Mary DeTurris Poust's Blog, page 5

Heart Health: Trust Your Gut (podcast)

In honor of Heart Health Month, I’m sharing my own heart health scare as a cautionary tale. I am so grateful I am here to tell my story. Trust your intuition and your gut. Listen to your heart — literally and figuratively! (18-minute listen)

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Listening with the ear of our heart this Lent

Each year, as Lent begins, I can’t help but remember a scene from Sunday Mass a few years back. A little boy sitting in the second pew with his grandmother pointed to the Stations of the Cross hanging nearby, specifically the ninth station, Jesus falls a third time. A look of confusion and concern came across his little face, and he furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what was going on in that scene. “He’s crying. He’s crying,” he said, looking up at his grandma. Although most of us were focused on how adorable this little boy was, I found myself looking over my shoulder to see what he saw: Jesus on the ground, the weight of the cross on his shoulder, a Roman soldier towering over him. This is where our path will lead us in the days and weeks ahead.

The road to Calvary over these 40 days will be marked by confusion and concern, sadness, and, yes, even moments of joy; not the passing happiness we think of when we hear that word but deep-seated internal joy, the kind that lives in our heart when we put our trust in Jesus. The stories that mark the path from here until Easter are powerful and familiar, sometimes so familiar they fail to move us, or, more accurately, we fail to be moved. We’ve heard it all before. There’s nothing new here. But God makes all things new, and the Scriptures are alive with the Spirit, who blows through the ancient texts to make a word, a phrase, a scene jump out at the exact moment we need it, if only we’d settle down and listen, as St. Benedict taught, with the “ear of our heart.”

We need reminders, someone or something to point out what we’re missing. Lent is that reminder, affording us the time and space to go deeper, to sit with stories and let them speak to us as if for the first time. What is calling you to transformation? What speaks to your heart?

On that Sunday morning in church years ago, an old man sat in the pew in front of the precocious little boy. Hunched with age, he was held up on one side by a younger man, his son, perhaps. The older man was dressed in a beautiful suit, his Sunday best. He stood for every prayer, even though he struggled to make even the slightest move, and his son patiently helped him up and down. It was a beautiful moment, this juxtaposition of young and old, boundless curiosity and fading youth, but with faith and grace swirling around both, around all. Taking in the scene that morning, I was moved by the reality of so many people from so many places with so many stories, all hungry for one thing: an encounter with the Divine. The same could be said of our Lenten journey.

We walk this journey together, even if we think we are walking alone. Faith and grace binds us to each other and to our God, and that is the stuff of which pure joy is made. Begin down the path today, and, if you get sidetracked, dust yourself off and begin again, knowing that you have companions, seen and unseen, lifting you up, a Communion of Saints, in which we all get to stake our claim. Stop, look, listen. Joy is hiding in plain sight, even on the road to Calvary, even on the cross, because joy is not fleeting, joy is not a feeling, joy is the knowledge that we have been saved by Jesus Christ, who invites us to join him on The Way today, every day.

This column appeared in the Feb. 15, 2024, issue of The Evangelist.

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

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Not Strictly Spiritual celebrates 16 years

It was 16 years ago today — on the Feast of St. Francis de Sales, patron saint of journalists — that I launched this blog. (You can read my original blog post from this date in 2008 HERE.) So, happy anniversary to me! And thank you to all of you who have followed me over the years and who continue to show up here again and again. I am forever grateful. It’s been an amazing journey, and, as you can see, what started as a little blog has grown into a much larger endeavor. It’s been a labor of love, one I plan to continue for as many years as I’m able.

When I first launched Not Strictly Spiritual, I did so with a favorite prayer by St. Francis de Sales, whose writings are remarkably relevant to our world today despite his being a 17th century bishop. I used to have this prayer hanging on my bathroom mirror so it was the first thing I would see when I began my day:

Do not look forward in fear to the changes of life;
rather, look to them with full hope that as they arise,
God, whose very own you are,
will lead you safely through all things;
and when you cannot stand it,
God will carry you in His arms.
Do not fear what may happen tomorrow;
the same everlasting Father who cares for you today
will take care of you then and every day.
He will either shield you from suffering,
or will give you unfailing strength to bear it.
Be at peace,
and put aside all anxious thoughts and imagination.
— St. Francis de Sales

So much has happened over these past 16 years, much of incredibly wonderful, some of it painfully awful. And yet through it all we carry on, trusting the path, trusting our story as it unfolds, trusting that God will carry us, enfold us, shield us, care for us.

