Not Strictly Spiritual

Happy Anniversary to me, to us, to NSS

2012-01-24T09:05:00.005-05:00

Happy Feast of St. Francis de Sales and Happy Anniversary to Not Strictly Spiritual. It was four years ago today that I decided to launch this blog, choosing the feast of the patron saint of journalists and one of my personal favorites as the perfect day to jump into the wild and wacky world of blogging.

Back in the early days, my blog was housed on my website, which you can see by clicking HERE. Then I moved it over to blogspot. It has ebbed and flowed with my life. When I'm writing books, as I am right now (two of them, in fact), NSS suffers a bit. When I have a little more time, I'm back at the NSS keys. Truth be told, writing on this blog is really one of my favorite "jobs." I love talking to you and sharing my faith journey -- and my recipes and photos.

This anniversary caused me to go back and look at some of my earliest posts, which gave me a good laugh at where I've been and a sobering reminder of the places where I haven't made any progress. We had THIS photo of Chiara at work while I blogged, and THIS post about trying to get through Mass with a cranky toddler (how quickly we forget those days). And then there was THIS post about being "politically homeless," especially during a presidential election year. It's deja vu all over again.

Who knows what the next four years will bring? I can guarantee that in the coming months you'll be hearing about my new books, one from Ave Maria Press and one from Penguin. And I know you'll get regular updates on my kids, my cooking, my gardening, my travels, and, of course, my spiritual journey, which twists and bends and changes with each passing year. I'm always amazed at where it takes me, where God takes me.

So thank you for joining me here whenever you can. I truly appreciate your friendship and loyalty to this blog, even when I don't show up for days at a time. And now I thought I'd end this post the same way I ended my very first blog post, with a favorite prayer written by St. Francis de Sales (one I have hanging on my bathroom mirror):

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

Striving to become your 'true self'

2012-01-19T08:45:00.002-05:00

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

It amazes me sometimes how a casual comment, a familiar smell or the sound of a name we haven’t heard in a while can send us spiraling back in time to a place or event we’d long ago forgotten. Memories linger on our hearts. Some we’d like to preserve forever; some we wish would stay hidden. Good or bad, they are too often the things that shape us.

I was at lunch with some friends recently, laughing and sharing stories, when one line, uttered in passing, hit me like a brick. I was suddenly on the playground in elementary school, feeling unwanted for reasons I never quite understood. As I had during those sometimes painful times of my past, I kept a dim smile on my face, hoping to hide the fact that I was aching inside, not because what was said was intentionally hurtful but because it spoke a truth I’d rather not admit.

We all want to be loved, even if we don’t show it or say it. We want to feel accepted, appreciated, and while that sometimes seems important on the surface—as evidenced by the popularity of accumulating Facebook friends by the hundreds—that kind of goal only serves to take us farther and farther from our truth.

Life is not a popularity contest, and the road to sainthood is not paved with compliments and friend requests. Trying to fashion ourselves in someone else’s image is just about the worst thing we can do. It’s really no different from what I tell my kids as they face their own struggles on the playground or in the classroom, and yet I think we adults sometimes forget that it still applies to us. Too often we think becoming successful or loved or holy means becoming someone different than the person we are at our core, the person we were created to be.

Jesuit Father James Martin, in his book Becoming Who You Are, talks about our penchant for wanting to become better by becoming different:

“Early in the novitiate, I thought that being holy meant changing an essential part of who I was, suppressing my personality, not building on it. I was eradicating my natural desires and inclinations, rather than asking God to sanctify and even perfect them…As strange as it sounds, I thought that being myself meant being someone else.”

I think that same line of reasoning is true for most of us. We look around and make comparisons and see ourselves as “less than.” Comparisons lead nowhere, at least nowhere good, but that no-win proposition of keeping up with the Joneses—materially, professionally, socially, spiritually—is about as American as apple pie, or Facebook.

“Your life is shaped by the end you live for. You are made in the image of what you desire,” famed Trappist monk Thomas Merton once wrote, reminding us that the only way to conquer the world is to renounce it.

We can’t all “renounce” the world in monastic fashion, but we can renounce all those things that pull us off our true path, that convince us we need to be somebody else in order to be good enough, to be loved.

Truth is, we are loved exactly as we are, by a God who holds us in the palm of his hand no matter how many Facebook friends we have or how much “stuff” we have or have not accumulated.

“No one can serve two masters,” Jesus said. So often today our “masters” are not just money and possessions but the comparisons we make and strive to live up to, the desires we have to be someone we’re not, the longing to be loved not by God but by the world.

God alone. When that’s enough, no memory can knock us off our path or send us reeling because we possess the only thing that truly matters. What is the end you’re living for?

To read other Life Lines columns, visit my website at www.marydeturrispoust.com

Join me for Theology on Tap tonight!

2012-01-19T08:01:00.004-05:00

Attention all New York Capital Region readers:

I'll be talking about spiritual friendship at Theology on Tap at 6:30 p.m. tonight (Jan. 19) at The Orchard Tavern on North Manning Boulevard in Albany. Please come by, grab a drink, and stay for the short talk and discussion.

The talk is based on my book Walking Together: Discovering the Catholic Tradition of Spiritual Friendship (Ave Maria Press, 2010).

See you at the Tavern...

Foodie Friday: Kale, it's what's for dinner

2012-01-13T07:50:00.005-05:00

I went a little kale crazy this week, buying two different (and rather large) batches, so afraid was I that I wouldn't have enough for my planned dishes. Kale is one of my favorite dark leafy greens, and, surprisingly enough, it's also a favorite among my kids. So it's a winner all around.

My first use of kale this week was in vegetable soup (Stone Soup), which I posted about in this space last Friday. I used only half the batch for the soup, so I clearly needed to make some other kale-centric dish. Beans and greens was added to the menu, but as the day neared, I worried that the half-batch I had on hand wouldn't be nearly enough. So off we went to buy an even bigger bunch. Now I had too much, although I would question whether you can ever have too much kale.

So...Beans and greens. So easy. So delicious. So healthy. But, wait, before, I made that entree, I whipped up a batch of kale chips. First time for that. Big hit. I'll try it again soon. Here are the two easy kale recipes:

Kale Chips
Preheat over to 250 degrees.
Wash kale leaves, remove center stems, dry thoroughly.
Toss with a little olive oil.
Sprinkle with salt.
Place on a cookie sheet and pop in the oven for about 30 minutes, or until crispy.

Beans and Greens
Like my Stone Soup recipe, this one changes every time I make it, depending on what I have in the pantry and fridge. Here's the version I made this week:

1 big batch of kale, rinsed, tough stems removed, cut into wide ribbons
1 can white beans, rinsed and drained
A handful of sundried tomatoes, soaked in boiling water to reconstitute and then sliced
Baby bella mushroom, sliced
Six cloves of garlic, thinnly sliced
A splash of white wine
Olive oil
Salt and pepper
1 pound pasta, something short and chunky -- ditalini, farfalle, shells, even rigatoni
Parmesan cheese (for the table)

Put a pot of water on to boil. Meanwhile, prep the rest of your ingredients.
When water comes to a boil, salt it and toss in kale to blanch quickly. Just a minute or so. Then drain and set aside. (Keep the water so you can boil the pasta in the same water/pot.)

In a large frying pan, add a swirl of olive oil and heat the garlic slices.
Add mushrooms and sundried tomatoes and saute for a bit over medium heat.
Don't allow garlic to brown.
(Around now you should be putting the pasta into the already boiling, kale-scented pasta water.)

Add the beans to the frying pan and saute a minute or so more.
Throw in a splash of wine (if you like) or a splash of veggie or chicken broth.
When the pasta is close to done, add the kale to the saute pan.
Season with salt and pepper.
If it seems dry, take a little pasta water and add it to the saute pan.

Drain the pasta when it's al dente and add it to the saute pan, if it's big enough.
Otherwise, dump all of it into the serving bowl.
Serve with grated parmesan cheese on the side.

Add a nice salad and some crusty bread and you have an awesome dinner. (And at our house, the meat eaters had a link of chicken-pesto sausage on the side. Olivia and I had a tofu sausage, but it really didn't need it.)

You could also skip the pasta and make this as a side dish.

So there you have it: kale, the wonder veggie. Do you have any favorite kale recipes?

Coming up next week: Quinoa cakes with roasted red pepper sauce, which is on tonight's menu for the vegetarians. (Meat eaters are having pork pizzaiola. Dennis will need to start a blog if you want that recipe.)

Manic Monday: Returning to 'normal' life

2012-01-09T07:32:00.013-05:00

Our Christmas tree came down last night, along with the rest of the decorations. The magi hardly had time to settle down in front of the creche when I shipped them off to the basement. Such is the end of the season, at least around here. By this time of year, I'm ready to return to ordinary time and Ordinary Time.

So here's what's on tap on this Manic Monday...

The above YouTube clip is a follow-up to last week's 'Twinkle' post. Someone captured the kids playing at Mary Jane's funeral. (Thanks, Pam, for sending that to me.) When the clip is rolling, Olivia happens to be visible on and off over on the left in the cream-colored top.

Bookshelf: I'm reading about a dozen different books all at once as research for the two books I'm writing, but there's one that stands out right now, a recommendation from a Facebook friend. It's called Listening Below the Noise: A Meditation on the Practice of Silence by Anne D. LeClaire. Loving it so far. Here's one piece that resonated with me because I have experienced it so powerfully myself:

"Over the years I had prepared meals in quiet rooms, in accidental silence, as I would later come to call it, but I was discovering that intentional silence brought a focus to everything. Ordinary acts -- measuring oats and water, chopping walnuts, scooping out a handful of raisins, stirring oatmeal -- were transformed into meditations simply by the attention stillness brought to the tasks. Later, scrubbing out the gummy saucepan, I found unexpected pleasure in this simple job. I was experiencing what Buddhists have always taught: Silence, along with the attention it fosters, is our anchor to the present, to the here and now."

Perfect. Today when I make my silent oatmeal, as I do each weekday, I will do so with those words ringing (silently, of course) in my head, reminding me that this practice of still, slow eating truly does allow me to bring a depth and calmness to my day that is absent when I skip this favorite ritual. My meditative breakfast has become, without question, one of my best prayer moments of any day.

Soundtrack: Dreamland by Madeleine Peyroux, something Dennis discovered on The Coffee House on Sirius. A bunch of it's in French. Very cool. Check it out.

Viewfinder: Below is a shot of my Christmas gifts, or most of them, collected on the dining room table. Makes you wonder if perhaps I'm planning to open a monastery or a retreat center. We've got prayer flags up front; the official Abbey Psalter from the Abbey of the Genesee; Yoga Prayer DVD by Father Thomas Ryan, CSP; Landscapes of Prayer: Finding God in Your World and Your Life by Margaret Silf; a cross candle holder; a Himalayan singing bowl; incense, lots of it; a tea set with Zen tea. I did get some other goodies that had nothing to do with prayer or spirituality, like the Midnight in Paris DVD and a flameless candle, although that last one borders on spiritual, too, doesn't it?

My Christmas bounty.

The lovely Abbey Psalter.

Visiting my grandmother, who turned 99 on New Year's Day.

Birthday boy.

Have you picked your word of the year yet?

2012-01-06T16:28:00.005-05:00

A few days ago, I happened upon a post at the lovely Abbey of the Arts blog suggesting I pick a word as a theme or focal point for the coming year. Or, more accurately, that I let my word pick me. At the time, I was working at my basement computer with all three kids buzzing around just on the other side of the little cloth folding screen that is part of my somewhat futile attempt to create a separate office space. In reality it has created the third ring in our little circus.

Anyway, as I read the blog and pondered what my word would be if I could hear it over the mayhem, I decided there was no way I was going be picked by a word this year, and, if I was, it would probably be forced. So I let it go.

The next morning, I decided to resume writing my Morning Pages, which is part of The Artist's Way exercises. As I wrote about the start of the new year and my spiritual life and my journey in general, suddenly there it was:

LISTEN...

