Mary DeTurris Poust's Blog, page 35

Give Us This Day: Always, always

My reflection from today’s edition of Give Us This Day:

This past summer, when my family spent a week at the New Jersey shore, I hopped out of bed every morning to run down to the beach with my camera and capture the sun as it came up. My husband thought I was a little bit nuts to get so excited about the same sun rising every day, but I would stand there in awe over the never-changing and yet ever-changing sun. I marveled at the way it could be bold and brilliant one morning and soft and subtle the next but always, always there, even when I couldn’t see it behind the clouds.

In today’s reading from Ecclesiastes, we hear, “The sun rises and the sun goes down; then it presses on to the place where it rises.” It sounds very much like our own life cycle, doesn’t it? We rise and we rest, pushing ever onward, sometimes feeling as if every day is more of the same. In hindsight we can usually see the bold strokes or subtle nuances that set one day apart from the next, the places where God broke through. The trick is to learn to appreciate those moments as they happen, recognizing God in the daily push, even when God is hidden by the clouds of our distraction or indifference or outright pain. No matter what we face, God is always, always with us. God is our constant, the star at the center of our interior universe, guiding us forward, loving us home like rivers running to the sea.

I am blessed to be a regular contributor to Give Us This Day, a wonderful monthly prayer/Scripture subscription from Liturgical Press. If you don’t already subscribe, do yourself a favor and check it out. 

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The Song: An honest, soulful look at this beautiful, messy thing called marriage

Marriage is hard, even under the best of circumstances. Add in some problems, and marriage can feel beyond hard, maybe impossible, as evidenced by the soaring divorce rate. But marriage is also beautiful, a calling to go beyond yourself, if it’s done right.

The Song, which will be released in theaters this Friday, Sept. 26, is about all of it — this beautiful, difficult, romantic, messy, painful, joyful partnership called marriage. When I previewed the movie, which comes from a distinctly Christian perspective, I was struck by the way it seemed relevant on so many different levels. Although the obvious problem that surfaces in The Song is infidelity, if we’re willing to look deeper, we can see the everyday problems that all married couples face, the things that often lead to more significant breaks later on: the desire to earn more money, even at the expense of family life; the exhaustion that comes from raising children, even at the expense of husband-wife intimacy and deep communication; the need for forgiveness and openness and honesty, even though we want to resent and blame and justify.

As you hear the words of Solomon’s Song of Songs running as an undercurrent in the background, you cannot help but reflect on the places where this movie and these characters intersect with your own married life. Even if the circumstances of the movie are completely different from your own, the common ground of love, sacrifice, intimacy, communication, loyalty, jealousy, fear, selfishness, joy, and despair will ring true for any couple, any person.

Here’s the official “blurb” I wrote for The Song:

“The power of The Song comes not only from the beautiful blend of Scripture, music, and married life lived large on the screen, but from the way it lays bare the sacrifices and surrender that true love requires of both spouses. The Song will make you rethink your own marriage and the ways you are – or are not — living out your vows to love, honor, and cherish your spouse.”

Watch the trailer here:

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It’s about the journey, not the destination

My latest Life Lines column, running in the current issue of Catholic New York:

I’m a wannabe hiker. And a wannabe camper and kayaker, for that matter. Although I’ve done a little of all of those things, I’m no expert.

A writing colleague who knew I was clamoring for a hike messaged me one night and asked if I wanted to join her for a beginner trip to Huckleberry Point in the Catskills. With a little appointment juggling and a lot of assistance from my husband, Dennis, I said yes, packed a lunch, and dusted off my hiking boots.

My friend Jill had offered to drive so she could drop her son off at a gathering at a nearby lake. She bypassed the fast-moving Thruway and opted instead for winding back roads. We could arrive 10 minutes faster, or we could be surrounded by beauty, she explained, adding, “I’ll take beauty.” As we hugged the mountains and drove through quaint towns, I wondered how it was possible I’d lived in the region for almost 14 years and had never taken this route.

Finally we arrived at Colgate Lake, only to find that her son’s friends were running an hour late. We couldn’t leave him there alone, so our only option was to stay put. I imagined how I might have handled the situation if it were my son whose friends had thrown off the schedule. At the very least I would have been annoyed. But Jill calmly moved the car, settled in and made her son—and me—feel grateful rather than upset.

We had an hour to sit lakeside with mountains all around us, not a bad Plan B, but I probably wouldn’t have appreciated it quite so much if not for Jill’s peaceful surrender to what was rather than what should be.