As I look out toward the next leg of this journey, I can tell you that I hope to get back to my Life Lines podcast, which many of you tell me you listen to on repeat when I don’t record new episodes (Thank you! I love you.) I will continue posting my monthly Life Lines column, which runs in The Evangelist, and I will post other spiritual writing as I am able. You’ll also be able to find my upcoming events, which includes several weekend retreats in 2024 (including two Stillpoint retreats — my annual Stillpoint at Pyramid Life Center in September and another at Bon Secours Retreat Center in Maryland this April), plus some single-day events throughout the year. Continue to check the Events tab at the top of the home page to see what’s coming up. You’ll also find me teaching online and in-person yoga classes, so check the Yoga tab, if you have interest in those. I hope I see you along the way.

Thank you again for joining me in this space and in my Tribe. If you haven’t signed up for the Tribe, which includes receiving an occasional email newsletter from me, you can do so at the Join the Tribe button in the top right corner of this page.

Peace, Love, Blessings, and Every Good Thing,

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What is prayer? It’s like talking—and listening—to a best friend.

When it comes to our prayer lives, we too often fall into the trap of setting goals, mapping “progress,” and jumping through spiritual hoops, as if our relationship with God can be tackled the same way we might approach a diet or exercise plan. But our private prayer practice — and our spiritual life in general — cannot fit neatly into a box with defined edges.

Ours is not a linear path with a neat end point and victory lap, at least not this side of heaven. We’ll never be done. There will always be another step, a new lesson, and occasionally a switchback that makes us feel as though we’re moving in the wrong direction. And while all of that may seem overwhelming at first glance, the truth is that this spiritual reality is completely freeing if we are willing to accept the mystery and majesty of a life lived in the constant presence of God right where we are at any given moment.

How do you approach your private prayer life? Is it a laundry list of words to be said and boxes to be checked? Or is it an ongoing conversation with God that includes not only talking but listening deeply? While the prayers we memorized as children and love as adults are wonderful tools in the vast treasury of our Catholic prayer life, those very same things can sometimes become stumbling blocks to our spiritual growth when we get so hung up on specific requirements that we close ourselves off to the movement of the Spirit.

When I wrote my book Everyday Divine: A Catholic Guide to Active Spirituality, I described it like this: “When you take prayer out of that box and unwrap all the beautiful and varied ways of speaking to God, you begin to realize that prayer does not require anything more than a willing heart…As soon as you feel that desire within to deepen your connection to the divine, as soon as you turn to face God, you have already begun to pray, no matter what words you say or whether you say anything at all.”

And that is where prayer begins, with an intention and a heart and soul hungry for God. When we release ourselves from following specific “rules” and allow an inner conversation to flow, we begin to recognize more clearly and easily that God truly is with us at every moment. We begin to talk to God as we would a best friend, in an open conversation that requires no memorization, no notes, no user manual.

If you don’t believe me, listen to the words of St. Teresa of Avila: “For mental prayer, in my opinion, is nothing else than an intimate sharing between friends; it means taking time frequently to be alone with Him who we know loves us.”

What would it look like if you allowed yourself to share your joys and struggles and worries with God not only in dedicated prayer time but as you go about the tasks of your day — as you drive across town, shovel snow, cook dinner, walk the dog. This is where we learn to pray without ceasing. Our every breath becomes a prayer, and we begin to understand that prayer is not something outside us that we have to achieve; it is our very life.

In The Way of Prayer, Pope St. John Paul II said: “How to pray? This is a simple matter. I would say: Pray any way you like, so long as you do pray…Sometimes it takes courage to pray; but it is possible to pray, and necessary to pray, whether from memory or a book or just in thought, it is all the same.”