My word reached out and grabbed me and then shook me a bit for good measure. There was no denying it. This was my word. It had found me after all, in the brief quiet space I try to create every morning before I sit down to my silent breakfast.

Why did this word resonate with me so when I heard it? Because for the past year, or past several years, I have been desperately trying to listen more, to hear that still, small voice. Those of you who read this blog regularly are probably all too aware of this desire of mine. But this time, the need to listen goes beyond that.

Yes, yes, I absolutely need to listen for the Spirit, and, in order to do that, I need to make regular quiet time for just me and God. But as soon as I heard that word in my head, saw it in my journal, I realized that for 2012 the need to listen goes much deeper.

I need to listen to my children. Really listen. Look them in the eyes when they speak to me, not type an email and nod as they talk somewhere behind me. I need to listen for what they're trying to tell me, not only with their words but with their hearts. I need to listen to my husband, to my family, to my friends without interrupting or fashioning a response in my head while they are still speaking, or multitasking while I talk to one of them on the phone. I need to listen to my work, to the world around me, to my life unfolding before me. That's a lot of listening.

Such a simple word and yet so profound. It seems so easy to listen. But are we listening with our heads or are we, as St. Benedict instructed, listening with "the ear of our heart"? Too often I save the heart listening for prayer, when I really need to be doing that kind of listening all the time. Contemplative listening, even when there's absolutely nothing contemplative about my life. That will be a real challenge for me, I promise you that.

That's the theme of my year then. To listen. With the ear of my heart.

If you'd like some help exploring your word possibilities, head over to the Abbey of the Arts for that and so much other wonderful stuff. Just click HERE. And, when you find your word, or your word finds you, come back and share it with the rest of us.

Foodie Friday: Stone Soup

2012-01-06T12:43:00.004-05:00

For dinner last night, and again today for lunch, I enjoyed a steaming bowl of what has come to be known at our house as "zero" soup or "stone soup." It's so named because, like the charachters in the book of the same name, I am able to make it out of nothing, or what seems like nothing. And it's perfect for a cold winter's day.

First let me share with you a tip I learned from a chef at the Catskill Animal Sanctuary. Save all your veggie scraps in a container or bag in the freezer. I keep a Ziploc in the freezer, and every time I chop onions, mince garlic, peel carrots or dice celery, I take all the odds and ends and even the papery skins off the garlic cloves and onions and dump them in my freezer bag for a rainy (or snowy) day. This stuff makes THE best vegetable broth ever, whether you're making a soup or using the broth in another recipe. Just be sure not to save clippings off veggies that will give the broth an odd or strong flavor -- peppers, eggplant, broccoli. I stick to the bare-bones basics, and since I use fresh veggies so often, I almost always have a supply for making broth.

So...dump all the frozen scraps (still frozen) into a soup pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil and then lower to a simmer and let it go for a few hours. The longer the better. Remove from heat and strain all the scraps out so you're left with a lovely dark broth. Now you can put that in a new pot and start the soup.

I usually take the first pot (since it's already dirty and I don't want to do any more dishes than necessary) and I use it to briefly saute the veggies that are going in the soup. Here's what I chopped up yesterday, but, remember, Stone Soup is about making something from nothing, so scavenge in your pantry, fridge and freezer and see what you can come up with to make your own version. Mine is different every time. I used:

1 giant onion, chopped
6 or 7 carrots, peeled and sliced in rounds
3 celery stalks, diced (use the leafy tops)
1 small pack of Baby Bella mushrooms, sliced
A couple of handfuls of frozen string beans
Several giant handfuls of fresh kale
A splash of tomato juice (because it's here and I needed to use it up)
A splash of soy sauce (because it's here and why not?)
A pinch of thyme
Salt and pepper

I threw everything except the kale and string beans into the pot, brought it to a boil, turned it down, and let it simmer for a couple of hours. When it got close to serving time, I added the kale and beans so they'd still have a bright green color.

Finally, I typically add a cup of some tiny pasta to the soup at the very end -- ditalini, acini pepe, orzo. But last night I decided to use some of the Basmati rice leftover from another night's dinner.

Voila! Stone Soup made from nothing, or whatever was in my way. It was delicious. You can add whatever you like or have on hand -- zucchini, canned diced tomatoes, cannellini beans or chick peas, snow peas. You get the idea. It's a free-form soup. You can tinker with the flavoring as well. Sometimes I add red wine instead of soy sauce, sometimes basil instead of thyme. It all depends on my mood, which makes it fun, although it sometimes drives my family crazy because I can rarely re-create the same soup twice.

Nice part is that we almost always have leftovers of this soup since I make such a big batch. So I had it for lunch today and there's plenty more for lunches this weekend. Add a bright, shiny Clementine orange and light a little candle and you've got a healthy, balanced, simple (and hopefully peaceful) meal. Mangia.

Mindfulness Bell: The Sound of Silence

2012-01-05T08:16:00.008-05:00

I have a little (easy) exercise for you to do today, or this morning. For the next few hours, pay attention to all the noises you hear. Not just the talking from the next cubicle or the voice on the other end of the phone, but the smaller, less obvious noises.

The ding of emails coming in, tweets being posted, texts being sent, Facebook chats being initiated.

The melodic tune played by the washer and dryer when they finish a cycle. The whir of the dishwasher. The rat-a-tat-tat of construction workers. The music on the car radio. The honking horn of the truck behind you.

Whatever sounds float your way, make note of them.

How many of those sounds stir a little angst in you, maybe without you even realizing it at first? The email dings, and you worry that it's about that project you're struggling with. The phone rings and you fear one of the kids is calling from the nurse's office. Now, how many of those sounds can you remove from your life? Some of them are easy, others impossible. But begin to turn off the unnecessary stuff.

I recently went into my program preferences and turned the audio off on my emails, instant messenger and other programs so I won't be distracted by the constant dinging of work piling up as I try to write a book or do yoga or meditate. (Coffee maker just beeped as I was writing that last word.) Clearly, some sounds we just have to live with, but we can begin to actively work to quiet our world, and our lives.

In keeping with all of this, I decided to add one sound to the mix in order to bring about more silence.

Sounds contradictory? At first it felt that way, but now it is doing exactly what I had hoped it would do. About a month ago, I downloaded something called the "mindfulness bell" after seeing it listed in the resource section of a book by Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh. The idea was that the bell, which sounds like a Himalayan singing bowl being struck just once, would ring at the top of every hour as a reminder to stop for just a few seconds and re-center myself, whisper a short prayer, and move on. I also activated a second bell program that would ring at the start and end of a set 20-minute time period, figuring this would be my meditation marker so I wouldn't always be wondering if I'd reached 20 minutes yet, which can be very distracting during meditation. (Not that I can fit in a full 20 minutes very often.)

Well, somehow I did something that had these bells ringing a little too frequently. At first I found myself frustrated. Bells, bells, bells. This wasn't making me mindful; this was making me crazy. But then I clicked around and got it to where it needed to be. Once an hour. Now I'll be working away, looking at my deadline board, feeling a little frantic, and the bell will ring. My shoulders sink away from my ears and the furrow on my forehead smooths and I breathe.

"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner," I whisper before I return to my work.

Yesterday afternoon, as I was chopping vegetables at record speed and throwing them into the slow cooker in a desperate attempt to get dinner made before I had to run out the door, I heard the bell ring from a floor away, and I smiled. Suddenly my chopping became less manic and my breathing slowed and nothing seemed quite so urgent. In a short time the bell has gone from unnerving to comforting.

Obviously this kind of thing resonates with people. Just two days ago I posted a brief Facebook status update about my mindfulness bell experiment and the next thing I know it showed up in a blog post. In our chaotic and noisy world, people are hungry for whatever they can find that will bring them back to the still point, that center of calm in the midst of life's storms.

The trick is to learn -- eventually -- to allow all those other noises in our lives to become mindfulness bells in their own right. When we become centered enough, through prayer and awareness and, well, mindfulness, evening the dinging and honking and beeping can become calls to calm.

Pick one of the noises you can't turn off and make it your own mindfulness bell.

Every time you hear it, stop for a second and breathe deep. Maybe whisper a prayer or a word that calms you. Find that place of silence you crave.

Become the silence...

My mindfulness bell just rang downstairs. I'm not kidding. I think that's a sign to end this post and have my silent meal before setting to work. Peace.

Last wishes and little stars

2012-01-04T10:00:00.005-05:00

The new year began with a funeral, which sounds sad but ended up being so uplifting. Mary Jane had been Olivia's violin teacher, first in elementary school and later privately. Last summer, the day before Mary Jane was scheduled to have brain surgery for the cancer that was taking her bit by bit, she insisted on giving Olivia a lesson at her home. A week after the surgery, she called to schedule yet another lesson. At first I tried to insist that we hold off, but then I realized that this was exactly where Mary Jane wanted to be, with one of her students, doing what she loved to do.

When Mary Jane died last week, the school district sent out an email inviting her former students to come to St. Thomas the Apostle Church the day of the funeral and play "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" 10 minutes before the Mass was to begin. We emailed back immediately, saying that Olivia would be honored to play as long as there were other children there with her.

I loved the fact that one of Mary Jane's last wishes was to have her students play one of the first songs she ever taught them. Not Beethoven or Bach, but a childhood favorite, probably the simplest song they would ever learn, ensuring that even her youngest students could participate.

The morning of the funeral we arrived 30 minutes early, as requested, only to walk into a sea of orchestra students, hundreds of children ranging in age from middle school through college. I was crying before I even helped Olivia take off her coat. What a testament to the power of a great teacher. We left Olivia with her current instructor to tune up and found our place in a pew.

A few minutes later, the children filed in -- more than 50 cello players, at least 100 violins and I don't know how many violas and basses. They filled the side chapel and stood ringing the entire main church. Then Mary Jane's sister read the letter she left for her students. More tears. "When you can play Twinkle," Mary Jane wrote, "you know you've made progress."

The children lifted their bows, played the few short lines of the simple song, and then they filed right back out, but the beauty of what we had witnessed lingered long after the last note had ended.

Any teacher who has ever doubted the power he or she has to shape young lives and our world needs to remember this story. Those children didn't come out to a funeral to play a few lines on their last day of winter break simply because Mary Jane had been a great teacher but because she had been a great person. She loved her students, really loved them. And she loved teaching them, and that clearly came through to those kids who wanted to be there to pay tribute to her.

Now whenever I hear "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," I'll think of Mary Jane and of her reminder to her students -- and to all of us -- that sometimes mastering the simplest thing is a sign that we are making great progress.

Rest in peace, Mary Jane. You will be missed.

Happy Birthday, beautiful boy

2012-01-01T19:11:00.002-05:00

Noah will officially turn 15 at 7:11 p.m. (technically that's Central Time). I cannot think of his newborn days without thinking of this song. The two of us danced around our Texas living room to the beautiful words and melody by John Lennon, with me crying the whole time. Even now, tears are rolling down my face as I listen to it while posting. It reminds me of those early days, my first days as a mother, and it reminds me how quickly life passes us by if we're not careful to pay attention, and even if we are.

Happy Birthday, darling Noah. Here's our song. (I've threatened to dance to it with him at his wedding some day.)

Skip resolutions. Go for 'goals' instead.

2011-12-30T14:16:00.002-05:00

What new routines have you vowed to start and keep this year? A healthy eating plan? Exercise regimen? House re-organization effort? The new year offers the promise of a clean slate, a chance to begin again or try for the first time something that will improve our health, our home, our world.

I tend not to make typical resolutions, but I know plenty of people do. Every year, when the first week of January hits, our YMCA becomes a bit of a zoo. You can’t find a free treadmill or weight machine no matter what odd hour of the day you show up. I asked a trainer once, “How long will this go on?” He said, “Hang in there until the end of February and they’ll all be gone.”

