Mary DeTurris Poust's Blog, page 9

Small-but-powerful words

Meister Eckhart, the thirteenth-century German priest and mystic, famously wrote, “If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is ‘thank you,’ it will be enough.” Today, as we gather with family and friends to say thank you in the grandest fashion, complete with far too much food and football, it’s a good time to take a closer look at where—or whether—that prayer makes its way into our lives the other 364 days of the year. Like the lepers in today’s Gospel, too often we are like the nine who did not bother to return and thank Jesus for their miraculous healing. We beg, we plead, we bargain, and then when life turns out as we had hoped—in big things and ways—we have already moved on to the next request, often without even pausing to utter those two small-but-powerful words: thank you.

Gratitude is a transformative practice. Put into daily rotation in our spiritual lives, it can remake us in all the best ways. When we are grateful for all that we have, not just in good times but all the time, we begin to see blessings where we hadn’t seen them before; we begin to live life from a place of abundance rather than a place of lack. Suddenly a walk through the grocery store or a drive to the office becomes an opportunity for grace, gratitude, and the awareness of God’s undeniable presence in the middle of our messy lives.

Mary DeTurris Poust, “Small-but-Powerful Words,” from the November 2022 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2022). Used with permission.

Photo by Daniel Andrade on Unsplash

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What dream have you put on hold? Risk, plan, leap

It has been just about one year since I took the leap and gave notice to my full-time job as a Communications Director. It has been about 10 months since I packed up and vacated the gorgeous office I had at 40 North Main here in Albany. At the time, I knew I was taking a chance. And, with one more kid still needing to go to college, my whole family was taking a chance with me. There were months at the very start where work was slow and I started to worry, but kept telling my husband: “I really believe that if I just stick with this and invest the time and effort and money into my business, it’s all going to come together eventually.” But even as I said it, I prayed my gut instinct was right.

It took an incredible amount of faith — in guidance from the Spirit, in myself, in my experience as a writer and businesswoman, in my intuition. Today, I am here to tell you that following your dreams pays off, as long as you’re willing to risk and work hard. And even as I say that, I know there are no guarantees. Yesterday when I was walking on air due to a couple of nice turns of events, I recognized amid my giddiness that things can change on a dime. So I am basking in gratitude for this moment, even though I know there will inevitably be rough patches of one kind or another. Because, life.

If you are sitting on a dream, putting off your calling, waiting for the kids to move out, or retirement to arrive, or whatever the thing is that provides your ready-made excuse for putting off your truth, your purpose, I urge you to rethink your strategy. That doesn’t mean walking out of a job with no plans or prospects. That would be crazy. It does mean starting to take those incremental steps that will get you where you want to go.

Sign up for a class. Get up early and write, paint, practice, whatever it is you need to do. Make a plan. Do the work of your soul and eventually you will find you are exactly where you are meant to be. But everything leading up to that moment is part of the lesson. Take it all in — the good, the bad, the frustrating, the inexplicable. Sit with each thing, and try to figure out what you are supposed to learn from it. Then take all those lessons and jump into the future that is waiting for you to arrive.

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Finding gratitude and grace

This autumn has been a season of deep gratitude and growing awe. Whether it has to do with my age or my circumstances or a combination of both, I increasingly find myself in ever-widening circles of spiritual seekers — most of them women — who are not content to accept the status quo but are pushing boundaries and forging bonds to form friendships, ministries, tribes and communities that nourish and support their relationship with the Divine. Multiple times over the past two months I have found myself among these amazing women, and it seems somewhat miraculous to me, as though we each have an internal homing device that leads us to one another at precisely the right time.

Most recently I was asked to lead a retreat for moms at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Parish in northern New Jersey. I marveled that so many young mothers — some with babies in carriers, others bringing little ones to the nursery — came out for the morning event. I remember how difficult it was to make time for spiritual pursuits when I was raising my three children. But these moms — with the help of their parish — were prioritizing their spiritual lives, which is good news for them and for all of us. When I met Linda, the woman who had founded the parish group 30 years ago, and Maureen, another soul sister I’d previously met only on social media, I felt as though I’d been welcomed into a spiritual sorority where we were already pledged to the One who defines our being. So much grace.