So just begin. Right where you are, with words or without. No expectations, no goals, no accomplishment in mind. Just an openness to the journey that will inevitably unfold when you begin a conversation with God.

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2024 Italy pilgrimage—Rome to Venice

Join me on the journey of a lifetime Sept. 30 to Oct. 11, 2024! La Dolce Vita: An Italian Pilgrimage of Food, Faith & Culture will take us from Rome to Orvieto, Assisi, Siena, Florence, Padua and Venice. Operated by Select International Tours & Cruises, this pilgrimage will depart Newark International Airport on Monday, Sept. 30, with a non-stop United flight to Rome’s Fiumicino Airport. There we’ll be met by our bilingual tour guide, who will stay with us for the remainder of the 12-day trip. From there, the magic begins!

We will visit the most spectacular and sacred sites these Italian cities have to offer while leaving plenty of time for sipping a cappuccino in a piazza, shopping in an open-air market, or just wandering down a narrow cobblestone street toward a hidden-but-magnificent gem you didn’t even know you needed to see. Throughout we’ll have our own chaplain with us every step of the way. Father Matthew Duclos of the Albany Diocese will say daily Mass for our group and offer insights gained from his years of study in Rome. That’s a benefit that can’t be calculated!

We’ll stay four nights in Rome, giving us plenty of time to get our fill of the Eternal City and all its glories, including a papal audience with Pope Francis. From there we’ll take our comfortable motor coach to the small-but-spectacular city of Orvieto en route to Assisi, where we will spend two nights soaking up the mystical, magical energy that seeps up from the streets of this city of St. Francis. We head to Siena next, another not-to-be-missed medieval city, on our way to fabulous Florence, where we will spend another two days and nights. We head north to the quaint and walkable city of Padua, which will be our base for Venice and our last two days of the pilgrimage. We’ll depart from Venice on another non-stop flight back to Newark on Friday, Oct. 11, 2024.

I have traveled to Italy four times — as a pilgrimage leader, a pilgrim, a student, and with my family — and I can tell you that this particular pilgrimage offers a wonderful and much-needed balance, giving us plenty of time in key cities to see all that needs to be seen while also providing ample time to experience Italian life and not simply check off a list of tourist attractions. You don’t want to race through Italy; you want to experience, at least now and then, dolce far niente — the sweetness of doing nothing, for which Italians are so famous. Join me, and find out for yourself why I continue to return to Italy again and again. You will discover that you cannot get enough.

You can find many more details in the full itinerary and brochure HERE. For New York Capital Region folks, Father Matt and I will be hosting an informational gathering on Sunday, Jan,. 14, at 10 a.m. at St. Matthew’s Church in Voorheesville, following the 9 a.m. Mass. Join us for a slide show, Q&A, and some Italian cookies!

Follow my travel page on Facebook for regular updates: Italy: A Feast for Body and Soul.
Or sign up for my newsletter at this link.

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Revolution, Not Resolution

My feature essay from the January 2024 issue of Give Us This Day:

A fresh span of twelve months stretches out before us now, like a blank canvas daring us to create something new. But we know all too well that the fresh hope of a new year can often get dragged down by old habits that feel as comfortable as a well-worn sweater. This is the time when many of us get down to the business of making resolutions: pounds to shed, diets to clean up, social media to pare down. If we’re honest, the resolutions probably sound a lot like the ones we made last year. Why is that? Because surface-level changes don’t feed our souls; true transformation requires us to dive deep and work toward an inner revolution instead. That requires prayer, complete surrender, and absolute trust that what God has in store is better than anything we can conjure up on a vision board.

Even when we turn to God to help us take this monumental step, however, we often do so with a laundry list of expectations. We want transformation, but we want it on our own terms. Maybe that’s because we know we won’t expect anything too grueling of ourselves. Once we put it in God’s hands, all bets are off. The path we are meant to walk, the person we are called to be, may require a freefall into a new way of living. If you want proof of that, just look at some of the feasts we mark this month.