We spend a lifetime – or at least a lot of years – acquiring the bad habits or out-of-shape bodies or lukewarm prayer lives that compel us to make resolutions, and yet we expect dramatic results in two months or less. We forget that undoing our habits is a one-day-at-time effort. One day at a time, one year at a time, one decade at a time.

Unfortunately, our society has brainwashed us into thinking we can find a quick-fix for everything. Pop a pill, drink a potion, buy a gadget, and you, too, will look like the plastic perfection staring out from a magazine cover. Of course, body and beauty resolutions are an easy target. They bear the brunt of the new year promises (both fulfilled and broken) because physical appearance is so important in our culture, but I know from experience that spiritual exercise routines and daily doses of prayer are no easier to stick to than that weekly abs class or low-fat diet. Spiritual renewal requires hard work.

At the start of each year, I tend to make a mental list of things I’d like to accomplish by the next year. Not anything like “lose five pounds” because that seems to be a perpetual resolution in my middle-aged life, but things that are broader, more about changing my overall perspective or approach to life than fine-tuning one small aspect.

When I looked back at last year’s list, I was happy to realize I’d accomplished most of what I set out to do without even realizing it. Go on silent retreat. Check. Get a spiritual director. Check. Learn more about Centering Prayer. Check. The one piece that still needs some work is my plan to declutter my office space, although even that isn’t a total washout. So I’m starting this new year with that one thing on my list of goals again plus a few new things: develop my own yoga practice for when I’m home and unable to get to a Y class; look into yoga teacher training programs; attempt regular or semi-regular silent meditation; smile more and stress less; spend more individual time with each of my children; and go on regular dates with my husband. No set time periods, amounts, limits or expectations. Just general hopes for this or some other year down the road.

I like the annual goals approach because it removes the one thing that tends to derail typical resolutions: the notion that if we screw up within a day or a week or a month we might as well give up completely. When we have an annual goal, we can continue to get back up every time we slip and know that there’s still time to make things right. And, if we don’t get to everything on our list by the end of the year, well, there’s always next year. But, it’s not likely that even our annual goals will prove successful if we approach them at breakneck speed, spinning in a hundred directions at once.

In one of my favorite books, A Gift from the Sea, Anne Morrow Lindbergh wrote: “With our pitchers, we attempt sometimes to water a field, not a garden. We throw ourselves indiscriminately into committees and causes. Not knowing how to feed the spirit, we try to muffle its demands in distractions. Instead of stilling the center, the axis of the wheel…”

What are the distractions that muffle your spirit? What can you do to still your center in order to achieve your resolutions and goals, whatever they may be?

Even just five minutes of silent stillness every day can begin to reshape our thinking and our lives, and give us strength to follow through on our plans. Five minutes. Can we do that? No formal resolutions, just an unspoken agreement that we will give ourselves five minutes every day to sit and wait for God. Not five minutes while we check email or five minutes while we stir soup or five minutes during TV commercial breaks. Five solid minutes of distraction-free silence away from everything and everyone else.
One small, shared goal to ring in the new year.

Foodie Friday: holiday edition

2011-12-30T11:08:00.004-05:00

We've been bouncing around from state to state this Christmas holiday, so there hasn't been a ton of cooking going on here, but I thought I'd at least share this lovely photo of an appetizer I made on Christmas Eve. Truth be told, the photo is better than the actual food result, but I think with some tweaking it could be totally awesome.

Take a small wheel of brie or triple creme cheese and grill it lightly or put it in a panini press until it's warm and has light grill marks. (I opted for the panini press method since it was a little chilly for grilling at night.)
Meanwhile heat about 1/4 cup of honey over low heat with a few sprigs of fresh thyme. Turn it off when it gets near a boil and let it sit and steep a bit.
Slice up a few fresh figs (five or six)

Put the warm cheese on a platter, top with figs, drizzle with honey.

So I think our version could have benefited from better brie (I couldn't get true French brie. Well, I could -- and originally did -- but it's a long story.) I needed fresher thyme and more of it to infuse the honey. And it was my first time buying/serving figs, so I'm still not sure if I picked them at the right ripeness or if I should have done this when it was fig season. Anyway, I'll try it again at a later date. If you give it a shot, let us know what happens.

This recipe, by the way, originally came from the website Not Without Salt. Check it out.

The world in silent wonder waits...

2011-12-24T09:23:00.002-05:00

It's Christmas Eve. The waiting is almost over, but not quite yet. Although the busyness of the holiday will probably push you from every direction today, try to find some time to sit in silent wonder of the One who was...and is...and is to come.

May your night and your Christmas be holy and happy and grace-filled. Merry Christmas!

The dark side of the moon

2011-12-22T19:14:00.005-05:00

A perfect crescent moon was visible in the early morning sky today, ringing in the Winter Solstice with quiet but awesome fanfare. This was taken at about 6:30 a.m. from the end of our driveway, in between passing clouds that occasionally blocked the moon from view. What you can't see in this photo is the clearly visible dark side of the moon, my favorite part of a crescent.

We tend to think of this day as the shortest on light, but I think I'll focus instead on the longest night. Just think, more night than you know what to do with. Enjoy it. Put on some music you like. Sip a cup of cocoa while you stare at the night sky. Wrap presents by candlelight. Howl.

Picking up scattered fragments of peace

2011-12-22T07:34:00.014-05:00

When I returned from my wonderful weekend retreat almost three weeks ago, the sense of peace surrounding my heart and penetrating my soul was almost palpable...

unflappable...

Kids did dopey things. I didn't yell. Work deadlines went from bad to worse. I didn't melt. The car bumper was bashed in by a hit-and-run meanie. I didn't explode.

It was clear evidence, at least in my mind, of the power of deep and intense prayer practiced over days, rather than short bursts of desperate cries shouted heavenward while sitting at stoplights or wiping the counter.

In the initial days after my retreat, I kept up some semblance of deep prayer and deep peace. I cleared the decks and sat down in silent meditation in my sacred space. I did yoga followed by more prayer. I got up early and prayed the Liturgy of the Hours in the twinkling glow of the Christmas tree set against a backdrop of winter darkness. I was on a holy roll.

But then bit by bit, day by day, the peace started to fragment...

I could almost see it happening.

Sharp shards of silence breaking off and flying away from me in every direction.

I knew enough to realize it was an unhappy development but felt powerless to stop it. The tension of the season, coupled with the crush of work, compounded by the frenzy of family life made me -- as it often does -- feel as if I should just wave my spiritual white flag and give up my quest for inner peace. Add my voice to the din.

Then I remembered something our teacher said on retreat, something that really jumped out at me as I sat cross-legged on the floor of the yoga studio at Kripalu. So often, when we think of Jesus in prayer, we think of him in the desert, in the garden, in silent solitude. But the truth is, Father Tom reminded us, that Jesus was more often than not surrounded by chaos -- people clamoring to get near him, touch his robe, lower a friend through a roof, climb a tree.

Follow, follow, follow. Ask, ask, ask.

And yet we see the way his peace and prayerfulness emerge amid the chaos. The quiet compassion given to the woman caught in adultery, the feeding of the 5,000, the healing of a soldier's servant, the forgiveness of a thief from the cross. Jesus did not become unloving, harsh and impatient because the conditions around him went from good to bad to abominable. 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...

So as we wait just two more days to celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace, as I look at the absolute insanity that is sure to ensue in the coming hours, I'm picking up the scattered fragments of peace and fashioning them into something usable, something new. I imagine my peace looks a bit like a kaleidoscope now.

Pieces of peace...artfully arranged into something that will cast a brilliant and warm light on everything its shooting and darting rays touch as I turn it gently in my hands.

Chaos into calm. Panic into peace. Fragments into fullness.

All through him, who was...and is...and is to come.

A new perspective on Christmas 'obligations'

2011-12-21T07:39:00.004-05:00

As we started to map out the Christmas season, one thing became clear: There would be nothing remotely relaxing about this holy holiday. I'm not just talking about the shopping and wrapping and cooking. I'm talking about the driving from town to town and state to state, the weather worries, the hotel stay, the kids asking, "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"

For many of us, the holidays mean zigzagging the state or region or even the country in an effort to visit family members. I've done each of those variations at one time or another, and I can tell you first hand that it can take a little of the merriment out of Merry Christmas.

Earlier this week, after Dennis and I had declared that this would surely be a "lousy" Christmas because of all the driving and time spent in a frantic race from one place to the next rather than in front of our own tree with a glass of nog, I stopped and asked if maybe we should just bag the plans and stay put. If we are preemptively declaring our favorite holiday "lousy," maybe we need to rethink the plans.

So this is how I decided to evaluate the situation: If I knew this was going to be my last Christmas, how would I spend it? And I realized that if I had only this Christmas left, I wouldn't want to spend it in isolation up north but with family. Yes, I'd want to get in the car and drive to see my dad and step-mom, my grandmother and aunts, my cousins and in-laws. Because what fun is Christmas if it isn't shared? Do I wish my family lived closer so we could be together during the day and still return to our own beds at night? Absolutely. But that's not an option for those of us who no longer live in our hometowns or whose parents and siblings have moved on.

Although I'm still kind of dreading the time spent in the car tossing juice boxes and snack bags to the back rows as the kids stare zombie-like at the various screens playing different age-appropriate movies, I have to admit that contemplating Christmas from a somewhat dark place has actually made me more merry.

How are you spending your Christmas? Is it the way you would spend it if it were your last?

Manic Monday: Closing in on Christmas

2011-12-19T09:14:00.008-05:00

We're in the homestretch. My kids, especially my tween, are practically hyperventilating with excitement. Okay, not the teen. He's keeping the excitement close to the vest. I've been too busy with work to even realize Christmas is so close, which could be bad news for those expecting presents.

That's our Christmas tree, over there on the left. Fred the Cat is standing guard. I tried to remove him from the picture, but he jumped back in every time I got set up. So, clearly, he was meant to be in the shot. Oh, and that's one of my Nativity sets -- my main Nativity set -- in the header at the top of the blog. I collect them. Nativity set, not blogs.

So, here's our Manic Monday rundown for the week...

Bookshelf: I'm reading too many books to list here, most of them as research for the book I'm writing. What I'm reading for fun, inspiration, enjoyment when I have time is a magazine I discovered on the shelf at Sam's Club: The Soul Body Connection, a special annual publication of the monthly Spirituality & Health. If you are into meditation, centering prayer, mindful eating, breathing exercises, prayer in general, check it out. It's wall-to-wall articles, and what I really love is the fact that this Eastern-leaning publication includes lots of Christian information, including a Q&A with Trappist Father Thomas Keating, a leader of the centering prayer/contemplative living movement.

Soundtrack: Christmas music, of course. Here's one of my favorites, a rocking version of Angels We Have Heard on High by Relient K, a very cool band.

Viewfinder: While other people were out shopping this weekend, or baking Christmas cookies, I was with the nine girls in our Daisy troop, along with four other moms, for an OUTDOOR winter discovery day. Who thought that was a good idea in upstate New York in mid-December? Actually, it was a really fun day. And a warm-up for our January winter camping trip.

Here's Chiara working on an animal track rubbing:

The whole gang:

Olivia decided she really wanted pomegranate seeds for lunch. So there I was, working the seeds out of the pomegranate below at 7 a.m. Whatever happened to PB&J?

Since I had about three million seeds after I finished, I decided to throw a few on top of my usual bowl of oatmeal (below). Added a nice crunch. Doesn't it look lovely? Yes, that's a candle beside my oatmeal. Truth be told, the absolute best prayer time I have every day is when I sit down to my silent, mindful breakfast and pray before I dig in. It's become an almost-daily prayer practice for me, one I really miss when I can't find the time, or the silence. Which is often in this house.

So, onward, as we celebrate the fourth week of Advent and pray the O Antiphons each evening as we light the candles on our wreath. Enjoy these last days before the feast. Shop, bake, party, but remember to breathe deep and find a few minutes each day to sit in silence and contemplate the reason for this season.