From there, I drove west to visit a friend I’d met almost 40 years ago, when we both worked for the Diocese of Metuchen, N.J. Dorothy, who had spent almost 30 years as a cloistered nun, was a laywoman running an evangelization office when I met her. Almost 30 years my senior, she became a dear friend and mentor. As we embraced after too many years between visits, it was as though no time had passed at all. Our visit was set to a holy rhythm. We prayed together before meals, said Night Prayer before bed, and went to Mass together in the morning. Dorothy is once again a Catholic sister, having renewed her vows, and I was blessed to be in her presence, to soak up her wisdom, to marvel at her absolute trust in the Lord, and to share so much laughter and joy. Grace upon grace.

I returned home from my road trip to a lunch outing with one long-time friend followed by a fall foliage hike the next day with another local soul sister. The day after that I taught one of my three weekly yoga classes and felt my heart filled to bursting with love for the students who have become friends. When I sit on my mat while they are in their final resting pose, breathing and making space for the still small voice, I sometimes look out and feel so much beautiful spiritual energy and love in that room that I am close to tears. Undeserved grace in unlikely places.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that these beautiful people who seem to surround me on all sides these days didn’t just arrive in my life suddenly. They have always been there. It’s just that I was only able to see and appreciate them when I was willing to poke through the cocoon I’d wrapped around myself and tentatively unfold the wings of grace that are ours for the asking.

The world can be a beautiful but difficult place; there is no need to go it alone. Jesus sent his disciples out two by two for a reason. We need each other. When we open ourselves up to that reality, we find grace and gratitude around every corner.
Where is grace hiding in plain sight in your life today? Take a risk. Spread your wings. Your tribe is waiting.

This column originally appeared in the Nov. 3, 2022, issue of The Evangelist.

Photo by Hannah Busing on Unsplash

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A farewell to my ‘home’ newspaper

A few months back, my husband, Dennis, called me from work and said, “I have to tell you something that is going to make you cry.” He followed it immediately with assurances that nothing was wrong with any of our three children. Still, I was worried. He then told me that Catholic New York would cease operation, and, as he predicted, I cried—for so many reasons. Since 1984, CNY has been my “home” newspaper. I started there as an intern and over the years served as a reporter, managing editor and, for the past 21 years, as a monthly columnist. Add to that the fact that I met my husband at CNY and, well, you can see why it holds such a special place in my heart.

But my tears weren’t just for selfish reasons. I worried, of course, for the people who worked there, and what it would mean for their futures. And I worried about what it would mean for the people of the archdiocese and the ability of the Church to spread its message as only a Catholic newspaper can. As a member of the Catholic media for close to 40 years, I know first-hand how vital it is for the Church to be able to share its news, its teachings, and its many ministries without the slant—sometimes out of ignorance, other times out of malice—of the secular media, which often doesn’t have much interest in our stories unless they make for tantalizing sound bites and eye-catching headlines.

Of course, it doesn’t completely surprise me that print is fading. The younger generation simply doesn’t read print publications, but that doesn’t mean they don’t need our message. In fact, they need it more than ever. It’s up to the Church to make sure it has a relevant and evolving presence in the digital world.

Imagine a world where the only Catholic news you get is the kind reported by your local newspaper or TV station. How unbiased will that be? Where will you get not only stories on key Catholic issues and teachings but in-depth and accurate reporting on what the pope or cardinal is saying? Where will you get reprints of encyclicals and pastoral letters? Where will you get the feature stories about Catholics doing amazing things without anyone noticing—that is until a CNY reporter turns it into an award-winning story?

We need our Catholic press, not just because we want news but because we want to be inspired and educated, evangelized and evangelizing. Without CNY—and the national Catholic News Service, which will also cease operation in the coming weeks—our local Church will struggle to spread the Good News that is so prevalent among our people but so underreported among the secular media. I pray the new digital efforts by the archdiocese will be able to fill the void, but that is no small task. The folks at the helm and filling the pages of CNY have been at this for years, often decades—Catholic media is a vocation and a ministry, not just a job. Their wisdom and insights, experience and enthusiasm will not be easy to replace.

