Mary DeTurris Poust's Blog, page 10

Life in My 50s: That’s a wrap!

Just about one decade ago, I began a series of blog posts I labeled “Life in My 50s.” When I hit the half-century mark on September 26, 2012, it felt momentous in a really good way, a turning points of sorts with lots of room for more. You can read my first post in that series, “Life in My 50s: The Adventure Begins,” HERE. At the time, I talked about how I didn’t need a special gift or event to mark the day because it seemed much bigger than anything so superficial. “It seems as though 50 years presents a nice, self-contained package of sorts, something to be archived in the basement. And today I’m unwrapping a new, empty box just waiting to be filled, but with what?”

Ah, what I didn’t know at 50. I had no idea at that time that I’d end up leaving my full-time office in the basement of my house to take on a full-time job at the Diocese of Albany as Director of Communications for more than six years. I had no idea I would train to become a yoga teacher at 58, fulfilling a 30-year dream that I’d started and put off multiple times, and that I’d end up teaching at an amazing studio multiple times per week every week. I had no idea I would end up leading large retreats that draw 40+ people in various places and that I would develop a growing community of people who now make up my NSS Tribe. I had no idea I would sign up for Holy Ground, a spiritual director training program, from which I will graduate in the spring. I had no idea I’d walk away from my full-time office job at 59 to pursue my true professional love again: writing spiritual columns and books, leading retreats, teaching yoga. I had no idea how my body would begin to age in obvious ways that would, at many times, hamper my ability to do things I always took for granted, like bending down to unload the dishwasher or carry a laundry basket or do the work in the yard I love so much. I had no idea that the hair I stopped coloring almost ten years ago would not just go gray immediately, and now I wait — no, I anxiously anticipate — finally going fully gray, although my stylist tells me that it’s a long way off since I was a natural-born red head and apparently we gray slower/differently. Check back with me in another ten years.

At the time I wrote: “I don’t want the rest of my life — however long I get — to be only a time of fading, even though part of me welcomes that idea…I think whatever comes next should be a time of growing in the important areas of my life, as a spiritual seeker, as a wife and mother, as a human being, and maybe in some of the less serious and more fun areas as well, things I haven’t yet had a chance to try but have always wanted to tackle.”

I smile as I read that now, because it was all true. Was it true because I just got lucky, or was it true because I worked to make it happen? Both, I would say, without question. Last night, when I couldn’t fall asleep, I lay there with my hands on my heart, my trusty rosary beads there for comfort (as they are every night — my version of a favorite stuffed animal), and I smiled and felt so incredibly grateful and content, peaceful and in harmony with everything around me and with God. And I thanked God for all of it — for the blessings I am so grateful for today and for a full life that has had its share of sorrows and challenges and hardships but that remains a complete gift. Everything has led me to this place, and I have no doubt that whatever is coming next will lead me where I still need to go, to what I still need to learn — however much I might want to avoid some of it.

Life in my 50s has been a ride and a half, and I can tell you that as I stand on the cusp of life in my 60s, I’m excited by and grateful for the freedom, wisdom and growth that is still waiting for me, if I dare (and I do). When I turned 50, I remember thinking that if I lived as long as my grandmother, I would get to do my entire life over again. Now, at almost-60, I am past that possibility, making it very clear that I am on the downward slope of a beautiful life, a slope that I hope will be long and gradual. And I could still get 40 years if I duplicate my E-ma’s arc!

So I’m going to live this last week in my 50s full of gratitude and joy, reflecting on this life of abundance that has been mine for six full decades. That is no small thing, and I am grateful to the point of bursting — either into laughter or tears or both. I’ll be back next week as I herald in my 60s with more thoughts on all of this, and maybe some fun goals and hopes and dreams. Because dreaming is free, and it is definitely not just for the young.

When I wrote a birthday post last year at this time, when I was turning 59, I said: “As I round out this decade and prepare for the next — if I’m given that opportunity — I hope to become even more Mary than I’ve ever been. You’ve been warned. More writing, more meditation, more yoga, more retreats, more spiritual direction, more speaking truth to power, more travel, more learning, more cooking, more dancing, more singing, more creating, more exploring, more dreaming, more, more, more. To paraphrase Mary Oliver, I have no intention of “breathing just a little and calling it a life.” Full breaths until my full stop.”

