Mary DeTurris Poust's Blog, page 23

An ‘attitude of gratitude’ can reshape your life

German mystic Meister Eckhart once said, “If the only prayer you said your whole life was ‘thank you,’ that would suffice.”

Gratitude has that kind of power, not just in prayer, but in the most ordinary moments of our lives. When we are thankful, grateful and appreciative of what we have— even for the things that don’t necessarily warrant a special thank-you prayer—we tend to be more generous, loving, patient and kind toward others. 

Gratitude shifts our focus away from our own complaints and problems. If we are busy noticing the blessings in our lives—even something as simple as a beautiful sunrise coming up over the highway as we drive to work, or our family gathered around the dinner table after a long day—we are less likely to wallow in self-pity.

That doesn’t mean developing an attitude of gratitude is easy. It requires action and determination to look for those moments of grace, even when they are hidden among the thorns of disappointment. Sometimes, we’re too worn out to even get started.

Those who count their blessings in concrete ways—written in gratitude journals or on slips of paper collected in a gratitude jar or box, even on Facebook for all the world to see—do seem to give off a sense of joy, one that ripples outward, as if every blessing they name is a pebble tossed into our collective consciousness. Try it for yourself in the days leading to Thanksgiving and see if and how it changes you for the better.

A gratitude practice doesn’t have to be time consuming, expensive or difficult. It can be as simple as opening up a cheap spiral notebook and jotting down, on a daily basis, the things that bring a smile to your face, from the ridiculous (your cat batting a crumpled piece of paper around the house) to the sublime (a good diagnosis from the doctor). Even the smallest nods toward gratitude remind us that the goodness we experience comes from somewhere outside ourselves. When it comes to gratitude, nothing is out of bounds and no one is too old or young for this practice.

My daughter, Chiara, 11, is the latest in our household to take up gratitude journaling, racking up an impressive number of blessings in a short time and asking me every night if I’ve taken the time to write a few things in my own journal. I originally suggested she start the practice when she was going through an illness that was getting her down, but she liked the gratitude ritual so much that she has stuck with it, which has only served to remind me that there really is something to this practice. It’s worth the few minutes before bed (or whenever works for you) to stop and ponder your blessings.

For those of us who often find ourselves stuck in a moment of sadness, anger or despair, there’s no reason to lose hope or think that we, too, can’t move ourselves back toward gratitude and joy with a little prayerful attention and intention. Rather than waiting for the start of the new calendar year to take up this new and powerful habit, why not start now, during the season of Thanksgiving, the start of our new Church year and the beginning of the Advent season?

Pope Francis, when he was in Mexico earlier this year, said, “Thanksgiving is something which is born and grows among a people capable of remembering. It is rooted in the past, and through good and bad times, it shapes the present.”

Gratitude shapes the present. When you think you can’t change a situation in your life, remember that you can change the way you react to a situation. Before you go to sleep tonight, think of three blessings in your life, write them down, give thanks and watch a new way of life take shape.

This column originally appeared in the Nov. 10 issue of Catholic New York.

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Post-election post-mortem

My thoughts, coming to you from my sleep-deprived self on this drizzly November morning after, for what it’s worth:

No matter where you are on the political spectrum, this is the thing to remember today: We watched the American system at work, and this morning, win or lose, we accepted a new president and look to ways to work together. A peaceful transition of power. It really is amazing when you think about what this sort of thing often looks like in other countries. America is already great. Let’s keep it that. way. We are one.

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Yoga, the True Self, and fear of change

Three times in my life — three, count ’em — I have either started to train as a yoga teacher (back in Austin in the 1980s), started the application process to train as a yoga teacher (in Albany a few years ago), or stood on the very edge of making a decision to train as a yoga teacher (at Heartspace in Albany this past September). Every single time I let myself get in my own way by getting inside my own head and talking myself out of what I know without question would be a life-changing, soul-lifting, completely transforming experience. And I’m not even talking about the part where I would become a certified yoga teacher. I’m talking about the part where this training would finally force (in the gentlest way possible, of course) me to face me, to face the True Self I’m always writing about and talking about but afraid to confront in a totally open way.

The past two times I considered RYT-200 training, it was with Lauren Toolin of Yoga Vidya. Both times she was encouraging and firm, letting me know it wouldn’t be easy but it would be so worth it. She didn’t need to convince me, and yet both times I let fear get the best of me — I’m too old, I’m not fit enough, I don’t have the time, it’s too much money, where would I teach anyway, what about liability insurance, and every other excuse in the book. I hate it when fear wins.