Change is never easy, and yet we know that without change we cannot possibly grow into who and what we are called and created to be. Last month in this space I wrote, “There is beauty even in the fading.” Now, as I struggle to write this final column, I have to admit that the sentiment may be lovely on paper, but it is hard to live, as is so often the case with difficult truths. Even so, we look to the future with hope, because that is who we are.

This column originally appeared in the Nov. 2, 2022, issue of Catholic New York.

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Beauty Even in the Fading

It’s funny how we have certain expectations of life, from the biggest events to the smallest details, and we are quick to label the results: good, bad, lucky, sad. Too often we judge the quality of our life by where the tally falls, but we know all too well that this journey is filled with too many highs and lows to ever be able to keep count. Over the course of a lifetime, we each experience a cascade of little deaths and resurrections, those moments when something must give way to make room for a new lesson, an untraveled path, a chance to grow, whether we like it or not.

At no time is that inevitable cycle more obvious than during the autumn season, when we can look out our window and see the unbelievable beauty of trees on fire with reds and yellows and oranges. We stare in awe, knowing that this magnificence is only temporary and will be followed by a dying away, the starkness of barren limbs against a winter sky.

When I finished leading a retreat in the Adirondacks last month, I decided to end the weekend by squeezing in a paddle across the lake with a good friend. We have been spoiled in past years with herons taking off in flight before our eyes, loons floating alongside us, their calls beautiful and haunting, and even once an eagle soaring across the sky so fast we weren’t sure what we’d seen until after it was gone. Not to be outdone by the spectacular sights are the frogs hiding among the lilies, the tree that grows up out of a deep crack in a boulder or the dragonflies that dart by and every now and then pause on the point of a kayak like a prayer with wings.

This last time, however, the one loon we saw was skittish, diving under the water and moving away from us. Eventually we saw splashing and heard a cry unlike any other. We paddled closer and saw the loon was in some sort of distress. We thought maybe he had something caught around his neck and headed back to land to find help.

What we learned was that this loon’s sibling had been found dead that morning. This was distress, indeed, just not the physical kind. My friend asked if I thought it was a bad sign, and I quickly said, No! Maybe too quickly, as though I didn’t want to consider it, because it was in the back of my mind. As I drove home, I found myself thinking about the Canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon, written by St. Francis of Assisi, whose feast we celebrate this month.

“Praised be You my Lord with all Your creatures, especially Sir Brother Sun, who is the day through whom You give us light,” the prayer begins, working its way through all the glories of our amazing world, from wind and water to fire and flowers. By the end we get to “Sister Death, from whom no-one living can escape.”

Our world makes us think if we try hard enough, worry enough, we can keep the tally of “bad” things in our life on the low side, but we are not in control. There will always be seasons to mourn, just as there will always follow seasons to dance. Our job is not to look for ways to ward it off but to learn to surrender to what is rather than what we think should be.

When I paddled across that lake, I thought I should get something that would make my heart leap, a sight that would somehow seal the weekend as a success in a spectacular way. Instead, I was met by a mournful cry and the primitive ache of loss, reminding me that there is beauty even in the fading. Just look out the window, and watch the leaves let go.

This column originally appeared in the Oct. 5, 2022, issue of Catholic New York.

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St. Francis: a saint for all seasons

On this Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, I thought I would pull this column from years ago out of the archives. St. Francis, pray for us!

Out in my perennial garden, nestled among the stonecrop and candytuft, stands a well-worn clay statue of St. Francis of Assisi made by an artisan in Mexico. The unusual characteristics of the statue make it a conversation piece as well as a spiritual touchstone that helps keep me centered as I dig and weed and plant.