Amen to all of it. I’m going to take that plan and kick it up a notch. I’m hoping life in my 60s will go to 11. (IYKYK, and if you do, you’re probably old like me.) 😉 Peace out, 50s.

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We all need Sabbath: Why quiet isn’t “quitting”

As I sat in my beach chair late last month, toes in the sand and eyes fixed on an endless horizon that gave me the slightest inkling of eternity, I found for the first time in a very long time that I was truly experiencing vacation as it is meant to be: a time of complete rest, a chance to step away from our busy work lives and sink into stillness, or whatever our version of vacation might be.

Our world demands, or at least expects, that we work even on vacation. All too often we buy into that notion, convincing ourselves that if we work even when we should be playing, we will be secure, valued, loved. But we all know that the equation doesn’t add up. We work through our time off and return to our desks more depleted and frustrated than we were before we set up our out-of-office email message, and usually no more appreciated.

Not long after my vacation revelry, I came across an article about a new phenomenon called “quiet quitting,” which is actually a misnomer. As someone who was part of the “great resignation,” having quit my full-time job at the end of 2021, I thought “quiet quitting” might be another version of this nationwide trend among workers whose pandemic experience made them re-evaluate their priorities. But this is a new phenomenon. Quiet quitting is when workers — often of the Gen Z generation — refuse to work beyond the hours for which they are paid and refuse to do jobs that were not in their original job description. In other words, these younger workers already have their priorities straight, but the term “quiet quitting” makes it seem as though they are shirking responsibilities. That is the sickness of the American work landscape. If you don’t work beyond what you are paid to do, you are seen as a quitter.

All of this made me think of the field near my house that sits fallow this season. Sometimes there is corn, but often there is not. Why? Because if the farmers push the field to produce every season year after year, the soil will be depleted and eventually nothing will grow. We humans are not so different. If we push ourselves day after day, working before we get to the office and after we get home, working on weekends, working through vacations, eventually we will stop producing. Or we will produce but with a heart heavy with resentment and frustration.

We need Sabbath. It is a commandment, after all. And while we recognize the need to go to church and honor God, we often forget that the original idea of Sabbath was not an hour but a day. And it wasn’t just about setting time aside for God but for family, for rest.

Look at your week, your life. Where is your Sabbath? Do you attend Mass and then race to the grocery store, or do you savor the day and let the spiritual nourishment of prayer bleed into everything else you do, transforming the day into a time of true respite? God is found not only in the pews at our parish on Sunday. God is found in the flowers (or even the weeds) in our backyard, in the clouds floating overhead, in the cup of coffee sipped slowly on the front porch, in the neighbor we stop to chat with as we walk the dog. As St. Ignatius taught, we are called to “find God in all things,” but if we never put down our phones, our laptops, our work emails and work files, we will miss God in our midst and the joy that accompanies that gift.

Being quiet is never about “quitting.” It just might be the most productive thing you can do. Guard your time. Replenish your soul. Disconnect and take a Sabbath day, not a Sabbath hour. Watch how that fallow time changes your perspective and your life.

This column originally appeared in the Sept. 2, 2022, issue of The Evangelist.

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A Tale of Two Cities: Chicago and Milwaukee

In case you missed it, here’s my recent travel story for the Albany Times Union. One weekend, two great American cities: 

As the lazy days of summer wind down and travel plans shift from weeklong vacations to weekend getaways, it’s nice to know that a short hop on a direct flight from Albany International Airport can get you to the Windy City, where there’s something for everyone, whether your interests run toward sports, art, food, architecture or shopping. And, if you’re interested in tackling two cities, a quick and inexpensive Amtrak ride will take you from Chicago to Milwaukee, where more of everything awaits on the banks of the seemingly endless Lake Michigan.

Chicago is one of those cities that almost everyone has been through — even if only on a layover at one of its twomajor airports — but doing a deep dive into the city of deep-dish pizza can fill a weekend to overflowing.