Today I was on Instagram and came across a Yoga Vidya Salon with Lauren, where she answered questions about her own path in particular and yoga in general. Her message is one that so resonates with me: It’s not about perfecting a pose; it’s about going deep within. Sitting in total silence for 30 minutes can be much harder than doing a headstand. And yet I get stuck on the fact that I can no longer do a headstand.

Toward the end of her video, in response to a question, she says:

“Yoga changes people, and that’s a beautiful thing, but change isn’t always pretty or easy…Yoga is a great way to change, if you want to change…”

Ah, there’s the rub. Do I really want to change? We often say we want change, but we usually want a transformation of our own making. We have an idea and an image in our head of what our transformation should look like, but that’s just us trying to put our human constructs on the Divine. True transformation means accepting that we might not have any idea what it will entail or whether we’ll like every aspect of what needs to happen, and beginning anyway. That involves letting go of fear and falling in with trust.

Do you want to change? I’m putting together a plan to gather a little tribe of sorts to support each other in whatever change we’re after, to encourage each other, and to give each other a little nudge when one of us is stuck in fear. Do you want to join me? Let me know, and I’ll keep you posted as things develop.

Here’s the full Yoga Vidya Salon video with Lauren if you’d like to check it out. Enjoy.

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Life in my 50s: don’t tell me what to wear

This morning I posted the link below partly to make a point and partly because it was funny. A comment left on my post in all caps, telling me never to wear a backless dress, perhaps meant as a joke, perhaps not, has inspired me to share not only the photo of the backless dress I wore a few months ago at age 53 over there on the left (I’m 54 now, way past the 30-year cut-off referenced in the story below), but I’m also posting the duct tape backless bra I created to make wearing the backless dress possible. Because I’m just that crafty and creative.

Here’s the best quote from the story below. And if curses offend you, just skip this post entirely.

“Women in today’s world are hit from all sides. Do this. Wear that. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Speak softly. Smile. Agree, agree, agree. Assimilate. Shut up. Stay down.

“The last thing we need is other women telling us what we should and shouldn’t do.”

Amen, sister.

Without further adieu, here it is…

24 Things Women Over 30 Should Wear

24. Whatever the fuck they want.

 

Read the full story HERE. Warning: It’s more of the same, with some really great photos of gorgeous women over 30 wearing whatever they want and doing it with incredible style. Rock on, ladies. You inspire me. And I want that outfit in the photo above, including those awesome shoes that are just barely visible.

And if you want instructions on how to make your own duct tape bra, leave a message in the comment section.

Spiritual lessons at 65 miles per hour

I was driving to Rochester last week to give a talk to the local chapter of Magnificat, and I decided to make the trip into a mini-retreat of sorts. I brought along a recording by renowned theologian and writer Henri Nouwen called “The Spirituality of Waiting.” It wasn’t a new talk for me, but I decided it was time for a refresher, since waiting is not one of my strong suits.

Being on the open road for four hours is the perfect time for thinking about waiting and the way we view time, or at least time spent on things that don’t seem important or productive or special. After all, the goal of my drive was the destination I had programmed into my GPS; the drive was just the means to an end. At least that’s how my mind usually works.

“Be here now.” I often write those words on a small dry erase board on my desk. It’s as much a reminder for myself as it is for those who come by to visit. Can I be present where I am at this moment, even if that happens to be behind a steering wheel, or on line at the grocery story, or in the waiting room at the dentist? It’s human nature to see those times as a sort of limbo where we’re biding our time until real life gets back under way.

And sometimes the waiting is much more difficult than a long Friday afternoon drive. How often do I look at the events of my life as things I need to wait out until I reach a better or different destination? When I get through the big work project, a child’s illness, the busy holiday season, the inevitable annual financial crunch…life will be better, easier, happier. We tend to live in a state of “I wish (fill in the blank).” But “active waiting,” as Nouwen calls it, challenges us to settle into where we are right now and sit with our pain or frustration or boredom in hopeful expectation.

“I feel that for many people waiting is sort of an awful desert between where you are and where you want to go, and you don’t like that place,” said Nouwen, pointing out that the difference between seeing waiting as a time of growth rather than as a time of frustration is choosing hope over fear. “A waiting person is someone who is very present to the moment, who believes that this moment is the moment.”

We are all waiting in one way or another. Many of the women I met in Rochester shared difficult stories, and I marveled at how faith-filled they were in spite of their sorrows and stresses. I never would have guessed from looking at them that they were facing such obstacles and burdened with such heartaches. They are women waiting in hope, and they showed me in very practical terms what I’d heard in theory on the Nouwen recording the night before: “Waiting is never moving from nothing to something. It’s always from something to something.”