The bright blue sky above, the dragonflies skimming the water, the other families boating and swimming—how could a hike get better than this? I felt a shift somewhere deep inside as I began to realize what a blessing this hike day was turning out to be, even if we never reached Huckleberry Point. But we did.

When we finally headed out along the hiking trail, I felt soothed by the meditative rhythm. The trail required a certain amount of concentration to step over and around rocks. The climb required occasional stretches of silence to conserve energy and not struggle to talk. The deliberate and slow movement reminded me of the walks I’d taken on silent retreat, only this time I didn’t have to force myself to slow down; nature did that for me.

About an hour into our hike, we met two women walking in the other direction. We asked if they had reached Huckleberry Point. No, they said, but that was OK by them because it wasn’t about the view. Excuse me? It’s not about the view? Of course it’s about the view. For the rest of our hike, as I wondered if we, too, might have to turn back before we reached the summit, I mulled over this prospect. How would I feel if I hiked for three hours round trip and never got the payoff?

About an hour later, we reached Huckleberry Point, with its stunning view of distant mountain peaks and rivers and lakes. We ate our lunch on a rock ledge and watched a vulture circling far below us and clouds passing by at eye level. At that moment I started to plan my next hike, not because I necessarily need to climb up to a spectacular view but because I need to climb down into that space in my soul that still clings too tight to all the things I think I should do rather than the things I could do, if only I gave myself permission.

The next time you go for a drive, take the long route. Choose form over function, beauty over speed, and deep satisfaction over fleeting reward. Hope for the view but take joy in the journey.

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Wisdom Wednesday: 5 ways to fine tune your life

I love to read about how other people have transformed their lives into something more manageable, less stressful, more satisfying. What steps did they take? How do they maintain it? I’m always curious, hungry for information. Even if I’m not going to go off the grid, live in the mountains, sail around the world, homeschool my kids, start canning my own food, whatever the particular path might be, I can learn from every single person. There’s always a morsel of magic to be obtained, a nugget of spiritual gold hidden in every story.

So when I came across this post yesterday on the Tiny House page (I dream of living in a Tiny House some day when the kids are grown), I knew I had to share it today. So much goodness, even if you live in a big house crammed with stuff or a city apartment amid the noise and smog. 

I think this post — “Five Ways to Start Living the Life of Your Dreams” — hit home for me because some of the practices have worked for me in the past, and I’ve just lost sight of them. The practice of gratitude, for example, is something that was a daily and centering practice for me for a long time. (That’s my gratitude journal in the photo above.) The practice of yoga was once something that kept me anchored, although I haven’t done it in months. (No wonder I feel so scattered.) This post reminded me that I should get back to those things, but it also hit on some new things Dennis and I have been trying recently, namely “clearing excess” and exploring our relationship with money and spending.

Here’s the post. Five things. Quick read but lots of nuggets to be mined:

No matter what you dream of, the key to living your dream is to start today. It might be a long, slow walk, but you have to start walking and keep walking. Small steps will get you there.

In August of 2008 my husband, Karl, and I lost our restaurant and then our home. As we shaped a new life out of the dust, we dreamed of debt-free home ownership and a simple homesteading life in the mountains. The odds were against us. We lived in a rental in Florida. We had $300. The whole idea of building without a mortgage seemed revolutionary since no one I knew had ever owned a home without a mortgage. In spite of the odds and the difficulty, we set out on our path. It has been a slow walk (sometimes through mud,) but we keep walking. Along the way, we’ve learned some valuable strategies to make things happen. I wanted to share some of them with you.

1) Practice gratitude. Lots of folks are talking gratitude these days and for good reason. Taking the time to practice gratitude helps train your brain to look for the positive. I’m sure you’ve noticed that what you focus on expands, so focusing on gratitude makes sense. Start with gratitude for this journey. Getting where you are going is a process, and having the choice to consciously create your own pathway is a right not all humans know. I keep a section of my journal reserved for my gratitude lists. I aim to write at least 5 things in my dated list each day. It’s a fun section of my journal because I can look back on the moments of my life in the context of my gratitude. It’s amazing to find that some of the hardest moments hold the deepest blessings.

Keep reading HERE. But before you click away, take a look at the collage below. That’s something I did years ago, at a time when I was being much more mindful about my daily life and much more protective of my practices of gratitude and yoga and prayer. I’m going to spend some time looking at this collage today and thinking about where I wanted to go when I first made it and what my collage might look today — if only I had any magazines to clip beyond Vegetarian Times. What would your collage look like?