Having a game plan is a good bet. Start by choosing from one of the many hotels that are within walking distance of most major sights. Somewhere along the Magnificent Mile, known for its upscale shops, is the perfect location for navigating the must-see attractions. Purchase the Chicago CityPASS, and you’ll save money and time by getting one ticket to access five key attractions.  Continue reading…

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Miscarriage: love and loss 24 years later

My annual tribute to the baby I lost 24 years ago today, the baby I call Grace:

For the past few days I’ve been looking at the numbers on the calendar, growing more and more introspective as we inched closer to August 6. It was 24 years ago today that I learned the baby I was carrying, my second baby, had died 11 weeks into my pregnancy.

With a mother’s intuition, I had known something was wrong during that pregnancy from a couple of weeks before. The day Dennis and I — with Noah in tow — went to the midwife for my regular check up, I didn’t even take the little tape recorder with me to capture the sound of baby’s heartbeat, so convinced was I that I would hear only silence. I went back for the recorder only after Dennis insisted. But somehow I knew. Because when you are a mother sometimes you just know things about your children, even when there is no logical reason you should, even when they are still growing inside you.

When we went for the ultrasound to confirm the miscarriage, we saw the perfect form of our baby up on the screen. I remember Dennis looking so happy, thinking everything was okay after all, and me pointing out that the heart was still. No blinking blip. No more life.

With that same mother’s intuition, no matter how busy or stressed I am, no matter how many other things I seem to forget as I race through my life at breakneck speed, I never forget this anniversary. It is imprinted on my heart. As the date nears, I feel a stillness settling in, a quiet place amid the chaos, a space reserved just for this baby, the one I never to got hold, the one I call Grace.

In the past, I have talked about the ways Grace shaped our family by her absence rather than her presence, and that truth remains with me. I am very much aware of the fact that life would be very different had she lived. She managed to leave her mark on us, even without taking a breath. She lingers here, not only in my heart but around the edges of our lives — especially the lives of our two girls who followed her. I know them because I did not know Grace. What a sorrowful and yet beautiful impact she had on us.

So thank you, baby, for all that you were and all that you have given us without ever setting foot on this earth. The power of one small life.

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‘This is how you do Church.’

As I settled into my pew at one recent Sunday morning, I gazed up at the beautiful interior, a feast for the eyes, and hoped for a liturgy that would be a feast for my soul. I was not disappointed; in fact, I was joyful, verging on giddy.

Thumbing through the cathedral bulletin before Mass, I read an informative public policy piece on growing anti-Catholic sentiments and religious liberty; a short reflection on that day’s Gospel story; and a reflection on the upcoming Feast of Mary Magdalene that made this Magdala fan-girl smile from ear to ear. In terms of a spiritual meal, this spread was a feast of delicious appetizers that left me content and looking forward to the main course, which was everything I’d hoped for and more.

The music was accessible and easy to sing. The homily was on-point and offered food for thought. The Liturgy of the Eucharist was reverent to the point of giving me goosebumps. The pews were filled with people young and old, families and singles, but, best of all, so many young adults. After a liturgy that was beautiful from start to finish, the lector ran through announcements about upcoming events — coffee and pastry in the courtyard after Mass, a summer jazz concert (BYO picnic dinner), a paint-and-sip party. Everything was free and open to anyone and everyone, no exceptions. I turned to my husband, Dennis, and said: “This is how you do Church.”

As we walked out of Mass, we were stopped multiple times by people encouraging us to join them in the courtyard. The young priest who wrote the Mary Magdalene reflection was greeting people in the back. (I knew he was the writer because he was wearing a name tag.) I stopped to thank him for the inspiration. Then I made my way over to the celebrant so I could thank him as well.

Maybe the hopefulness of that morning has something to do with the population of Chicago in general. I had felt a surge of hope as we wandered the halls of the Chicago Art Institute because it was so crowded with young adults and families, but I believe my Mass high was due to more than demographics. It was due to the intentional effort that had been made to welcome newcomers, to find points of connection, to offer something relevant and inviting, to recognize that, while the Eucharist is Source and Summit, we humans often need tangible benefits to go along with the transcendent intangibles.