We begin the year celebrating the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God, the ultimate example of surrender and trust in the face of the seemingly impossible. From there we mark the Epiphany, showcasing the magi who came from afar trusting a star to lead them to the Messiah. Later this month we will celebrate the Conversion of St. Paul, transformed from persecutor to true believer through a blinding flash, an unlikely vision, and an even more unlikely baptism. Which is to say that nothing is unlikely or impossible once we get God involved, or, more accurately, once we open our hearts to God already in our midst just waiting to be invited and involved.

I was recently introduced to the Surrender Novena, which seems made for our journey of inner revolution: “Why do you confuse yourselves by worrying? Leave the care of your affairs to me and everything will be peaceful. I say to you in truth that every act of true, blind, complete surrender to me produces the effect that you desire and resolves all difficult situations.”

“True, blind, complete surrender.” Like Mary, like the magi, like Paul, like so many others over the course of our faith history who have shown us with their very lives that the transformation we seek cannot be found in a number on a scale or in a bank account but by a message of hope written on our hearts by the One who offers us the only real path to peace and joy. What if the only thing you need to do this year is to surrender?

From the January 2024 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2024). Used with permission.

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The Risk of Christmas

A Christmas poem written by Madeleine L’Engle in 1973 but sounding incredibly timely for all of us living in a troubled world today:

This is no time for a child to be born,
With the earth betrayed by war & hate
And a comet slashing the sky to warn
That time runs out & the sun burns late.

That was no time for a child to be born,
In a land in the crushing grip of Rome;
Honour & truth were trampled by scorn —
Yet here did the Saviour make his home.

When is the time for love to be born?
The inn is full on the planet earth,
And by a comet the sky is torn —
Yet Love still takes the risk of birth.

Photo by Justin Wolff on Unsplash

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The uncomfortable reality of the Advent message

The Advent season — with its message to “Be watchful! Be alert!” — felt uncomfortably timely for me this year. Coming off a recent health scare, I have been all too aware of the reality that “the day of the Lord will come like a thief.”

It started in Assisi, when I was walking up a not-too-steep hill to the Basilica of St. Francis with my husband, Dennis, and a large tour group. About halfway up, I stopped, not sure I could continue due to pain in my chest. My husband asked if I wanted to go to the hospital, and I jokingly replied that I’d rather die at the Basilica of St. Francis. I tried to convince myself the discomfort was from jet lag, too many cappuccinos, exhaustion. I promised to see a doctor when I got home, but upon my return I resumed life uninterrupted. Until the pain returned when I was simply rushing to my car one evening. No travel woes to blame.

What happened over the course of the next few days was scary, but I could not help but feel grateful every step of the way — to doctors, nurses and lab techs, to myself for being willing to recognize an issue, and, of course, to God. It turned out that chest pain wasn’t jet lag but an 80 percent blockage in my largest artery. It was a heart attack waiting to happen, likely a fatal one. Thanks to a walk-in cardiology clinic and doctors who took my complaints and family history seriously despite the fact that every test showed I was perfectly healthy and at low risk for cardiovascular disease, I got the scan result that showed quite clearly all was not well, at least not in one 9 millimeter section of the artery historically known as the “widow maker.” By the end of the week, I had a shiny new stent and a new lease on life.

A lot of people have messaged me privately asking me about my symptoms, I think because what happened to me can happen to any of us. And my best answer is to say: Know your body, listen to your heart (literally and figuratively), trust your gut, and be your own best advocate. But even with all that advice, we can’t save ourselves from the inevitable, maybe just put it off for a time, hopefully a long time.

We all know this hard truth intellectually. We hear it again and again in Scripture, especially during Advent when we focus not only on the coming of the Christ Child in a manger in Bethlehem but on the second coming of Christ at the end of time. But the fact is, we often don’t let it sink down into our souls. For most of us, counting down the days to Christmas and focusing on a baby in swaddling clothes is a lot more comforting than focusing on the end of the world as we know it and what it will mean for each one of us.