Of course, I’m not alone. Drive down any street and you’re likely to find St. Francis peeking out from both well-manicured lawns and wildflower gardens run amuck. He is just as likely to share a garden with a statue of Buddha as he is to share one with a statue of the Blessed Mother. He is a saint of the people – all people, Catholics and non-Catholics alike. His broad appeal is fascinating, but at the same time it begs the question: Do those of us who plant St. Francis in our gardens really know what the medieval saint was all about?

Today Francis’ concerns are often compartmentalized by well-meaning folks who want to claim him for their own. And who can blame them? He is certainly a challenging but endearing saint for the ages.

Environmentalists tune into Francis’ love for creation, his “Canticle of Brother Sun,” his diligence in protecting trees and even “brother” fire, and find in him a kindred spirit. Animal lovers hear stories of him preaching to birds and taming a wolf and see in Francis the kind of saint who has rightly earned his status as patron of animals. His popularity comes into full view every year at this time, when adults and children alike line up outside churches with everything from goldfish swimming in glass bowls to German shepherds straining at leather leashes just for a chance to get their pets a blessing on Francis’ feast day.

Peace activists, interreligious leaders, social justice organizers — the St. Francis fan club goes on and on. It seems everyone can find a piece of Francis to suit their cause. But, if you put all of those individual causes into the Gospel context that was at the heart of Francis’ rule and spirituality, you come away with a very different picture of our lovable saint, one that is not so easily shaped and molded by the latest trends or causes.

Would those St. Francis lawn statues be as popular if we really stopped to reflect on what they stand for? Francis’ life was one centered on his love of Christ, his commitment to a radical living out of the Gospel, and his “marriage” to the bride he dubbed “Lady Poverty”? The path that St. Francis chose was not an easy one. He was ridiculed and mocked as a madman during his own lifetime for what appeared to be an extreme response to his conversion experience.

He renounced his family’s fortune, fasted for days on end, heard the Lord speak to him from a cross in San Damiano, bore the stigmata. He lived and died for Christ. It would be a disservice to him and all he stood for to try to slip a politically correct mask over the spiritually devout saint who did not do anything halfway.

Sometimes I wonder how I can possibly weave Francis’ difficult and often uncomfortable lessons into my exceedingly comfortable existence. How do those of us with warm homes and busy jobs and nice clothes make St. Francis into something more than a decoration or a mascot? It’s not easy, but maybe, just maybe, seeing St. Francis from the kitchen window as we wash dishes or raking leaves from around his feet as we clean the yard will call us back to our spiritual center and remind us that what we do here on this earth cannot be separated from what we long for in heaven.

If you’d like to read my post from a pilgrimage to Assisi back in 2014, click HERE.

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Close encounters of the saintly kind

On this Feast of St. Thèrése of Lisieux, I thought I’d share my close encounter with this beloved saint. I was never a big fan of St. Thèrése. I didn’t have anything against her; I just didn’t connect with the Little Flower in a special way. That all changed one January day in 2015. I was going to Christ the King Retreat House in Syracuse to lead a women’s retreat, and as I got in the car to drive two hours west, I said a prayer to St. Thèrése almost out of desperation. I was in a bad place and needed some help. Pronto. I still don’t know why I settled on this particular saint that day, when I had never prayed to her before. For some reason, she popped into my head. I asked for a sign that she’d taken up my intention and, as we all know, roses are the typical sign people report receiving after praying to the Little Flower.A few hours later, I set down my bags in my room at the retreat house. I was tired, I was cranky, and I needed to unpack and get ready to be “on” for the group. I opened the closet door to hang up my clothes. There I was greeted by four enormous bouquets of red velvet roses. (You can see two of them in the photo here.) She works fast, and is pretty showy for a Little Flower. I often forget that she did this for me. So today, on her feast, I’ll send a message of gratitude to her for that long-ago gift and ask for nothing in return. How refreshing and unusual for me! Have you had a close encounter with this saint?