For years I’ve given a talk called “Lost Generation,” which focuses on reaching out to adult Catholics disconnected from the faith. One of my key points has been that we cannot bridge the divide by starting with theology, or even with Eucharist. For many people who are inactive or uncatechized, the Eucharist is a Mystery that requires time, prayer and revelation that doesn’t always arrive all at once when someone walks through the door. We have to meet people at the door, connect with them where they are, and walk with them down the path until the mundane gives way to Mystery.

That connection begins with sincere welcome, with broad inclusion, with coffee gatherings and painting classes — not just once in a while and not just with minimum effort. Connection begins with a willingness to let go of the old mantra, “We’ve always done it this way,” and open our hearts and minds to new ways of doing things.

There’s a surefire way to know if we’re on target: Imagine you are a non-Catholic — or disconnected Catholic — walking into Sunday Mass at your church for the very first time. Would that experience of Church make you want to come back a second time? If the answer is not a resounding YES, it’s time to rethink the usual routines.

People are hungry for deep connection and loving community. If you build it, they will come. And they will bring their friends.

This column originally appeared in the Aug. 4, 2022, issue of The Evangelist.

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Be like a jellyfish. Go with the flow…

When I saw these jellyfish at the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago, I was mesmerized. Apparently, so was everyone else, because the crowd around their tank was several people deep. Isn’t it funny how this odd little sea creature that can send us running to shore if we spot one near us in the ocean is, upon closer inspection, so incredibly beautiful.As I pondered my busy Monday and even busier week ahead, I suddenly thought back to these jellyfish and imagined myself just floating in the sea of life, not clinging to to anything, not plowing ahead at full speed, just floating and moving with the current rather than against it. (Disclaimer: I am not a marine biologist and have no idea if that’s how jellyfish act/move, but it’s how I see them.)So today, as you settle into whatever groove you’ve got going during this steamy last week of July, imagine you are a jellyfish. Float, drift, let go, be. Feel yourself supported by the world around you, by the Life Force that created this amazing world and all of us. We are of no more significance than those jellyfish, when it comes right down to it. And isn’t that humbling and refreshing — and freeing. @marydtp518#jellyfish #letgo #gowiththeflow

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Fear or trust? Which will you choose?

Full disclosure: I was never a big Carlos Santana fan. Okay, I wasn’t really a fan at all. That is unless Rob Thomas was singing as Santana played. But then I heard from multiple sources (my husband being the main one) that Santana’s autobiography, The Universal Tone , was fantastic, especially since he weaves in so much spirituality. They had me at “spirituality.” I got the book on Audible, all 19+ hours of it, and started to listen. You will now find me asking my Amazon Alexa to play various Santana songs (My family has been singing “Oye Como Va” because of this), and sometimes I just pause to write down something that sticks with me, like today’s quote: “You can have fear or trust, but you can’t have both.” Amen. Absolute truth, but so hard to live day in and day out.What fear is getting in the way of you trusting God’s plan, trusting the universe, trusting yourself? Can you take a deep breath and exhale that fear out? Can you trust you are where you are meant to be? Fear or trust. Which will you choose?

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Finding your soul home

As I paddled a kayak across the crystal-clear water of an Adirondack lake on a gorgeous Friday afternoon recently, I turned to my paddling partner and said, “If everyone could do this, our world would be a more peaceful place.” General overstatement? Yes. Absolute truth? Also, yes. Why? Because nature heals; silence heals; self-reflection heals. And all of it opens our hearts and minds to something beyond ourselves and the problems that weigh us down. All of it makes us more compassionate—toward ourselves, toward others, toward our beautiful-but-broken world. And that is the beginning of peace, our own and the kind that stretches beyond us.

To be honest, I almost skipped the overnight trip to Pyramid Life Center in Paradox, N.Y., because I thought maybe I should just stay home and take care of the responsibilities in front of me. But my better angels won out, and I packed my life vest and hiking boots and headed north. As soon as I turned onto the long road that cuts through the woods and leads to the lake, my shoulders relaxed and I said (out loud), “Home.” Because this sacred spot that has become a regular destination when I’m in need of spiritual renewal—and where I lead a retreat every September—really does feel like a soul home, a thin place where God’s presence is palpable.

At a time when the news coming at us from every corner of our country and world is beginning to cause a collective sense of hopelessness (at least based on conversations I’m having), stepping outside our routine can help break that cycle and remind us that no matter what is happening around us, there is always beauty to be found.