God calls us to see the “something” in the fallow moments as well as the full moments, in our struggles as well as our successes. That’s certainly not easy, especially if we’re suffering through it. It takes practice. We can start small—like on a drive across the state on a clear autumn day—and embrace what is rather than what we wish could be. The next moment isn’t the one that counts. This is the moment. Be here now. Wait in hope and see what God has in store.

This Life Lines column originally appeared in the Oct. 13, 2016, issue of Catholic New York.

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The only master that matters

My reflection from Give Us This Day today:

Truth and trust. I’m guessing that for most of us these two words stir up powerful emotions, whether close to the surface of our souls or buried deep within. Perhaps we still feel the sting of a trust that was betrayed, a truth that was twisted, leaving us devastated and permanently scarred. Or perhaps, just as painful but in a completely different way, we were on the other side of the equation, bringing damage and destruction to a relationship or even our own inner peace because of a sin or a weakness that caused us to choose omission over honesty, betrayal over loyalty, lies over truth.

“No one can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other.” Jesus says this knowing full well how often we will choose badly in matters big and small, opting to protect our own egos and ideas, offenses and indiscretions out of comfort or convenience or fear, even at the expense of someone else’s peace and happiness.

How do we restore trust and repair the wounds we bear on our own hearts or have left imprinted on the heart of another? Can we choose to live in the light despite the darkness of past sins, the ghosts that force us to live in shadows? Jesus says we can, but only when we turn our lives and hearts over to him and follow the way of truth, the way of the only Master that should matter.

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9/11: Remembering like it was yesterday

Here’s the Life Lines column I wrote 15 years ago, in the days following 9/11. So much has changed since that time. Our world has changed. My family has changed. And yet, for me, this column still resonates with things that feel very much in tune with our world right now. Here’s wishing all of you, all of us a future of peace — peace in our hearts, peace in our homes, peace on our planet.

By Mary DeTurris Poust

Noah plopped down on the floor next to me the other day and asked me to read one of his favorite books, “There’s an Alligator Under My Bed,” by Mercer Mayer. As we turned the pages and followed the little boy on his quest to capture the elusive alligator that kept him up at night, I had an eerie feeling that the story was an allegory for what I’d been feeling since that terrible morning a few days before.

The night after the World Trade Center attack, I lay awake in my bed staring at the ceiling, filled with a sense of dread that I could not quite put my finger on. I was scared, but not by the images of horror that had flashed before my eyes for hours that day. Instead my fears seemed frivolous, not at all unlike the little boy’s alligator: Had I left the dryer on in the basement? Was the window over the kitchen sink still open? Were the kids’ pajamas warm enough? I felt a childlike fear of the dark, of things no one else can see, things we parents usually try to hush with a goodnight kiss and a night-light.

When morning finally arrived, I realized that my sleeplessness wasn’t really about what might go wrong within my four walls. It was about what had gone wrong in our world. Long after I had wiped away the tears of sadness that fell as I watched the World Trade Center collapse over and over again on television’s seemingly endless loop of horror, I fought back tears of a different kind — as I rocked Olivia to sleep for her nap, as I kissed Noah good-bye at preschool, as I hugged my husband, Dennis, at the end of a long day. Those were tears borne of fear, tears for tomorrow, tears for a world we don’t yet know. And I didn’t like how they felt.

Despite the fact that I have spent almost two years writing a book on how to help children deal with grief, the events of the past weeks left me in the unusual position of struggling for words. On the day of the attack, when Noah, asked if “bad people” might knock down our house, I reassured him that they would not. When he made a logical leap – at least for a 4-year-old – and worried that they might knock down his grandmother’s apartment building in New York City, I told him he was safe, that no one was going to hurt him or the people he loved. All the while I found myself wondering if I was telling him a lie.

But that kind of thinking leads to hopelessness, and when we lose hope, we leave a void just waiting to be filled by fear and despair and alligators of every kind. Through stories on television and in newspapers, I had seen unbelievable hopefulness in the face of utter destruction. How could I not believe in the power of the human spirit and the ultimate goodness of humanity and a better world for our children?