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Foodie Friday: Hollow chef kicks it up a notch

When we were planning our date night this week, there was only one place on my list of suggestions: The Hollow Bar & Kitchen on North Pearl Street in Albany. I was craving the eggplant stack, which I’d had the first time we visited. I don’t care if you think you don’t like eggplant, you will love this. Trust me. It. Is. Incredible. So off we went, in search of eggplant and gnocchi and craft beer and wine. 

The bar/restaurant is also known as a music venue. The bar side has quite a different feel from the restaurant side and apparently gets quite crowded on music nights. Both times we have visited on a Wednesday, when it’s fairly quiet, with just a few tables occupied inside and — because it was a lovely night — out front at the sidewalk tables. I prefer the inside tables no matter what the weather because I love the warm-toned brick interior with the mason-jar light fixtures and, on this particular night, fresh sunflowers on every table.

I went ahead and ordered the eggplant stack, as planned, with a half-order of the signature gnocchi. Dennis ordered the tuna special, which was served over homemade gnocchi with arugula and heirloom tomatoes. While we waited, I ordered a flight of wine and Dennis ordered a flight of craft beer. Our waiter was incredibly helpful in helping us pick out just the right selections from the very long craft beer list and the shorter but excellent wine list.

And then our food arrived. I took one bite of my fried + roasted eggplant stack and — cue angels singing — knew there was something different going on there. “I can’t believe it, but this is even better than the first time I had it,” I told Dennis. There were breadcrumbs involved this time, although I wasn’t quite sure how. We’re talking about layers and layers of seasonal vegetables, tomatoes, mozzarella, pesto. You can see it down there on the left, but the photo doesn’t do it justice. Just go order it. Today. This weekend. Soon.

To top it off, the signature gnocchi was so incredible, soft little pillows of dough tossed with truffle oil, brown butter, arugula, shitake mushrooms and shaved asiago. I have vowed to make the gnocchi dish my main meal the next time I visit. Which will be very soon. And let me just tell you that ordering both the eggplant and a half-order of gnocchi is gluttonous. I mean, you will see these plates coming out and wonder what army you’ll be feeding. I took home at least half of each dish. The gnocchi reheated perfectly for lunch yesterday, and the eggplant is on the menu at home today. Dennis’ tuna special was equally delicious, he said. The last time we were there he had the surf and turf burger, which he loved. So The Hollow is batting 1.000 in our book.

About halfway through our meal, chef Henry Ciccone (who was nominated in the “Rising Star Chef” category for the 5th Annual Albany Chefs’ Food & Wine Festival, came out to talk to us and ask if we liked our meals. I told him the eggplant was even better than before and his face lit up. Panko. That was the secret. Some fresh panko from somewhere in the local region (I can’t remember where he said). He decided to give it a try in the eggplant and now was considering making the change permanent. Henry came out a second time to talk a little more. That’s when we found out his father works at Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health in Lenox, Ma., and that Henry had just been there on retreat. I am a big fan of Kripalu, having been there on retreat myself a couple of years ago. Cosmic connections. Always.

I’m heading back to The Hollow soon so I can give Henry a copy of my book Cravings, since Kripalu actually makes it into that book. And maybe to get a full order of his signature gnocchi.

Here’s a link to the menu so you can start dreaming about what you’ll order.

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Italy: Five weeks and counting…

Five weeks from today, our Italy: A Feast for Body and Soul pilgrimage will depart from JFK airport bound for Rome. The 40 of us will spend 13 days making our way from the beautiful spa town of Montecatini to Florence, Siena, Assisi, Rome, Naples, Salerno, the Amalfi Coast, Sorrento, Massa Lubrense (the small town where my grandfather was born), and finally to the Isle of Capri. I know how fast these next few weeks will go with start-of-school events and work deadlines to meet before leaving. It’s going to be here before I know it. 

Although our itinerary is jam packed with lots a great sites — duomos and art, monasteries and agriturismos, wine tastings and cooking class — there’s also plenty of time for wandering around on our own. I have yet to sit down with some guide books for Florence or Capri to see what I might want to do when I have a few free hours. Rome is no problem. Having spent 11 days there four years ago, I’m eager to get back to some of my favorite spots when the walking tours, Masses and museums are done.