Testifying to the Light: Merton, Gaudete and More

2011-12-12T07:41:00.005-05:00

It's always right around this time each Advent season that I move into high holiday spirit. I take that pink candle very seriously. Gaudete! Rejoice! And with that I break out Christmas boxes and begin to decorate the house. My kids, having been not-so-patiently waiting for a couple of weeks by now, finally get to light the lights and string the ornaments and push the buttons that play Christmas carols on endless loops.

I like the waiting time of Advent. I'm not a patient person, but in this season I tend to find my stride, enjoying the slowness of preparing for the feast, stepping out of character and trying not to rush things, knowing it will all be here and gone soon enough. But it won't be gone, will it? Only the external trappings will be gone. If this season does what this season is meant to do, we will be left with the internal light that shines long after the ornaments and singing Santas are put away for another year.

This weekend at Mass, one line from the Gospel kept ringing in my ears:

"He came for testimony, to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He was not the light, but he came to testify to the light."

That role isn't reserved for John the Baptist. We are all called to testify to the light so that others might believe. But how do we do that? It's not always easy in this frantic world, where people steal our parking spots at the mall and smash into our cars without leaving a note (both of which happened to me this week).

I recently had an experience of light that jumped out and grabbed me. I was at Kripalu yoga center, attending a workshop called "Pray All Ways" by Paulist Father Thomas Ryan (which I posted about briefly last week). At the end of the weekend, Father Tom asked us to do a lectio divina exercise, using the weekend itself as the point of reflection. We were to find the thing that stood out to us, pray on it and share with the group. Although there were many, many gifts received that weekend, one thing kept coming to the front of my mind, from the very first session of our workshop. Here's what I shared with my group (more or less):

As I sat in this circle, sharing faith stories and prayer with a group of strangers, my mind kept returning to the famous Thomas Merton story, where he's standing on a street corner in Kentucky and looks around at the people surrounding him and feels complete love for and unity with them. I never really "got" that story because most of the time I'm standing on the street corner feeling frustration and wondering when all those people are just going to cross the street, for goodness sake. But here, at Kripalu, from almost the first instant, I knew exactly what Merton meant. I looked around and felt complete love for complete strangers, people from all different walks of life who are searching for the same thing -- a deeper connection to God. Being in this place gives me hope. And Merton's words keep echoing in my heart: There's no way to tell people they are walking around shining like the sun.

When I returned to "real" life later that same day, I tried to bring that light back home with me. The truth is, I often withdraw to my sacred space to pray or do yoga or both and then emerge only to jump right back into the chaos without letting my prayer reverberate in my words and actions. But the point of the weekend workshop and the focus of my prayer life these days is to take what happens in that sacred space and let it influence everything else, because my children and husband and friends will never understand the power of God's love in my life if I don't let that love come out through me, if I don't walk around shining like the sun, or Son.

It's hard to keep that light shining through all the difficulties and frustrations and annoyances of life. It's much easier to slip back into dissatisfaction, to take up my poor-pitiful-me position and wonder why everyone can't make it easier for me to be prayerful. Sigh. It's not supposed to be easy. What merit is there in being prayerful if it only sticks when times are good?

And then I went to Mass on Saturday evening, and my pastor hit the nail on the head with a homily focused on that same theme. He reminded us that to rejoice isn't to be "up" all the time, outwardly bouncing around happily from one thing to the next. To truly rejoice is to remain inwardly joyful even when times are hard because our joy isn't in things of this world; our joy is in God and what God has done for us. Amen.

When I was at Kripalu, Father Tom led us in many Taize chants at the start of each session. One of my favorites was this one:

"Our darkness is never darkness
in your sight.
The deepest night is clear
as the daylight."

The play of light against darkness is so apparent during this season when the ever-increasing glow of the Advent wreath stands in stark contrast to the darkness outside. I am often all too aware of the darkness, sometimes even seeking it out when there's light all around me. But once we realize there is no darkness with God, everything becomes clear, and we shine like the sun, even at midnight.

So rejoice! Testify to the Light that can never be extinguished.

Celebrating old St. Nick. For real.

2011-12-06T08:55:00.002-05:00

My post from OSV Daily Take today:

Happy Feast of St. Nicholas! This day has become a favorite at our house, ever since I began the tradition years ago of leaving little gifts in the kids' shoes the night before. This morning when they came downstairs, they didn't even remember it was St. Nicholas Day until they saw the chocolates and little items lined up in shoes by the front door. I loved seeing the smiles on their faces as they came down for school one by one. And, let me tell you, getting a smile out of the almost-15-year-old is not an easy feat.

It's not too late to celebrate this feast day, which has come to mark a deepening of the Advent season for me. I'm not one of those early shoppers or early decorators. I like to wait -- longer than my family likes to wait. But I have to admit that this feast usually puts me in the mood to start making the physical preparations for Christmas.

If you want to know more about St. Nicholas or would like some activities to share with children of all ages, check out the St. Nicholas Center, an awesome website chock full of resources, stories, coloring pages, games, history, and more. The image above is from the site.

And if you didn't get to put a little something in the kids' shoes this morning, leave a little chocolate, an orange or some small gift item for them to find when they come home this afternoon. If your house is anything like my house, there's no shortage of shoes lying around just waiting to be filled.

Mellow Monday: Reverberations from my weekend yoga prayer retreat

2011-12-05T12:51:00.016-05:00

Technically it's Manic Monday in these parts, but after a weekend yoga-prayer retreat at the Kripalu Center in Lenox, Mass., I'm really quite mellow. Certainly not manic, despite the truly frightening number of deadlines mounting on the dry erase board in my office.

As was the case with my silent retreat in September, I'm not really ready to wax poetic about what happened at Kripalu so soon after. Too much to absorb, so many gifts, so much to process before I can put it in writing in this space. But I wanted to share some little snippets of my wonderful weekend, which centered on a workshop called "Pray All Ways," offered by Paulist Father Tom Ryan, who is also a certified yoga instructor and whose sense of peace and prayerfulness is so palpable he practically glows or floats. You cannot help but sit in his presence and think, "I want that." In the best Christian, yogic, loving, non-jealous way, of course.

The photo above is a view of Kripalu from the road below. The former Jesuit seminary sits on land that is just beautiful, even during this in-between time when trees are bare but the ground is not yet blanketed in white. Still breathtaking.

When I first arrived on Friday afternoon, I was in my more manic mode. I rushed inside, worried that my car might not be parked in the right place, nervous about how the weekend would unfold, sure that something would go wrong. (Glass half-empty person, remember.) So I got inside and was asked to fill out of a form with my license plate number, which is new and not committed to memory. Immediately I felt frustration -- at not having thought of this need, at not knowing my number by heart, at needing the number at all. So back out to the parking lot I trudged with pen and paper.

And as I stepped outside, another retreatant was standing there staring, and she pointed me to the top of a tree. There, in what was a rather small tree comparatively, was an enormous hawk. I mean enormous. I'm including his photo below even though it's a little blurry (I didn't have my good camera with me) because I just needed to give you a glimpse. He sat there for the longest time, unfazed by the people coming and going with their roller-suitcases and cars and chatter. Here he is:

You'll notice that branch is bending under his weight. He was just majestic. At another point during the weekend, the same hawk was flying overhead, his wingspan inspiring others to stare up at the sky in awe. I never would have known about this resident hawk (the greeter, as he was referred to by the smiling people at the front desk) if I hadn't forgotten my license plate number. So there you go. I was rushed headlong into the fact that this weekend would be about awareness, about gratitude, about slowing down, about the practice of the presence of God.

The hawk wasn't the only over-sized animal to cross my path. This giant rabbit, like something out of Alice in Wonderland, let me get within two feet of him to take a picture. On top of that he was surrounded by people enjoying the late autumn sunshine at picnic tables all around him. Even the animals are mellow here.

After a solid day of praying and sitting and absorbing so much wonderful food for thought (and wonderful food in general), my retreat partner, Michelle, and I decided to skip Yoga Dance, which was a little much even for this adventurous soul, and go for a little hike to the lake. So worth it.

First we stopped at the small labyrinth. The entrance is in the photo below. I will admit that perhaps this wasn't the best labyrinth, as I got "lost," which I didn't think was supposed to be possible in this walking meditation. I'm guessing it's much more effective when all the plants are high and in bloom and provide a clear marker of the path. It was still fun.

Here's a photo of the lake and one of me with Michelle:

And finally, here's the statue at the front entrance. Lots of Hindu and Buddhist statues here and there, as you would expect at a yoga center, but our weekend was so focused on Christian prayer and Jesus Christ that it was easy to forget at times that this is no longer a Catholic facility. As we prayed lectio divina, did the Examen, spent long periods on intercessory prayer, and even had Mass while sitting on the floor of the yoga studio Saturday night, I felt so grateful for the experience and so alive with prayerful possibility.

I will be back later this week with some further reflections. Till then, I'll just share one pearl of wisdom that Father Tom shared with us: Contemplation isn't always about retreating from the world in silence and solitude; it's about "taking a long, loving look at the real."

Look around you today. Right now. Look deeply into the eyes of the next person you meet. Listen attentively to the person on the phone or at the door or in the next office. Drink in the wonder of creation as you drive or walk or run to your next appointment. You just might be amazed to find God right under your nose. Namaste.

Advent awakening. Finally.

2011-11-30T09:11:00.009-05:00

I felt a sense of panic last night as I realized we were already a few days into Advent and I had not been to this space to offer any words of encourage- ment or any observations or even any recipes.

The days leading up to Advent were packed to overflowing. Between the Thanksgiving holiday and my four-day trip with Noah to the National Catholic Youth Conference in Indiana (not to mention visits from family and friends and our first 5K race) things just felt totally out of hand. There was none of the quiet slowness that should herald the onset of this beautiful season.

Then this morning, as I felt the panic heighten due to a mounting number of work deadlines, I just stopped in my tracks. I closed the laptop, dumped the newspapers into recycling, cleared the table, made my oatmeal, and lit a candle. I sang "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" all by myself at my kitchen table as the steam from my breakfast cereal rose to the sky like incense. And suddenly Advent had begun.

I'd like to think that those few minutes of total silence and stillness are going to be more the norm than the rarity this Advent season, but I'm not that naive. December usually moves at full tilt, with shopping and planning and concerts and parties. I have no illusions of what's to come, especially since I am currently working on two books on tight deadlines. And yet, still, I feel a settling now where a few days ago I felt only unrest.

I think we often forget that the peace and calm that prayer brings to our lives doesn't come without some effort on our part. We can't move through life at breakneck speed, sending a shout out to God along the way, and expect to become centered and balanced and serene. That only comes from the occasional silence we actively create in our lives.

As I told a group of teens earlier this month during a talk on prayer, if we give God just five minutes of silence a day (which will feel like five hours the first few times you do it), we will begin to see subtle and not-so-subtle shifts in our lives in short order. Five minutes a day of total silence. That means turning off everything -- phones, computer speakers, Twitter feeds and Facebook accounts, TVs and stereos. Tune out every sound you possibly can. And then just sit and wait for God.

I experienced that kind of silent waiting, believe it or not, in a stadium of 23,000 teenagers a couple of weeks ago. One of the MCs at NCYC had the audacity to lead that giant, noisy group of excitable kids in lectio divina. When she started out, I thought she was nuts. By the time we were sitting in absolute silence, I was in awe. Imagine that many teenagers just sitting in silence, longing for a connection with God. If that don't get you some religion, I don't know what will. (I plan to write more about the NCYC experience in days to come. Sorry for the delay.)

Yesterday day, during Morning Prayer, this verse from the Book of Tobit jumped out at me:

"When you turn back to him with all your heart,
to do what is right before him,
then he will turn back to you,
and no longer hide his face from you."