That night, as a soft rain fell, our house seemed wrapped in a comforting quiet that was interrupted only by the reassuring hum of the dishwasher. With Noah and Olivia asleep in their rooms, I lay down and looked up. For the first time in days I didn’t notice the enveloping darkness but saw instead the tiny glowing stars that dot our bedroom ceiling, a “gift” left behind by the previous owners. As I finally closed my eyes to sleep, I whispered a prayer of hope, a prayer for a world where the only thing our children have to fear are the imaginary monsters hiding under their beds.

Copyright 2001, Mary DeTurris Poust

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Do you hear what I hear?

I woke up the other night to a fierce thunderstorm and the sound of rain tapping on the aluminum-wrapped windowsill, and I smiled as I rolled over. As I drifted off to sleep, I remember thinking in the back of my overtired brain that it was not so long ago that the same tap-tapping—a byproduct of our new-and-improved windows—made me crazy, so crazy we had to hang a towel over the sill and close the window on it to muffle it. But, over time, the sound became familiar and comforting rather than strange and infuriating.

If you’ve ever purchased a new set of wind chimes or a clock with an extra loud tick-tock, you probably know what I mean. The first few nights can feel a bit like torture as the rhythmic noise beats against the silence. On one of the first nights in our rental house in Austin, Texas, years ago, I asked Dennis to get on a ladder at 1 a.m. to take down my beautiful new chimes because I just couldn’t take it anymore. Not long after, however, I reached a point where I didn’t even notice the chimes ringing unless a Texas storm blew through.

It’s interesting how we get used to things—sounds, sights, people, places—over time. What starts out as unusual or annoying, charming or exotic becomes commonplace and, in some ways, invisible. And we often don’t notice those things again until they’re gone, and suddenly the void seems gaping or the silence deafening.

I was in a store recently, wheeling my cart between women’s clothing and housewares, when another shopper sneezed. I turned and said, “God bless you,” without really thinking much of it. Another shopper had the same idea, so it came out in stereo. The woman who had sneezed stopped what she was doing, and looked somewhat dazed as she stood there blinking for a second or two—as if to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Then she said, “Oh, my goodness. I live alone now. My husband died. I’m not used to hearing anyone respond to me anymore. Thank you.” And she walked away smiling.

Her reaction has stayed with me. How many times had her husband said, “God bless you” or “Thank you” or “I love you” over the years? So many that it probably seemed insignificant after a while. Maybe she didn’t even notice he was saying it. Until he wasn’t.

Since that experience in the store, I’ve been trying to notice those sounds that drift into my day intentionally or by accident, things that might go otherwise unnoticed, and I’ve come to one conclusion: The only way to be tuned into the world around us in a meaningful way is to tune out the noise on a regular basis. Silence sharpens our spiritual hearing. When we shut out the noise and listen, we return to a place of heightened awareness.

As we know from Scripture, Jesus would retreat into the desert now and then. Those desert experiences didn’t just give him a few moments of peace and prayer, they prepared him for the chaotic and challenging things that would come his way when he returned to the “real” world. We need to do the same, even if our desert is nothing more than a chair in the corner of a bedroom or, in my case, a pillow on the floor of my basement office, where I keep my personal sacred space.

When we first start sitting in silent prayer, we may simply become more aware of the actual voices and noises around us, but with practice we’ll begin to hear the still small voice of the Spirit, the whisper trying to rise above the din of the world. If we retreat into silence for even a few minutes each day, we will be more likely to hear the Spirit speaking to our hearts, and we will—like the woman shopping alongside me in Marshalls—stand back in awe and gratitude for the unexpected response.

This Life Lines column first appeared in the Sept. 1, 2016, issue of Catholic New York.

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Honored, grateful to make top-25 list of bloggers

I opened my Twitter feed yesterday to find this message posted by The Clearing, a spiritual wellness website:

“Read why @MaryDTP is one of our top 25 blogs on #spiritual wellness.”

And I was like, wait, what? So I clicked on the link that took me to a list of the “top 25 spiritual wellness bloggers,” and there I was, slipped in among some of the most wonderful and inspiring contemporary spiritual wellness/wholeness writers and thinkers: Louise Hay, Deepak Chopra, Marianne Williamson, Danielle LaPorte, Krista Tippett. And me?!? How did that happen? I’m still not sure. I just know I am beyond overwhelmed and grateful that anyone, anywhere would include me and my blog — this blog! — on that list. I’m not worthy. And I’m especially honored to be the Catholic writer representing on that list. Preach.



Thank you again to the folks at The Clearing. I am so grateful. And, now, here’s the full list. You’ll find me in the #6 slot:

Spiritual Wellness Bloggers We Love and Respect

Here’s our list of the top 25 spiritual wellness bloggers, in no particular order, to inspire and encourage you in your spiritual path.