I know some of the pilgrims — those who may not have been to Italy before — may be a little nervous as our departure date approaches. To them I can say only one thing, based on my own Italy experience: Let it go. (And if you need to sing that to the tune of the “Frozen” mega-hit, be my guest. In fact, I encourage it.)

Seriously, do not go to Italy and expect United States. It is vastly, wonderfully different, and that’s a good thing. You wouldn’t want to travel all that way for more of the same. The food will be different (and fabulous, every meal). The hotels will be different. The schedules will be different (meaning a shop’s posted hours are totally useless because they will open when they feel like opening). Let go of all your pre-conceived notions. Let go of all your worries about food and clothes and jet lag and throw yourself into Italian life. It could make the difference between a totally glorious and never-to-be-forgotten adventure and a tense, worry-filled trip. You’ve got “only” 13 days. Revel in every single one of them.

When I went to Rome alone four years ago, I couldn’t speak the language, had never been to Italy before, hadn’t traveled out of the country since college, had no one there to meet me at the airport or even share a cab to my hotel, and had 10 days to see everything I wanted to see and still get to my daily (all-day) sessions and lectures at Santa Croce University. I quickly realized I could either stress the entire time or let it all go and take a chance. I opted for the latter, and what a wonderful experience it was. I left a piece of my heart in Roma.

Here’s a story I wrote about that experience, in case you want a taste of what’s ahead. (Read all the way through to the third page on the website for travel tips.) And, if you’re not joining us on the pilgrimage, be sure to follow this blog and our Italy: A Feast for Body and Soul Facebook page (by clicking HERE) to see photos and hear about our adventures — spiritual and otherwise.

Ciao, for now.

 

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Foodie Friday: A great way to use summer veggies

When a friend gave me a week of her CSA share, I knew I had to act fast. I had bags of beautiful summer abundance sitting on my counter and only a few days to use them before we headed out on our own vacation. Thank goodness for Google. I did a search of a few key ingredients and found the most amazing pasta dish using almost all of the veggies. It was a huge hit with all three kids, and that’s saying something for a dish featuring eggplant. Here’s the recipe for pasta with roasted vegetables, tomatoes, and basil from Epicurious. Tweak as needed. If you don’t have eggplant but have tons of zucchini, use that. Don’t be afraid to mix things up. The beauty of this kind of pasta dishes is that it allows you to get creative. There are no set rules. Other than making sure the pasta is  al dente. 

Ingredients

Nonstick vegetable oil spray (or extra olive oil, which is what I used)

3 red bell peppers, cut into 1/2-inch pieces (I used a mix of colors)

1 1/2 medium eggplants, unpeeled, cut into 1/2-inch pieces

1 1/2 large yellow crookneck squash, cut into 1/2-inch pieces

2 1/4 cups 1/2-inch pieces peeled butternut squash (I didn’t have squash, so I didn’t use it. I used mushrooms instead.)

6 tablespoons olive oil

1 1/2 pounds penne pasta

3 medium tomatoes, cored, seeded, diced

3/4 cup chopped fresh basil or 2 1/4 tablespoons dried

3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

2 garlic cloves, minced

3/4 cup grated parmesan cheese

Preparation

Preheat oven to 450° F. Spray large roasting pan with nonstick spray or coat with olive oil. Combine red bell peppers, eggplant, crookneck squash, and butternut squash in prepared pan. Drizzle with 3 tablespoons olive oil; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Toss to coat. Roast until vegetables are tender and beginning to brown, stirring occasionally, approximately 25 minutes.

Meanwhile, cook pasta in large pot of boiling salted water until tender but still firm to bite. Drain; reserve 3/4 cup cooking liquid.

Combine pasta, roasted vegetables, tomatoes, and basil in large bowl. Add remaining 3 tablespoons oil, vinegar, and garlic. Toss to combine. Season pasta to taste with salt and pepper, adding reserved cooking liquid by tablespoonfuls to moisten, if desired. Mound pasta on platter. Sprinkle with Parmesan and serve. (Can be made 2 hours ahead. Cover and keep at room temperature.

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What are you chasing?

Time for a little honesty. I woke up this morning feeling beyond down in the dumps. Actually I’ve been waking up that way a lot lately, save for a few days on vacation when I was able to deny reality. But now, with summer winding down and reality breathing down my neck, it’s hard to plaster a smile on my face and pretend it’s all great, even if it sounds great on paper. I mean, we’ve got our health, we’ve got a big trip to Italy in the offing, I’ve got one book project halfway done and another ready to go as soon as the first is complete. What could possibly be dragging me down? All of it.