So this Advent I plan to try to turn back to God with all my heart, not an easy task by any means. I know how quickly and easily I get thrown off course, but try I will. I'll have the added benefit of some intense spiritual time this weekend, when I head to Kripalu yoga center for a workshop with Paulist Father Tom Ryan, a certified yoga teacher, called "Pray All Ways."

In addition to the workshop, Father Tom will celebrate Mass late Saturday evening for those who want a Sunday Eucharistic celebration. He told me we would sit in a circle, chant, and have an interactive homily. I am beyond excited to experience all that is in store for me. (And my friend Michelle D., who bravely decided to join me for the workshop and share a room with me. Thank you, Michelle!)

I'll be back with tales from the journey. In the meantime, slow down, breathe, be silent, if only for five short minutes.

Embracing life, with death in sight

2011-11-11T11:38:00.003-05:00

My latest 'Life Lines' column, which is running in the current issue of Catholic New York.

By Mary DeTurris Poust

Some people know how to live, even as they’re dying. I have a friend who is just that kind of person, and I am continually awed by her strength, her faith, and her grace as she journeys through each day knowing full well that what’s left of her life on this earth is coming to an end. Quickly.

When I saw Maureen this week, she told me the last thing on her Bucket List – now that she’s checked off a trip to the Cape with her husband– is to live long enough to see her newborn twin grandchildren when they visit in December. “I think I can make it,” she told me, and I believe her.

It was not that long ago that I sat in her living room and she told me her daughter-in-law was pregnant but she didn’t know if she’d be alive for the birth in September. Now September has come and gone and she has her sights set on a new goal, all the while managing her life and her pain from home, thanks to Hospice care and a devoted husband.

Maureen has been battling ovarian cancer for years. Long before she became ill, however, I saw her as an inspiration and a role model. Hers is a peaceful, prayerful presence. She’s quick with a smile and an offer to help in whatever way she can. Cancer has only increased those wonderful qualities, it seems.

When someone needs prayers, I email Maureen. I know without question she will remember my friends and loved ones in prayer, even as I often forget. Just this past week, she asked me about a little girl I had asked her to add to her prayer list. To be honest, I haven’t remembered that little girl in prayer in quite some time, but Maureen prays for her every morning, along with a laundry list of other people and problems I’ve asked her to remember. I have come to believe that her prayers – coming from a place of such deep faith amid such incredible suffering – are especially powerful.

Although she no longer receives any treatment, she mentioned that when she did have to sit through those difficult appointments, she’d pray for all those people who had much worse things to bear. And I found myself wondering, even as she spoke to me, who could have much worse things to bear than a woman dying of cancer before her time? But Maureen doesn’t seem to see it that way. As I sit with her, spinning tales of my kids’ latest escapades or my own spiritual struggles, I get the sense that I am in the presence of someone who is at an advanced and somewhat rare spot on the spiritual journey.

So often it’s not until someone is gone that we realize the impact they’ve had on our lives. I feel blessed to recognize right now the impact Maureen is having, and will continue to have, on my life even after she’s gone. Her example of courage and determination and faith will not fade, nor will her peaceful acceptance – when it was clear there were no more treatment options -- of what life had handed her.

None of us know the day or the hour. Logically I realize I could die before Maureen, but I still can’t seem to wrap my brain – or my everyday attitude – around that reality. Life doesn’t always go according to plan, at least not according to our plan. Life goes according to His plan, and we can either embrace the journey or be dragged along kicking and screaming. Too often I choose the latter, but Maureen is teaching me another way, the only Way.

Life isn’t always pretty or easy, and sometimes the lessons are learned the hard way. We can either stay stuck in regret or move forward with grace. Choose grace.

My Dinner With Chiara

2011-11-10T18:32:00.003-05:00

Chiara and I ended up home alone this evening, sort of unexpectedly. Dennis and Noah are in New York City for a class trip (eating at Carmine's as I write this), and Olivia was invited to dinner and a sleepover at a friend's house. Although she was a little disappointed not to have anywhere special to go, Chiara was happy to have me to herself for a little while.

And so over a quiet, candlelight dinner of soup and salad (her choice), we had a chance to talk. She raised a couple of pretty insightful questions over the course of 30 minutes or so, things that make me sure she'll go far in this life, or at least in the world of entertainment.

Question #1: If Goofy is a dog, and Goofy can talk, why can't Pluto talk? Ah, this is an age old question, one that has confounded Disney fans for generations. It is, as we say in Catholic lingo, a mystery.

Question #2: If the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz knows she can be melted by water, why would she keep a big bucket of water out where anyone can grab it? And her follow-up question: I wonder if she can drink the water? Excellent question. I wonder...

Now it's time to play a board game. Then it's popcorn and a movie. I believe her pick is Peter Pan. It's certainly not how I intended tonight to work out, but in the end it turned out to be exactly what I wanted.

Manic Monday: Halloween edition

2011-10-31T07:39:00.013-04:00

It's a Manic Halloween Monday. Boo! Guess I should go out and buy some candy, not that any trick-or-treaters ever ring our doorbell. Seriously. Not. One. Kid. Still, I feel woefully unprepared if I don't have some real candy on hand -- Kit Kats, Hershey bars. The real deal. Our former pastor gave us a bag of Tootsie Rolls and Dots, which would do in a pinch, but we all know that those can't hold a candle to chocolate.

So, other than Halloween, here's what's going on...

Bookshelf: I just finished Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption by Laura Hillenbrand, What an awesome and inspiring book. I could not put it down. Well, I had to put it down, but I grabbed it every chance I got. If you have not read this book yet, go get it and start reading. Now. The power of the human spirit to survive in the face of the most unbelievable treatment and torture is beyond comprehension.

Soundtrack: We've been kind of busy, so it's been kind of quiet. Olivia just got her new iPod Touch, so she's been testing it out with her favorites. But every night, as I go to bed, I can hear Mozart softly playing on continuous loop from her bedroom. That's been her routine for months, maybe a full year. I wonder if that's contributing to those stellar grades she's getting in every subject.

Viewfinder:

From a distance, our front porch looks lovely, with the cornstalk and hay bale decorations. Pumpkins and gourds and corn, oh my.

On closer inspection, we see the damage the squirrels have been doing to the pumpkins. So much for pie.

Then there's the Indian corn, completely decimated by the chipmunks, who hang there in plain sight, nibbling to their hearts' content. That last ear of corn is just about finished at this point.

Friday night was the Costume Ball for Olivia the Vampiress,
and Halloween Happenings for Rapunzel.

Look up. It's fall.

Look down. It's winter. Although we were spared the worst.

Odds and Ends: This will be the first year Noah doesn't don a costume and go out on Halloween night. Makes me feel old. Although he did dress up as Maximilian Kolbe at our parish youth ministry's All Saints party last night.

Tomorrow I get to participate in Parent Reader Theater in Chiara's classroom. I'll be reading Falling for Rapunzel, which not only ties in with Chiara's Halloween theme but is also a really funny children's book. A favorite of mine.

On Saturday, Nov. 5, from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., I will be signing/selling all four of my books at the St. Thomas Craft Fair in St. Thomas School, Delmar. Look for me to the left of the entrance when you walk into the gymansium. Tell your friends. Walking Together, my book on spiritual friendship, makes a great Christmas gift. My Essential Guide to Prayer and the Mass is a great resource as we change over to the new translation of the Roman Missal. And then there's my Complete Idiot's Guide to the Catholic Catechism, which walks you through the entire catechism in plain English, and Parenting a Grieving Child, which focuses on how to help children deal with death and loss. Look over on the left of this page for Amazon links for all of these books. Or contact me directly for signed copies.

Four tips for adapting to the "new" Mass

2011-10-29T08:42:00.002-04:00

We're going on a field trip again today, over to the Huffington Post. Do you have your signed slip permission slip? I'm over there trying to help people adapt to the new language of the Mass. I'll start you here and link you there:

By Mary DeTurris Poust
Having come of age in the years after Vatican II, I never knew the Catholic Mass in Latin. In fact, the only version I know is the one that's been celebrated for the past 40 years. So I didn't take too kindly to the idea that the words and responses of the Mass would be changing, and I'd have to look at a written guide to get me through the prayers that have rolled off my tongue since childhood.

The impending changes to the English translation of the universal Roman Missal have sparked controversy among Catholics, to be sure. Some wonder why we need a new translation when the old one seemed to be working just fine. They see the new language--which brings the English more closely in line with the original Latin--as a return to a harsher time, a past that no longer fits our modern way of thinking. Others see the changes as a long time coming, a correction of a translation that was always slightly "off." Whatever side of the fence you're on, the changes are less than one month away. It's time to adapt and move forward. The new translation of the Roman Missal will go into effect on the first Sunday of Advent, November 27, which is the beginning of the Church year for Catholics.

So what will these changes mean for you? They will probably feel somewhat strange at first, and no doubt there will be some things that may never feel right. I'm not going to try to convince anyone that referring to Jesus as "consubstantial with the Father" in the Nicene Creed where we once had the almost-lilting "one in being with the Father" is ever going to feel normal, let alone be an improvement. But, if we approach the changes with an open mind and, more importantly, an open heart, we just might find our connection to the Mass reinvigorated for the first time in years, something Catholics in this country could sorely use.

Here are four basic guidelines for making the new Mass your own:

Get to know the Scriptural references behind some of the changes. When I first heard that the short prayer said before Communion was changing, I balked. Continue reading HERE.

Prayer lessons: From the mouths of babes

2011-10-28T09:21:00.006-04:00

I was saying bedtime prayers with 6-year-old Chiara the other night, when she stumbled over a line in the Our Father. Although she's got the standards pretty much down pat at this point -- Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be -- every once in a while she switches a word, or looks at us quizzically when she comes upon something that's just not in her first-grade vocabulary. Trespasses and temptation, for example.

But on this particular night, the slip-up was something much more basic, and something that, oddly enough, caused me to reflect on how I pray the same prayer. So here's how it went.

Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name;
MY kingdom come,
MY will be done...

Whoa, there sweetie. That's supposed to be THY, not MY. And then it hit me. How often do I say that very same prayer with the right words but the wrong spirit? How often do I really want MY will to be done, not God's will. God's will after all can be so, well, difficult to deal with, and He's not always on the same page.

So I learned something new about this old prayer and about myself. Every time I say the Our Father now, that line jumps out at me, and I stop for a second to think about whether I really mean what I'm saying. Am I willing to turn it all over to God, or do I say "thy will" while secretly thinking I'll have it my way?

We are all meant to walk 'The Way,' even if we never leave home

2011-10-27T09:36:00.007-04:00

I rarely go to the movies and almost never with Dennis, but last weekend I decided we were going to find the time -- make the time -- to see The Way with Martin Sheen. In recent years, pilgrimage has become an important part of my spiritual journey. And not just because I finally got the chance to go to Rome last year. Nope. In fact, my focus on pilgrimage began long before I'd ever renewed my passport, and that, as it turns out, is as it should be. We are all on a pilgrimage, whether we walk the 800 kilometers of the famed Camino de Santiago de Compostela, or never get past our neighborhood church.

Here's how I put it in the pilgrimage section of my latest book, The Essential Guide to Catholic Prayer and the Mass:

"When we think of pilgrimage, it's likely we imagine a journey to some far-off land. It's true that a pilgrimage in the traditional sense is a long journey, but our entire lives are meant to be a pilgrimage -- both physical and spiritual -- leading us ever closer to God.

"...The goal of pilgrimage is not to reach a physical destination but rather a spiritual one. Without leaving home, we can make a pilgrimage of the heart, an interior journey where we hope to meet God. Through our various methods of prayer -- vocal and silent, communal and private -- we make this pilgrimage with countless others around the world. We simply have to look at our very lives as pilgrim journeys, guided by the Spirit, our destination being the heart of God. It's a pilgrimage that often takes the better part of a lifetime."