1. Louise Hay

Louise Hay is an internationally-lauded author and speaker who focuses on how positive philosophies and affirmations can help people to heal their lives. She began her healing work by speaking in church, and later chronicled how she healed her physical body from cancer through emotional work, nutritional support, and therapy.

2. Lori Deschene

Lori Deschene is the founder of Tiny Buddha, a popular online community devoted to “reflecting on simple wisdom and learning new ways to apply it to our complex lives”. The site features guest posts from individuals all across the world to help readers cultivate happiness in their own lives.

3. Leo Babauta

Leo Babauta of Zen Habits was among the first personal development bloggers on the web. He writes about minimalism and the concrete, real-world habits that promote happiness; recent posts include essays on mindful walking and eating. He emphasizes clearing the clutter to allow for a greater focus on what matters most.

4. Ilchi Lee

Ilchi Lee of Change Your Energy writes about unleashing positive transformations for the mind, body, and soul. He offers various courses, videos, and products designed to increase your energy and thus improve your quality of life.

5. Marianne Williamson

Marianne Williamson is an acclaimed, bestselling author and speaker who penned the much-beloved, oft-quoted paragraph that begins: “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure…” She writes about the spiritual journey from suffering to enlightenment.

6. Mary DeTurris Poust

Mary DeTurris Poust of Not Strictly Spiritual is a Catholic writer, speaker, blogger, and communications consultant who writes about finding the Divine in the everyday, healing from grief, developing spiritual friendships, and more.

See the rest HERE.

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Abundance over scarcity: trusting God to provide

This Life Lines column was originally intended to be my last. It was 15 years ago this month that I wrote my first column for Catholic New York, and this seemed like a nice tidy way to bring things to a close. Plus, as you may recall from last month’s column on humility, I thought I had nothing left to say. Then a few things happened to make me rethink that plan.

The tipping point was a trifecta of positivity that came flooding into my life all at once: more than a few really nice emails from readers of Catholic New York; my return to regular yoga class and at least a bare-bones prayer life; and, the icing on the cake, a five-day lake vacation to Hadlock Pond in the lower Adirondack Mountains.

As I kayaked across the crystal clear water, watching a hawk circle overhead and a heron standing in watchful silence at the end of a dock a few feet away, I suddenly felt myself breathing again. I realized that I’d been holding my breath for close to a year. At least that’s how it felt. Finally, there in the silence and solitude, I felt myself exhale.

I began rhythmically praying with my breath two favorite lines from Scripture – “I am with you always, until the end of time” and “Be still and know that I am God.” As I crossed the lake in a moving meditation, I began to feel the latter quote morphing into a personalized version of that verse: Be still and know that all is God—people, animals, creation. At first it was a silent mantra, but the next thing I knew, I was saying it out loud in time with the movement of my paddle. With each repetition, I felt lighter. From there I found even higher ground, a thought that would not fade: We live in abundance. Always. Not wealth, not success, not power, but abundance. Our God is not a God of scarcity. He is a God of blessings and feasts, too much, excess.

So often we approach life from a place of lack, even if it is imagined lack. We hoard what we have, clinging tight to things we’re afraid to lose, be it a job, our youth, our possessions, even our faith. We worry there won’t be enough of whatever it is we need because we think “enough” comes only when we hit a certain level of success or saintliness. But God gives us more than enough simply for showing up to this party called life. He gives us blessings in abundance, and the thing we tend to forget is that when we stop worrying so much about what we need or what we deserve or what we want, we open up a great big space for abundance to rush in. And without even realizing it, what we need is suddenly right there before us.

St. Therese of Lisieux wrote: “I find just when I need them, certain lights…and it isn’t during my hours of prayer that these are most abundant, but rather, in the midst of my daily occupations.”

Can we begin to see abundance, sense abundance, even when we’re not on the mountaintop, or, in my case, on the lake? In the midst of our daily activities? Even in the dark valleys of struggle and strife?

It’s not easy, but what if, by some slim chance, you could let go, just a bit, and not worry about tomorrow and see the abundance in the right now. There is abundance somewhere, even if you’re in a bad place, even if you’re saddled with worry, even if it’s hidden beneath piles of bills. Stop holding on so tight and see what happens. Loosen when fear tells you to cling. Give when you might be inclined to withhold. Put a dream out into the universe and see what God does with it. And don’t forget to breathe.

This column first appeared the Aug. 4, 2016, issue of Catholic New York. 

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