Oftentimes, all that’s required to make that shift is intentional silence—no kayak or lake required. It can be a little more challenging to do that right where we are, but it’s worth the effort. What does it entail? Simply finding a quiet spot where you won’t be disturbed, and being willing to silence your phone, turn off the TV, and go inward. If you can add a little natural beauty—your backyard, a pocket park, even a beautiful view spied at 55 MPH from a car window—all the better.

When I lived in the Pelham Bay section of the Bronx many years ago, I found so much joy in the beautiful maple tree just beyond the fire escape outside my window. Today it’s the towering oaks in my backyard in upstate New York that keep me anchored and aware. Find a spot that speaks to you.

What do you do once you get there? You wait for the still, small voice, just as Elijah did (1Kings 19:12). It can be a challenge at first, so start with just a few minutes at a time. If it suits you, read some Scripture and contemplate a line that speaks to you (known as lectio divina), but don’t be afraid to do absolutely nothing. You’ll be surprised how healing it can be.

Years ago, I wrote about my early forays into this sort of meditative prayer, and an editor slapped a headline on it using the term “navel-gazing.” It was meant to be derogatory, and it served as a reminder (at least to me) that too many people out there see silence and self-reflection as a waste of time or self-indulgent; it is anything but.

It is only when we sit face-to-face with God in silence—gazing into our own hearts (not our navels)—that Spirit will speak to us. If we’re always talking, running, doing, there’s nowhere for God to get a word in edgewise. But, when we stop all the doing and take time to just be, whether it’s in the middle of a quiet lake or from our seat on a crowded commuter train, God speaks, beauty surfaces, and we are found.

Mary will lead the next Stillpoint retreat at Pyramid Life Center Sept. 9-11, 2022. For more information, visit the Events page.

This column originally appeared in the July 1, 2022, issue of Catholic New York. Copyright Mary DeTurris Poust, 2022.

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Jesus Asks for Radical

How often do we, like the scribe in today’s Gospel, say to the Lord in prayer: “I will follow you wherever you go”? We may have the best of intentions and mean it with all our heart. But our head—with its logic and practicality and tendency toward fear—wedges itself into the equation and offers a few minor (or major) suggestions and safety nets, just in case. So we hold on to things that ultimately keep us at a distance from God and make it impossible for us to fully follow Jesus where he wants to lead us. We choose reasonable when Jesus asks for radical. We opt for dipping a toe in the spiritual waters when the Gospel calls for total immersion.

Jesus understands that the Way can be challenging, which is how we get to the apparent non sequitur: “Foxes have dens and birds of the sky have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to rest his head.” We might read that line, wonder at its meaning and placement, and simply move on, but it has meaning for us today. If we say that we will follow Jesus wherever he leads, do we understand that it will not be easy, that we too may find ourselves with nowhere to rest our heads?

We don’t get salvation without sacrifice, without embracing the radical—letting the safety nets drop away and trusting that God is the only security measure we need.

Mary DeTurris Poust, “Jesus Asks for Radical,” from the June 2022 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2021). Used with permission.

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Where is the beauty in your world?

As I was sipping coffee on the deck this morning, phone in hand, crossword puzzle in front of me, I suddenly stopped and looked up. In that moment, I realized everything else could wait, and I just sat and appreciated what was in front of me. I said (out loud), “My beautiful world.” And immediately my mind wanted to run through all the things that are not so beautiful in my world and in our larger world. Again, I stopped myself and focused on what IS beautiful in my world at this moment. Not what might not be beautiful later or tomorrow, or what is not beautiful beyond the boundaries of my little world, but what is beautiful right here, right now.

Stop. Look up. Find something beautiful in your world, your day in this moment and just soak it all in. Appreciate the good, glorious, mystical, magical world around you. Listen for a bird call. Watch a spider spin a web. Stand barefoot in the grass, no matter how small the patch might be. Just BE for a minute or two. Do nothing but breathe. Be still and be grateful for the blessings. The problems will always be there, but the blessings are also always pulsing around all the edges of our life and sometimes right smack in the middle of it. Take time to notice today.

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