Where are you now on your pilgrim journey? Perhaps an actual, physical pilgrimage might jump start things. You don't have to travel to France and Spain a la Martin Sheen's character to begin. A pilgrimage can be as simple as a visit to a new or historic church in your area, a shrine you've always wanted to see, the birthplace of a saint, or any other sacred place that leads you deeper into prayer. For me, I felt the first strong stirrings of pilgrimage when I went to the Shrine of the North American Martyrs (which you can read about HERE and HERE) a few years ago. As I camped in a tent on the beautiful grounds with my son's Boy Scout troop, I began to realize the significance of walking in sacred footsteps, of joining other believers in a literal journey toward holiness.

In the movie The Way, we get a wonderful up-close view of what the Camino is like. I certainly came away from it with a new appreciation for the courage and determination of those who undertake this level of pilgrimage. It is not for the faint of heart. And yet I know two people who have made this journey, and, in the back of my mind, I wonder if, perhaps, some day I will walk the Camino, either on my own or with Dennis or one of our children. Even seeing the rigorous terrain, the often-crowded sleeping conditions, and the many difficulties of the Way was not enough to make me cross the possibility off my list of potential pilgrim journeys. Quite the contrary. Seeing the film reminded me that pilgrimage is about leaving our comfort zones. Yes, physical comfort zones but also spiritual comfort zones. Pilgrimage -- as we see through the central characters of The Way -- is about looking at things we want to ignore, seeing in others what we've never seen before, exploring uncharted territory in our own hearts, healing our brokenness, finding our Truth.

Every time I go out on some spiritual adventure (my most recent being my private silent retreat at the Abbey of the Genesee), I experience the unexpected, explore new spiritual places, discover something about myself I didn't know before, and feel a kinship with strangers that doesn't seem as easy or comfortable when I'm just tooling around town racing from one appointment to another. On pilgrimage, when we step outside our routine, outside our "normal" life, we get to experience what life can be like when we drop some of our barriers and let God and other people into our hearts in new and sometimes scary ways.

One of the most distinct moments of my recent silent retreat was when I was sitting on the deck of the retreat house, reading a book on prayer and writing in a spiritual journal as I watched the sun go down. An older man sat at the other end of the picnic table, sobbing desperately. I didn't know him. I wasn't supposed to talk to him, and yet I ached for him. And I felt love for him, a stranger whose only connection to me was the fact that he'd picked the same retreat center on the same weekend. So I did the only thing I could do in that moment, I prayed for him. I poured out all my love through prayer and asked God to hear this man's desperate cries, for Mary to hold him in her spiritual arms and give him the comfort he needed. I'd like to say I'd have that same reaction to any other stranger who passed my way back in my "normal" life, but I know I am too busy, too guarded, too cynical to react that way all the time.

Pilgrimage takes us out of that guarded place, and when it drops us back into normal life, we are changed forever. Even if it's only a little bit at first. We come home and, without even realizing it, something has shifted. We may feel we've lost our pilgrim mojo as we navigate the busyness of daily life, but it's in the background, coloring how we react, how we speak, how we pray. Little by little, as we venture into more pilgrim experiences -- near and far -- we bring that pilgrim spirit to the everyday, and, before you know it, even a trip to the store can be a pilgrim moment, one where we experience others with love in our hearts and joy in our souls.

Am I there yet? No way. But I keep trying. I take a few steps forward on my pilgrim journey and then get sidetracked by work and responsibilities and life-as-usual. But then the Spirit prods me back onto the path in obvious and subtle ways, and I'm moving forward again.

All of life is a pilgrimage. And as one of the characters explains in the film, no one walks The Way by accident. That's true of our interior journey as well. So, wherever your pilgrimage takes you next, Buen Camino.

Foodie Friday: Autumn-inspired Israeli couscous

2011-10-21T09:03:00.005-04:00

I was recently looking for a way to use the very large container of Israeli couscous I'd picked up in the bulk section of Honest Weight Food Co-op. A quick search of the Internet turned up this recipe by Giada De Laurentis, one of my favorite Food Network chefs.

What I especially love is that this recipe is perfect for the autumn season, combining cranberries, apples and almonds, all of which I happened to have on hand. Well, I was a little short on dried cranberries, so I added some raisins to make up the difference. The result was a truly delicious room temperature or cool couscous side dish. I even had the chance to use some of the fresh rosemary and thyme growing in pots on the deck before a frost finishes them off. And see how pretty it is? I snapped that photo before digging in.

Here's Giada's recipe:

Couscous:
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 cups Israeli couscous (or barley or orzo)
4 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1/4 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 1/2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary leaves
1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme leaves
1 medium green apple, diced
1 cup dried cranberries
1/2 cup slivered almonds, toasted, see Cook's Note

Vinaigrette:
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
2 tablespoons maple syrup
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup olive oil

Directions:
For the couscous: In a medium saucepan, heat the olive oil on medium-high heat. Add the couscous and cook, stirring occasionally until slightly browned and aromatic, about 3 to 5 minutes. Add the chicken broth and bring to a boil. Simmer for 10 to12 minutes or until the liquid has evaporated. Transfer the cooked couscous to a large bowl and set aside to cool. Add the parsley, rosemary, thyme, apple, dried cranberries, and almonds.

For the vinaigrette: In a small bowl, combine the vinegar, maple syrup, salt, and pepper. Whisk in the olive oil until smooth. Pour the vinaigrette over the couscous and toss to coat evenly.

Cook's Note: To toast the almonds, preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Arrange the almonds in a single layer on a baking sheet. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes or until golden brown. Cool completely before using.

An embarrassment of prayer riches

2011-10-20T09:14:00.007-04:00

Okay, so here's the deal. About a week ago, I was in a weird place. Due to a confluence of events, I found myself wondering -- seriously -- if perhaps I'd said all I had to say, in terms of my Catholic writing. I was thinking maybe it was time to hang it up. I actually suggested to Dennis that perhaps I would go over to Hewitt's (our local gardening place) and see about a job there, as I have no other skills beyond writing, talking, writing, talking.

So, as I pondered all this and made Dennis absolutely crazy, I prayed. I asked God for some sort of sign that my writing wasn't in vain, that I was supposed to keep going, that the people in my life aren't just some figment of my imagination but really, truly have an interest in and care about my work and, well, in me as a person. I even emailed one friend asking for prayers and said that I wished God would write me a letter, spelling it all out in black and white so there would be no mistaking the message. That was last Wednesday and Thursday.

Fast forward to Friday. A letter arrived. From a religious sister I once worked with at my first job in the communications office of the Diocese of Metuchen. I haven't seen or heard from this sister in about 25 years. She keeps up with my life through my Life Lines column, which runs her diocesan newspaper, The Catholic Spirit. Here's a snippet of what Sister Michaelita wrote: "Your efforts to lead a prayerful life amidst all your responsibilities and the demands that are made upon your time have truly impressed and encouraged me."

I "encouraged" her? I was somewhat stunned, but so happy to hear from this long, lost person from my past. I really didn't think anything more of it, beyond deciding to send her a copy of Walking Together.

On Saturday, I opened the mailbox and found a card from a fellow Catholic blogger, someone known for her knack for personal note-writing, but, still. Today? Right now? Fran thanked me for all I do and for my life "as a sign of Christ." Wow. The card included a quote from St. Francis de Sales (one of my all-time favorites) about entering into silence (one of my most recent quests). Perfect.

I still wasn't catching on...

No mail Sunday, but then came Monday. Two, count 'em, two personal letters arrived. One was a note from my friend Maureen, which, among other things, offered encouragement as I embark on two big writing projects. The other was from Brother Christian, the Trappist monk I met on retreat last month. "See Jesus and Mary everywhere and adore their wills lovingly, and you will be a saint," he wrote, in a handwritten card that also included a 1973 clipping about him and his monastic life and a page from a book on St. Therese.

As if that wasn't enough, I received two email notes from spiritual friends I'd included in my book on friendship -- one encouraging me in my work, the other offering prayers as he headed to a five-day hermit retreat where he would be in total silence and solitude.

Now I was getting suspicious. I had prayed for a sign, I had wished for a letter, and suddenly there were letters coming every day. And not just any letters. Letters that offered encouragement, prayers, friendship, inspiration. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by what God was doing for me in the most obvious and concrete ways. So often I whine about not knowing what God wants, never being truly sure if I'm doing His will or my own in disguise. This didn't leave much room for doubt.

I thought that was the end of it, but Tuesday came along and the phone rang. I almost didn't pick it up because I didn't recognize the name, but I went ahead anyway. The woman on the other end had made a Cornerstone retreat with me several years ago, and we see each other once in a while after Mass. She'd never called my house before, so I wasn't sure what she could possibly want or need.

She called, she said, to let me know how much she enjoys and appreciates my work. She apologized for not getting to a recent talk I gave at my parish and then stressed again the importance of my work. What are the odds? That call was really the icing on the cake. I felt humbled by the embarrassment of riches God was showering down on me. All I could do was say thank you and decide that maybe, just maybe, I am already doing what I'm meant to be doing, struggles and all.

All I can say is "thank you" -- to God, for sure, but to all those people who, without even realizing it, gave me the answer I was desperately seeking. Not only the people who sent me letters or made phone calls, but all those friends who constantly but quietly support my work and encourage me on my spiritual journey. You are blessings in my life, each and every one of you.

Manic Monday: It may not be pretty, but it's life

2011-10-17T09:41:00.012-04:00

It really is a manic Monday, no way around it. It was a pretty manic Saturday and Sunday to be honest. Just one thing after another. So as I ponder my usual Manic Monday posting topics, I realize life has simply taken over everything else that I normally squeeze into a week.

As John Lennon said, "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." And life is definitely happening these days.

Bookshelf: (See photo of my office below) As you can see in the very scary shot of my office, or half of my office, most of my bookshelf is on my floor. Not a whole lot of reading getting done here lately, at least not novel-type reading. Bits and pieces of all sorts of other stuff related to cooking, eating, praying, exercising, writing. Which is really not a bad combo now that I look at it. I guess I'm pretty lucky that even my work involves such fun topics. If you were to zoom in on some of those books on the floor, you'd find The Rule of St. Benedict, the Sivenanda Companion to Yoga, and the Artist's Way, among other things.

Soundtrack: Hmmm...In the car, I'm tuned to K-LOVE, which is Christian music. At home, it's mainly Gregorian Chant, with some occasional forays into jazz during the day. On the family soundtrack this weekend, we had Frank Sinatra, U2, and some selections from Guys & Dolls (for Olivia's audition this week). Quite an eclectic mix, no?

Viewfinder:

Olivia takes to the ice at YMCA.

No fear.

Only Chiara's second time on ice skates.

Determination.

What greeted me when I went to the basement to do laundry this morning. Apparently this crew is headed to the airport for their flight to Paris. Barbie is living the good life.

And then there's real life. My office, which does not usually look this bad. It's a sign of things to come. Many, many months of intensity. I'll fill you in as we go along. But, no matter how crazy it's going to be, in the end it's all good. Right? RIGHT!?!?!

Appointment Book: We break up the usual meetings, deadlines, and general insanity with a Daisy trip to Five Rivers this evening. In other words, a very specific type of insanity. Nine 6-year-olds on a nature trail near a big pond. No problem.

Silence speaks volumes

2011-10-13T13:31:00.002-04:00

My latest Life Lines column:

If your house is anything like our house (and I’m kind of selfishly hoping it is), the noise hovers just below earsplitting. I’m not just referring to the usual kid noises—talking, singing, whistling, whining. I’m talking about noise that rises to a whole new level, driven higher and higher by a culture totally ill at ease with silence.

Think about what you hear during a typical one-hour period. Phone, TV, computer, doorbell, even washers and dryers that “sing” when the cycle is complete. If you take it a step further, you can find noise of an entirely different—but no less distracting—kind. Facebook, instant messaging, Twitter and other online communication may be silent on the surface but it is noise just the same.

Not long ago, when our family was uncharacteristically silent as we puttered around the kitchen making dinner and completing homework, my teenager blurted out: “Somebody say something. It’s too quiet.” Can it ever be too quiet? Our society would like us to think so. Like frantic symphony conductors, we are challenged to make the many different parts of our lives play all at once and in harmony, but mostly all we get from that is a lot of mental and spiritual dissonance.