Every one of those things I just mentioned comes with a mega-load of stress. The Italy trip alone is a major stress inducer — leaving our kids for 13 days (Dennis is joining me), burdening my dad and stepmom with child care for all that time, ensuring that the 37 people who paid to go on my pilgrimage have a good time. It’s stressful. And I have to admit that having Italy-related stress brings me down. Italy is my dream; I don’t want it to become my nightmare.

So every morning I wake up and mentally rattle off all the stuff in my life that is giving me stress, and then I sigh and wish I could pull the covers over my head and hide for the rest of the day. Or year.

But this morning, when I signed onto Facebook and saw a TED talk about stress posted by one of my friends (an awesome life coach who also happens to be signed up for my Italy pilgrimage), I stopped what I was doing and started watching.

The talk was about the way stress can hurt or help us. That’s right: Stress can actually help us. It all depends on how you view it. It was an interesting talk, but the money quote came at the very end when the speaker answered a question about whether someone should take a stressful job or a non-stressful job if they had a choice between two. And this is what psychologist Kelly McGonigal said:

“One thing we know for certain is that chasing meaning is better for your health than trying to avoid discomfort. So I would say that’s really the best way to make decisions: Go after what creates meaning in your life, and then trust yourself to handle the stress that follows.”

Amen. Up until now, that’s always been how I’ve looked at life. I’ve taken on ridiculous projects I had no business accepting, but I would say “yes” and figure out the rest out along the way. For some reason, however, I’ve been slipping more toward the “avoid discomfort” camp in recent months, and what I’ve found is that rather than make me feel better, it’s made me more stressed and less happy. So….time to remember why I’ve always taken on jobs and projects when other people have told me I was crazy to do so: because I like to chase meaning.

Chase meaning, rather than avoid discomfort.

Words to live by. And words to remember every morning when hiding from the world seems like the much more comfortable option.

Here’s the entire talk, if you want to check it out:

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Turning summer stress into meditation in motion

My latest Life Lines column running in the current issue of Catholic New York:

Every year, when summer rolls around, I vow to work less and play more, or at least give my kids the lion’s share of my attention. And every year, usually by early August, I wonder what went wrong. Dreams of hikes and fire pits and beaches have been replaced by the realities of doctor appointments and work deadlines and camp forms. At least two out of three kids are being neglected on any given day.

Usually I blame myself and my home-based business, which is always beckoning and never closed. But this year I began to realize that it isn’t my job that makes summer stressful, and it’s not even due to the built-in stress of being a busy family of five, plus two cats and a dog. It’s due, at least in good measure, to my tendency to embrace chaos over calm, to choose spinning in a dozen directions over focusing on one task at a time.

As I prepared for another day of planning college visits and scheduling doctor appointments and emailing about summer camps and birthday parties, I felt panic setting in. When was I going to get to this column? What about the big writing project I was supposed to finish this month? What about the fire pit and all those marshmallows waiting to be toasted?

And then I thought back to one of the craziest times of my professional life: two years ago when I decided writing back-to-back books in a span of seven months was a great idea. Despite the insane publishing deadlines, despite the juggling of family responsibilities (thank you, Dennis) so I had more time to write, I was remarkably calm. Somehow I found a way to be serene in the midst of a storm.

It’s no secret why that was possible, at least not to me. The books on my plate both focused on doing things mindfully, from eating breakfast in silence to building in daily prayer time. Everyday Divine: A Catholic Guide to Active Spirituality grew out of my desire—my desperate need—to find a way to pray amid the craziness of my life. Learning to pray through my chores, while in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, in the car as I shuttled kids around town helped set my life to a sacred rhythm.

I practiced what I preached during the writing of those books, and it paid off. But how easily we slip back into bad habits, like believing I just don’t have time to pray. St. Francis de Sales once said, “Half an hour’s meditation each day is essential, except when you are busy. Then a full hour is needed.” The man knew what he was talking about.

I’ve actually started re-reading my own book in an effort to recover my serenity. As I pour over passages about my experiences with various types of prayer, from contemplative prayer on retreat to intercessory prayer over my oatmeal, I am awed by my own human weakness. How is it possible I’ve let this hard-won information slip through my spiritual fingertips without a fight, or even so much as a tug of resistance?

At the very end of Everyday Divine, I reflect on the way Jesus’ peace and prayerfulness remained ever present, whether he was in the desert alone or surrounded by a hostile crowd. “He stayed true to his center, his truth, bringing his peace into the noise and glare of an often unkind world, rather than letting it happen the other way around.”