Although I am fully recovered and, in fact, feel better than ever, knowing how close I came to my personal version of “end times” has made me a little more willing to ponder the reality we often want to avoid. I recently pulled out a book on memento mori, Latin for “remember you must die.” It’s a practice in which we contemplate daily our finite time on earth and examine how we are living our lives and where we might need to make some adjustments, spiritually and otherwise. It may not be as jolly as twinkling lights strung from the eaves or Christmas cookies fresh out of the oven, but it has a stark beauty of its own, one that calls us back to our purpose, our prayer life, and our relationship with the One whose Incarnation we prepare to celebrate. Gaudete! Rejoice!

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash.

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Not called to be the GOAT

My latest reflection from Give Us This Day, based on the readings for the day:

Jesus doles out some tough love in today’s Gospel, which echoes the equally tough love offered by the prophet Ezekiel. Don’t get me wrong, Christ the King coming to lead his sheep into the eternal kingdom is both a powerful and comforting message. But then the other shoe drops: Am I a sheep or a goat? Because as it turns out, according to Scripture, the goats are not going to fare so well. We can “baaaaaa” all we want, but at the end of the day if we have not lived up to the challenges God has put before us—caring for those who are hungry and naked and sick, loving God first—we will “go off to eternal punishment.”

Our world these days is too often about being a GOAT (Greatest of All Time), but Jesus turns that idea on its head. We are not called to be the GOAT among family or coworkers or neighbors, flaunting our success and power to the envy of all. No, we are called to be like the lost sheep, pulled back from the perilous edge of a rocky crag by the Master’s voice. Jesus does not ask us to perform feats of strength or earn piles of money or rise to the highest level of our profession to earn his love. He asks us to let go of the need for all of that and turn back to him with all the tenderness and love we can muster, to follow where he leads.

From the November 2023 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2023). Used with permission.

Photo by J. Schiemann on Unsplash

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Giving thanks, even on difficult days

I had a bit of a health scare this week. A major blockage (80 percent) in a major artery required a stent. But I am feeling great — and grateful. It all started when I was in Assisi a few weeks ago and felt crushing pain in my chest on the walk up the hill to the Basilica of St. Francis. I had to stop walking. My husband wanted to take me to a hospital. I trudged on assuming it was due to jet lag, exhaustion, the stress of travel, and the overabundance of delicious food. The next night, as I ran for a bus in Assisi, I experienced the same pain. Again I assumed it was due to other factors since I had never experienced anything like this at all. And I have a ZERO (even now) cardiac calcium score, meaning I have no hardening of the arteries, no calcified plaque. I have a normal EKG and normal blood work. BUT I have an extensive family history of heart disease, so I was on high alert. When I returned home and felt that same pain while rushing to my car one night, I knew I could not ignore the danger signs. Fortunately, there is such a thing as a cardiac walk-in clinic in my region, and I was able to get my condition evaluated in two hours, with urgent tests ordered for the days immediately following. By the end of the week, I was at Albany Medical Center getting my shiny new stent.

When I got home from the hospital on Friday, I wrote my usual three things in my gratitude journal before bed and realized I was nearing the end of that particular notebook. I decide having a new lease on life was a good time to start the next journal in my ongoing series. As you can see from the image, I wrapped up the current journal at 7,734 things for which I am grateful. In recent years, I continue the count with each new journal, so that number represents about seven years of gratitude. But in the past I used to keep journals and start new counts at one each time. So… in total I have more than 10,000 blessings noted in various journals.

I wasn’t always as faithful to the practice as I am now, but I always came back to it because it works. Some of my notebooks date back to when my kids were little. There are beautiful little snapshots of moments in our lives that I took the time to write down. Not always big things. Sometimes something as simple as making a snowman, sipping cocoa, finger painting in the kitchen. Or as in recent days, sometimes something as big as someone helping my blood keep flowing through my arteries. It takes only a few minutes each night to write down three things for which you are grateful, but is a transforming practice. Try it; you won’t regret it. It is amazing how seeking beauty and blessing in your daily life — no matter what else is going on — can shift your world view from one of lack to one of abundance. It is a complete gift and grace.

If you’d like to read more about this practice, you can go HERE for a previous post.

Or listen to my podcast on the importance of gratitude HERE.

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