I find I crave slowness and silence more with each passing year. I work at home, so I actually do get a heavy dose of silence on a regular basis. Other than the occasional phone call and my sporadic “conversations” with our two cats, I’m silent for about six hours a day, but it’s not the kind of silence that heals the soul and leaves me refreshed for whatever life throws my way. It helps, for sure, but healing silence comes only through extended periods of quiet and solitude.

Enter the silent retreat, something few of us get to experience nowadays but so worth the time it takes to drive to the monastery or retreat center. Because no matter how silent we may try to be at home now and then, nothing can prepare you for the deep but difficult work of real silence.

This is where we confront ourselves and many of the things we try to hide amid the noise of our daily lives. With no iPods or social networking, no televisions or telephones, we come face to face with our true selves, and, if we really make good use of our silent time through prayer, face to face with God.

From what I’ve experienced on silent retreat, I think of it as a kind of spiritual detox. First there’s denial, as in, why am I even here? I should go home and do the laundry and clean the bathrooms. Then the anger phase: What’s the point? I don’t hear God. I don’t think my prayers are working.

With each passing hour, however, things begin to shift. Walls go down and emotions surface. I begin to recognize how much I fear real silence and how easy it is to drown out the Spirit. It is not unusual, on silent retreat, to see people crying, apparently for no reason at all. Except when you’re on silent retreat, you know very well that there is a reason, or many reasons. By the time I leave, I am clinging to every last second of silence, already looking forward to the next time I can come back to a place that is so elusive no matter how hard I try to recreate it at home.

When I returned from my last retreat, my teenager—the same one who couldn’t bear a moment of silence—asked if he could come with me the next time I head to the Trappist abbey. Silence speaks volumes, it seems. It echoes in our words and actions, long after we’ve left it behind. Its scent lingers on us, giving others a taste of what’s possible when we listen, as St. Benedict taught, with the “ear of our heart.”

Manic Monday: Pumpkins and other fall fun

2011-10-10T13:24:00.012-04:00

So I've been rather scarce around these parts lately. Sorry about that. Typically that means one of two things: Too much work or too much kid-related stuff. In recent days, the two have converged to make life totally crazy.

Between deadlines, soccer practice, soccer games, dance classes, meetings and fund-raisers for our big youth ministry trip to Indiana next month, plus the usual school events, it's been more than hectic. And, truth be told, I've got two big projects in the offing. Shhhh....can't say much about them now. But if both come through, the next year should be the craziest year ever for me in terms of work. I'll keep you posted as that situation develops. Until then, please be patient with me and keep checking back here. I promise to show up as often as I can.

Without further ado, here's this week's Manic Monday...

Soundtrack: It's been quieter than usual around here. The kids haven't been blasting much music this week. I guess because we're just not here enough to be singing and dancing. As for me, I've been keeping Pandora on my work computer tuned to my Gregorian chant channel. I needed music to soothe and inspire while not tempting me to sing along. So a little chant and a lot of incense have kept me in line while I write.

Bookshelf: Believe it or not, I am just finishing up Genesee Diary. I've been reading a little before bed each night. Usually I find some pearl of wisdom to contemplate as I drift off to sleep. I did dip my toes into Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand, but I'm not sure I should undertake such a heavy book when I know I'll have so little time for luxury reading in the weeks and months to come.

Viewfinder: Well, first of all, let's talk viewfinder in general. I finally started shooting with my new Nikon 3100 SLR digital camera. Dennis and the kids gave it to me for my birthday last month -- after years of listening to me whine about our point-and-shoot while constantly mentioning how much I wanted this particular camera. Then, once I got it, I said I was going to bring it back. I didn't think I could justify the expense. I didn't think I deserved the extravagance. I let it sit unopened next to the door in our family room for more than a week. Finally, tentatively, I opened the box and peered inside, thinking that maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to keep that camera. And I did.

I took it out this weekend for some pumpkin picking shots and other random outdoor photos. Here are a few photos from the new camera. Still haven't given the zoom lens much of a workout. Maybe you'll see those next week. Click on any photo to see it enlarged.

A bumble bee taken with the macro setting.

Chiara in mid-jump thanks to the sport setting.

Olivia taken with the portrait setting.

Cross in the garden with toad lilies.

Chiara trying to catch a yellow butterfly.

Pumpkins galore, on landscape setting.

The great pumpkin?

Menu: The menu around here as been dullsville. Hence, no Foodie Friday posts lately. I'm joining Dennis for a bout of Weight Watchers. I didn't officially join, but I'm tracking those stupid points and not very happy about it. Lots of fruits and veggies, which now cost no points, but not much else worth mentioning. Oatmeal and brown rice might as well be cheesecake on this new point system, which I hate. If I was going to write about food, I'd tell you about the hot cider donuts we bought at the farm yesterday. The kids said they were the best they've ever tasted. Not surprising since we got them within minutes of them coming out of the farmhouse kitchen. Two weeks in a row we've bought cider donuts and I've yet to have one. So if you're out at a farm in the coming weeks, eat a cider donut for me, please.

Appointment book: Busy week ahead. Again. Faith formation, dance, ice skating, soccer, parent meeting for high school. Oh yeah, and I'm speaking at St. Thomas on Wednesday night at 7:30 p.m. Stop by if you're in the neighborhood. I'll be discussing spiritual friendship.

Angels among us, messengers from heaven

2011-09-29T15:13:00.010-04:00

In honor of the Feast of the Archangels (Sept. 29) and the Feast of the Guardian Angels (Oct. 2), I thought I'd post my recent OSV story on angels and their role in our spiritual lives. I'll start you off here and send you there.

The photos at left and below were taken last year when I was crossing Ponte Sant'Angelo in Rome on my way to St. Peter's Basilica.

By Mary DeTurris Poust

Human beings over the centuries and across cultures have long been fascinated with and captivated by angels. We seek their protection and pray for their guidance. We both fear and crave their presence. We put them on necklaces, coffee mugs, mouse pads and more. When it comes to angels, our expressions of love run from the ridiculous to the sublime, inspiring everything from the wildly inappropriate Victoria’s Secret ad campaign to the strikingly beautiful film Wings of Desire.

Although Catholics often begin their prayer connection to angels in childhood, with the sing-song words of the Angel of God prayer --- “Ever this night, be at my side to light and guard, to rule and guide” – angels are by no means child’s play. They are complex spiritual beings, often misunderstood by us humans who try to give them features and attributes that are more akin to existence on earth than heaven. Chubby little baby-like cherubs sporting wings and harps cannot begin to do justice to the reality of angels in our midst.

So what exactly are we dealing with here, and what role do angels play in our personal prayer lives?....Continue reading HERE.

Archbishop Dolan endorses my book on the Mass

2011-09-22T10:29:00.003-04:00

If you're looking for something to guide you or your parishioners through the new translation of the Mass, be sure to check out my latest book, "The Essential Guide to Catholic Prayer and the Mass," which has an imprimatur and has been endorsed by Archbishop Timothy Dolan:

"We Catholics believe in the power of prayer to change lives and the world. In her engaging new book, Mary DeTurris Poust lovingly walks us through many of the Church’s rich and diverse traditions of prayer, breathing new life into ancient, beloved devotions, and pointing the way toward more modern methods of prayer as well.

Perhaps most valuable of all, Mary breaks down the parts of the Mass – the ultimate prayer – to enhance the reader’s understanding and appreciation of this Sunday banquet at which we are all called to gather regularly as a family, united with the sacrifice of Christ on the cross. As Saint Paul confessed, 'none of us know how to pray as we ought.' This book is sure a help."

+Archbishop Timothy Dolan of New York, president of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops.

For more information on my books, visit my website.

Are you standing still or making 'progress'?

2011-09-21T09:20:00.008-04:00

I thought I'd share my latest Life Lines column. Life Lines has appeared monthly in Catholic New York for the past 10 years.

By Mary DeTurris Poust

When I began this column 10 years ago, the world was a very different place. My plan to write about the intersection of faith and everyday life was propelled into high gear by 9/11 and all that played out in the days that followed, both in our country and in our home. Suddenly my young children had questions that had no real answers. I had questions that had no real answers. I think we all did.

There was nothing we could do but move forward, slowly, shakily at first, but with more strength and confidence as the days went by. Now, looking back, I realize that as much as the outside world has changed in the past decade, so has my internal world, the landscape of my soul. Much of it has been explored and expressed in the 650-word jolts I put on paper each month; more has been poured out on the pages of my books and the posts of my blog.

It has been a challenging journey, filled with desperate lows – like the one we all experienced on that clear September morning – and joyous highs – like the birth of my third child, the publication of my four books, and the ongoing interior pilgrimage that is my spiritual journey. Someone recently asked me if I had any breakthroughs to share. At first I laughed at the prospect, but the comment caused me to pause and reflect on the changes that have taken place without my even realizing it.

I think most of us imagine we’re standing still, whether it’s in our professional lives or personal lives or spiritual lives. We look at the big picture and can feel as though we’re simply not making progress. I know I often look at my cluttered desk, cluttered kitchen counters, and equally cluttered prayer life and think: “Nothing’s happening here.” But, when I go back to September 2001 and mentally walk the path from there to here in my mind, I realize I’ve come a lot farther than it appears on the surface.

You’ve heard me talk (whine?) in this space about my struggles with prayer, struggles with motherhood, struggles with multi-tasking, struggles with everything from laundry to oatmeal. I tend to be more open about my struggles than about my strides because I never want to get too comfortable, never want to sit back and think, “I’ve arrived.” Perhaps because we never really arrive. We may have breakthroughs, we may find ourselves stepping out into the unknown with total faith, but the truth is, there’s always more work to be done, always another step to be taken.

Today my prayer life is far different than it was 10 years ago, as is my spiritual focus. Where before I was simply happy to get something out of Sunday Mass while a fussy baby clawed at my hair, today my spiritual routine includes praying parts of the Divine Office daily, slices of silence sprinkled throughout my days, regular spiritual reading and sporadic spiritual blogging, an annual retreat, and the desire for ongoing pilgrimage – whether to Rome or Auriesville or simply to the farthest reaches of my heart.

Where have you been this past decade and where do you want to go next? Chances are, if you take some quiet time to reflect on your life, you, too, will realize you’ve moved much farther toward your goal – whatever that might be.

“God is in the details,” but sometimes we don’t take the time to notice the details. We want progress to come with a thunderclap, an “aha moment” that will change us all at once. But sometimes, most times, progress comes in the still small voice, in the tiny but brilliant flashes of light that change us bit by bit and forever.

To read previous Life Lines columns, visit www.marydeturrispoust.com

Manic Monday: Crunch time, and I'm not referring to apples or leaves

2011-09-19T07:06:00.009-04:00

Well, I've reached that moment in September when I am officially overwhelmed by what I see on the calendar -- a total absence of white space. Just one event after another, many of them simultaneous.

September is my favorite month, because of the weather, because of birthdays, because it feels like the start of a new year, but it's quickly losing points for becoming one of the most-feared months in our family's rotation. There's no time to appreciate the beauty of September. Or to breathe.

That's a good introduction for this week's Manic Monday post because it will explain a lot, like the fact that there are no new photos to share (but some really nice old ones). Not that I haven't seen plenty worth sharing this past week -- soccer games, dance classes, and more. I just haven't had time to snap photos of anything.

Soundtrack: Devil Went Down to Georgia. Yes, by the Charlie Daniels Band. Noah loves this song and was demonstrating for us how he knows all the words, well, with a substitution for the one bad word. You gotta admit, that's some good fiddle playing there.

Bookshelf: I'm well into The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis, and I will say this: Lewis was a GENIUS, which I already knew from some of his other works but this book just floored me. Originally published in 1941, it could have been written yesterday. It's that relevant to our times and our Church. Wow, what a powerful book. And a fast read. How had I not read this before now?

