wherein girls can do anything, and boys cannot. It’s a painstakingly relentless, unthankful task and we are the true minorities in a world too cool for mums like us.
Taken largely for granted, we are the home-makers and home-bakers, the full-time mums working hard in the trenches to keep life traditionally Christian and untainted by the evil all around and within us. We are the ones on our knees, daily praying for their souls, hoping against hope they survive the onslaught of daily evils encroaching upon their half-brained minds. It’s an understatement to say it’s bloody difficult and yes, we cry much, we also laugh much, we could be diagnosed as bipolar. Sometimes we need a drink or two, maybe three. Sometimes we even drink with our adult children, cos what the heck, we’ve tried everything else. We need some fun too.
The culture war has always been fought for in the frontlines by every day, ordinary people, like muesli-brained mummas. Political activism, protests, lobbying govt, campaigning and pinpointing groups to blame can make a whole lot of sense on a superficial level, but the big and deeper picture is in the minutia. Where Black Lives Matter (BLM), Antifa, degenerate Marxist groups and corrupt governments seek to tear down the God-ordained, natural order of things, a White Lives Matter (WLM) movement springs up in opposition.
Each group can identify the source of their oppression, give reasons for their narrative, and justify their existence. These groups, like us mummas, are simply staking out a place that’s ours. A place for our children, a safe place wherein we can all feel a sense of belonging, a place where justice prevails, a place of like-minds, of peace, of goodness. Isn’t that what most people want, peace, love and dare I say, kumbaya. We want to live in communities which reflect ourselves, a place where most people look like us, talk like us and walk like us. We rarely enjoy confrontation and the constant challenge of having to defend our values, beliefs, and existence.
As mummas living in the reality that exists, we continue to speak out daily, lovingly, often angrily. We do so in the hopes of establishing a near perfect utopia. Whilst we may not be in positions of notoriety, infamous for open activism or held up as martyrs in the public domain, it’s the hand that rocks the cradle that rules the world. It is the muesli mummas globally, quietly fighting in the unseen places. Our war is one that is intimately spiritual and heart-breakingly personal. It is in Christ from whence we must launch all our battles and remember always, we may impact a whole generation, but we may only impact one soul. So before going out to battle, take the Jesus pill, wash it down with some water, and with a helping of mumma’s muesli, maybe, just maybe, the battle on all fronts will not only be fruitful and meaningful but eternally victorious.
“Unless the LORD builds the house, they labour in vain who build it; Unless the LORD guards the city, The watchman stays awake in vain.”
Psalms 127:1 NKJV