Jesus challenges us to do the same through daily prayer, and not just prayer in church or prayer with Rosary beads in hand, although those are important, too. When we learn to pray while chopping an onion, while walking the dog, while riding the subway, while weeding the garden, we soon discover we are no long simply saying a prayer; our lives become the prayer.

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My two favorite Chiaras

To celebrate the Feast of St. Clare, I’m doing a Flashback Monday post (I know, it doesn’t quite have the same ring, does it?) to something I wrote three years ago today. (Ages have been updated so it makes sense today.)

When I became pregnant with my youngest, I immediately honed in on the name “Chiara.” At the time, I will admit, it had nothing to do with the most famous Chiara, St. Clare of Assisi, or, as they say in Italy, Santa Chiara di Assisi, whose feast day is today.

No, my fascination with this beautiful name started in college, when I was on a trip to China and spent three weeks traveling with a young woman named Chiara, who was part of our university group. The name struck me as the most beautiful name I’d ever heard, but that may have had something to do with my being named Mary. As they sing in the old-time classic, “there is something there that sounds so square.” Chiara (the name, not the person) was about as opposite of “square” as I could imagine.

For more than twenty years, the name Chiara lingered in the back of my brain. I never really considered it when I was pregnant with Noah and Olivia. Not sure why not. But when I became pregnant just about six 10 years ago, this name was my clear favorite. I loved the sound of it. I loved the fact that it reflected my Italian heritage. (Although we did at one point consider its Gaelic cousin, “Ciara,” which also means Clare but is pronounced KEER-ah, as opposed to key-AR-ah.)

So Chiara Elizabeth was born on July 21, and her Italian name seems perfectly suited to her. Of all my children, she is the one that will settle down with a stuffed artichoke and pull the leaves through her little white teeth as if she’s been doing it for a lifetime in Massa Lubrense, hometown of her great-grandpa. She will go to a deli and request provolone and dried Italian sausage for lunch when the others are getting standard turkey sandwiches. She will scarf down fried calmari and pesto with sausage any chance she gets. (Note that she’s rolling out pizza dough in the photo above.) So the name was definitely a good call.

Surprisingly enough, however, this name has led me further along my own spiritual journey. Knowing my daughter shared a name with St. Clare of Assisi made me want to explore this holy woman in more depth. I’d always been a fan of Francis, her spiritual mentor and friend, but Clare was a spiritual footnote for me.

As my own Chiara has grown over the past five nine years, so has my love of Santa Chiara. Her courage, her faith, her strength were remarkable, especially in light of the fact that she did what she did as a woman in medieval times. Next month, when I finally get to Italy, I’m hoping to find a way to get to Assisi for one day, so I can walk in the footsteps of Francis and Clare. And then some day I’ll take Chiara back to do the same. *(I didn’t get there in 2010, but, God willing, I will be there this October when my pilgrimage group spends two days in Assisi.)

Today, when I opened my “Word of God Everyday” daily email, it included a quote from St. Clare: “Look into that mirror daily, always study your face in it, so that within and without you may adorn yourself with all manner of virtue.”

I liked the quote, which was connected to an Old Testament verse about the Son being a reflection of God’s glory. But something about the quote from Clare didn’t sit right with me as it was. It was incomplete and could be confusing to those of us in the modern world. It almost sounded as though Clare were suggesting that we look into an actual mirror and study our own faces. So I searched for it and found the full quote from a letter she wrote to Blessed Agnes of Prague:

Happy indeed is she who is granted a place at the divine banquet, for she may cling with her inmost heart to him whose beauty eternally awes the blessed hosts of heaven; to him whose love inspires love, whose contemplation refreshes, whose generosity satisfies, whose gentleness delights, whose memory shines sweetly as the dawn; to him whose fragrance revives the dead, and whose glorious vision will bless all the citizens of that heavenly Jerusalem, for he is the splendor of eternal glory, the brightness of eternal light, and the mirror without cloud.

Queen and bride of Jesus Christ, look into that mirror daily and study well your reflection, that you may adorn yourself, mind and body, with an enveloping garment of every virtue…In this mirror blessed poverty, holy humility and ineffable love are also reflected. With the grace of God the whole mirror will be your source of contemplation.

Jesus is the mirror — a mirror “without cloud.” And we are meant to reflect him to the world. That’s why I love St. Clare. Happy feast day to my baby Chiara.

 

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