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New podcast: Life in My 60s – Silence and the True Self

As I begin Life in My 60s, I wanted to spend some time talking about the journey and the joy that comes with it. Join me for conversation about aging and the path to real transformation, wisdom, and freedom. Spoiler alert: It requires silence. Give it a listen at the link below. And don’t forget to subscribe to my podcast so you don’t miss any future episodes. It’s available on Apple, Spotify, Google and other platforms.

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Life in My 60s: Exactly where I’m supposed to be

So I’m standing at the start of a new decade today and feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude, peace, and contentment. I know how blessed I am, and I can honestly say that today — maybe for the first time in my many years — I am completely at home in my own skin, happy with where I am in my life, and very much aware that it could all change in an instant and so I should take every moment as a gift and simply Be. Here. Now. (As Ram Dass taught.)

Earlier this year, I did a heart-centered program by Danielle LaPorte that required me to dig deep into my core desires, after an arduous process of looking at the stories I’ve been telling myself for far too long, stories that come not only from my history and my experiences but, often, from other people’s histories and experiences and views of who I should be. Little by little I could feel the masks dropping away, and I could feel deep love and compassion for the parts of me I’ve always held at a distance or hid or hated. Fascinating and fulfilling.

In the end, my core desires weren’t about money or success or anything you can achieve or buy in a worldly way. They were contentment, connection, creativity, and love. Tall order, and yet most mornings when I wake up and assess where I am I, I smile to myself as I realize I am there at the moment, and I am grateful. And sometimes, when I’m especially aware, I say a little prayer that when things are not so rosy and a particularly rough challenge surfaces, I can somehow find the courage to stay in the moment and find the lessons and the gifts and the divinity — or Spirit, if you prefer — that is always swirling in and around me, and you and everything and everyone else.

When I peer into the coming decade, there are some fears, to be sure, because it’s undeniable that I’m on the downward slide of life, not in a bad way, just in the circle-of-life way. And that’s okay, even if it’s tinged with a little trepidation. Because if I can learn to be present — really present — and grateful, even when things are not going exactly as I want them to go, I can hold onto contentment and inner joy no matter what. I have no illusions that this will be easy, nothing good in life is, but I do believe that I am finally willing to do the work required. Daily work. Hour-by-hour work.

I grabbed a Mary Oliver book, Devotions, off my bookshelf before I taught yoga class yesterday, and it fell open to her poem “Snow Geese.” I knew as soon as I read it that it was the heart of the dharma talk I would give that day and completely fitting for this time of year and time of life.

“Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last!
What a task
to ask
of anything, or anyone,
yet it is ours,
and not by the century or the year, but by the hours.” — Mary Oliver

I hope you’ll join me on this journey through the next decade. Who knows where it will take us? Let’s keep each other company because, after all, to quote Ram Dass yet again: “We are all just walking each other home.”

P.S. If you’d like to read my final Life in My 50s post, you can find that HERE.

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From here to eternity

When my youngest was in elementary school, she asked about heaven and “eternity.” As I explained our belief that we would one day be with God forever, I was surprised that her reaction was less than enthusiastic. Forever seemed a little too long as far as she was concerned. Although I chalked it up to a “kids-say-the-darndest-things” moment, I don’t think she was completely off base. Neither, it seems, does Scripture.

As Ecclesiastes tells us, God “has put the timeless into [our] hearts, without [our] ever discovering” it. In other words, we have eternity within us, but like my young daughter, we can’t really grasp it. Viewed from our human vantage point, it’s too overwhelming. In fact, we often use the term “like an eternity” when referring to long—and unpleasant—waits, at the doctor or bank or the Department of Motor Vehicles. Let’s all pray that eternity is not like the DMV!

While we may not be able to fully grasp eternity this side of heaven, can we glimpse it? Like the apostles in today’s Gospel, the answer is clearly yes. God does give us small glimpses of the glory that awaits us—in the mundane miracles of our daily lives, in the things that make us pause, smile, breathe deep with gratitude. Eternity may be hard to fathom, no matter our age, but God promises us that it will be ours . . . when the time is right and the timelessness that lives hidden within us becomes our eternal home.

Mary DeTurris Poust, from the September 2022 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2022). Used with permission.

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