Viewfinder: Okay, this wasn't in my viewfinder this week, but it was just about one year ago. And, oh, how I wish I was there right now. At least once a day, every single day, I wish I could be back in Rome. I left a little piece of my heart in St. Peter's Square, I think.

One of my favorite spots: Ponte Sant'Angelo

I was so struck by the Coliseum's presence right there
in front of me as I walked down the street.

Piazza Navona, which felt like home by the end of 11 days.
I walked it every day on my way to and from Santa Croce University.

The view of St. Peter's from a bridge crossing the Tiber on the way to
Trastavere, my favorite neighborhood in Rome.

Thought for the week:

"You must never grow weary of doing what is right." 2 Thessalonians 3:13

September walking meditation

2011-09-17T08:14:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite parts of silent retreat is the opportunity to take the quiet of the retreat house or abbey and extend it out into the natural world. When I'm not busy worrying about work or listening to my iPod or talking to neighbors I pass along the way, walking becomes something entirely different. Not exercise, not a way to get from Point A to Point B, but a moving meditation.

I'm always amazed by what I see when I take the time to look and listen to the world around me, rather than rushing ahead with my ears buds in and my eyes focused a few feet ahead of me. Walk with me now down the Genesee Greenway and see some of what I saw through the silence of walking meditation.

This was my view (below) as I began the long walk down a nearby farm road toward the Genesee Greenway. I kept thinking of the road to Emmaus, probably because the prior brought up that topic during our conference the night before. As I walked down the hot, dusty road, not sure where I was going or what I would find at the end, I kept wondering if I'd recognize Jesus if I met him along the way. Do I recognize Jesus in my daily life? In the people I love or the strangers I meet or the people who annoy me?

I turned onto the Greenway path in total solitude. The only other person around was a farmer way off in the distance tending to his crops, and once I got deeper onto the path, even he disappeared from view. There was total silence, save for the sounds of nature -- the occasional rustling in the leaves and bushes, the bees flying by, the mosquitoes buzzing near my ears. With every step, I entered more deeply into the silence. And suddenly the little things came into view.

Like the berries hanging from this bush, waiting for birds and little creatures to come by for a snack. What beauty is hidden in places we usually don't bother to look?

Or this stand of white birch trees in the middle of the dark green woods. Typically I wouldn't have blinked at a birch tree, so common are they in my own suburban neighborhood. But there, set against the deep colors of the forest, they seemed magical.

This little wounded butterfly stopped for a moment on a stalk of corn. He didn't flinch as I edged closer to snap a photo. His woundedness made him more special to me, not less.

Corn as far as the eye could see. Everywhere I turned there was corn and more corn. Walking a path with cornfields on both sides made me so happy. I'm not completely sure why. And, yes, the corn was as high as an elephant's eye.

This little lovely was nothing more than a pretty weed. I grabbed a slim stalk and another of Queen Anne's Lace to add to my sacred space back at the retreat guest house. Sometimes we can find exactly what we need in the most unlikely places, like a patch of weeds.

As I walked another dirt road back toward the abbey, I saw this little chipmunk in the middle of the road, clearly injured and unable to move. Channeling my inner St. Francis, I talked to the little guy, and used a stick to coax him into the high grass at the edge of the road where I'm hoping he was hidden from the circling hawks and crows, not to mention the tires of the local farm truck.

Finally, back near the abbey, the pathway was lined with so many lovely wildflowers, including this sparse but striking specimen. As I wandered from cornfield to woods to river to garden to sunset, one thing kept playing in my mind: My God is an awesome God. How great thou art!

Foodie Friday: When the boys are away...

2011-09-16T08:30:00.002-04:00

It's been girls' week at our house. Or at least girls' three days. With Dennis and Noah away, this is our opportunity to eat weird stuff that they'd rather skip.

I had hoped to have some lovely photos of the totally kickin' udon and tofu noodle soup I made last night, but, alas, the teenager took my camera to camp for a school trip and I screwed up something during the download from Olivia's camera. So, no photos, but I will tell you this: Udon noodle soup is delicious, whether you are vegetarian or not (it's actually vegan). In fact, it's so good it's a favorite with four out of five in our household, carnivores included.

It starts out with a shitake mushroom "dashi," or broth, made by simmering dried shitakes with slices of ginger and a little soy sauce. Once that's done -- after 15 minutes of simmer and 15 minutes of steeping. You pull out the ginger and prepare to make the rest of the soup. At that point you add rice wine vinegar, sake or sherry, mirin, more ginger, and soy sauce, and simmer. Meanwhile, you boil the udon noodles (You can also use soba noodles). When things are close to done, you add some cubed tofu and edamame to the soup and stir in a little light miso. When the noodles are done, drain and add to the soup. Top with chopped scallions and toasted sesame seeds. Delicious. If you want specific amounts, email me or leave me a note in comments and I'll get you the recipe.

Tonight we opted for homemade hummus with store-bought pita chips and leftover udon noodle soup. A fairly simple dinner (see photo above) after a cold night at the soccer field. Both girls declared the hummus the best they've ever tasted and asked to take the leftovers for lunch tomorrow, so that was nice. Pretty basic recipe from Mark Bittman, although I changed it up. I can't help it. I just can't leave well enough alone when it comes to recipes. I decreased the tahini and olive oil. I think it worked out fine. So it was basically a can of chick peas (drained), 1/4 cup of tahini, a good pour of olive oil, two cloves of garlic, slightly less than a tablespoon of cumin, juice of one lemon all whirred in the food processor. I added a little water to thin it, added some salt and pepper, and topped with fresh chopped parsley and a drizzle of olive oil. It can't touch my friend Michele's hummus, which really is the best I've ever tasted, but it came close.

So that's it from here. We're eating hummus and tofu. Dennis is dining at Manhattan restaurants. I think we both know who's got the better deal this week. On the other hand, Noah's eating camp food. So I guess it all evens out.

Have a great weekend. Eat some great food. Drink some great wine, or even some mediocre wine. But whatever you do, enjoy!

Manic Monday: September is in full swing

2011-09-12T08:05:00.010-04:00

First full week of school. Not sure how the big kids are going to continue carrying backpacks filled to overflowing with notebooks of every shape and size. Back when I was a kid, you had one binder with dividers for each subject. Now they need big binders for every single subject.

Olivia needed eight dividers for her French notebook alone. Noah needed seven in his science notebook. What, exactly, are they going to be dividing into so many sections? Stay tuned...We'll probably need the name of a good chiropractor within a month or so.

So here's what's happening on this Manic Monday...

Soundtrack: Still listening to religious music, a remnant of my retreat drive. I had used my eight hours of driving (total) to extend my retreat, so I listened to religious music and a Henri Nouwen talk on the "Spirituality of Waiting" on the way out and more religious music on the way back. Nothing else. I'm still in that mindset, so the van radio is set to a Christian station, believe it or not.

Bookshelf: Still working my way through The Genesee Diary by Henri Nouwen, which has taken on such special meaning since my retreat at the Abbey of the Genesee and my meeting with Brother Christian, who is mentioned in this book.

Just took The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis out of the library. I've never read this classic. Not sure when I'm going to find time to fit it in, but I'm going to give it a shot.

Viewfinder:

Noah's first day of high school/Lab School. That easel has been our first-day photo spot since he was in preschool. It's a little worse for wear, thanks to Chiara, but we're keeping the tradition as long as we can (much to Noah's chagrin).

Olivia's first day of middle school. Lots of firsts around here this year.

Chiara's first day of first grade.

Every morning Fred the Cat comes into the kitchen and hops up to this window to see what's going on outside. He prefers when the window is open. He thinks he's a person.

Appointment Book: Another crazy week ahead. Chiara starts ballet/tap/jazz dance class; Olivia starts hip hop. Noah goes on a three-day "retreat" with Lab School. Open houses, doctor and dentist appointments, dessert nights and more. Somehow, in the midst of all that, I'm going to try to maintain at least a little daily silence for prayer and spiritual reading. And sanity.

Thought for the day:

"There is no time with God. A thousand years, a single day: it is all one." 2Peter 3:8

9/11: A look back 10 years later

2011-09-11T08:46:00.000-04:00

Here's the Life Lines column I wrote 10 years ago, in the days following 9/11. So much has changed in the past decade. 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

Reflections on Genesee: the lessons unfold

2011-09-10T08:29:00.006-04:00

Is it possible a full week has gone by since I was on retreat at the Abbey of the Genesee? Time moves so quickly, especially when time includes three kids going back to school and the start-up of Daisy scouts, Cadettes, Boy Scouts, soccer, dance and more.

The silence and solitude of the abbey seems so far away right now, and, yet, in a way, it is still will me, which I guess is testament to the fact that this retreat was a powerful experience for me. I'm close to saying "life-changing," but I still haven't decided if that's the truth or just my imagination and ego talking. Things churn slowly after silent retreat, and more things are unknown than known. In the best possible way.

During my days at Genesee, I spent a lot of time sitting on a bench under a willow tree (as seen in the photo right here), staring at the pond and the distant fields and just waiting for that still, small whisper of the Spirit. The awesomeness of God's creation, even when it's baking under a 90-degree day, is so much a part of the prayer experience for me when I'm on retreat. The sunrises and sunsets, the flowers and plants in every stage of blooming or dying back, the animals scurrying around, the moon rising in the night sky -- every single moment seems to speak of the Spirit, something I don't always notice when I'm rushing past the natural beauty of my own backyard.

To be perfectly honest, I've been somewhat quiet about my retreat because I feel protective of what happened there. To speak it would be to diminish it in some way, and so I've been laying low -- staying off Facebook except to post blog links, staying off my own blog except to give factual details rather than spiritual insights. One thing I will say for sure: Everyone should experience one weekend of silence and solitude a year (two, if possible). I felt that way when I went on silent retreat two years ago. I feel it now. Being away from everything, unplugging from the noise and the constant distractions, is good for the body, mind and soul. And if you are willing to let it all go, the Spirit will eventually make itself heard. Not necessarily easily or quickly or loudly, but one way or another, the Spirit will be there.

I'll share one spectacular moment from my retreat. When I first arrived, I wondered what I was doing there. Why not just go home and use the time to clean my house, catch up on work, hang out with Dennis and the kids? There was a moment when I actually considered getting back in the car and just driving east. But I knew that was fear of silence talking, fear of hearing something I might not want to hear. So I stayed and I prayed. And prayed. And many times, despite the beauty of the monks' chanting and the wonder of creation, I felt nothing. But I persisted -- because what else could I do? This was why I was here. I knew it wouldn't be easy.

With each hour of the Divine Office, I could feel myself settling into the rhythm of the day that is the monks' entire life. I looked forward to the next hour, the next Mass, the next chance to sit in the silence of the chapel and wait for the monks to enter and begin their singing and praying. By Sunday morning, I felt at home and was sad to know I was leaving for at least a year. As I stood in the bread store, waiting to buy monk-made cookies for the kids, I couldn't help but feel a little selfish for taking this time for myself when Dennis was home with the kids dealing with real life. Just then, as if to answer the nagging question still hanging around the edges of my mind, an old monk left his post in the "porter" office and came over to me in the store.

"You are doing everything you need to do to make a good retreat," he said, out of nowhere. And right then the Spirit felt closer than it has ever felt.

His name is Brother Christian, and in the silent abbey where contact with the monks is so limited, I was given this rare opportunity, this unexpected gift, right when I needed it most. It was one of the highlights of my retreat because it was an affirmation of my decision to be at the abbey that weekend, and a reminder that even when we don't think we're making progress in prayer, if we are praying at all, that's progress.

I drove home wrapped in this knowledge, with the words of Brother Christian echoing in my head. Then, when I got home, I googled Brother Christian's name because I had promised to send him a copy of my book, Walking Together (which he said he wanted to read). It was then that I realized that "my" Brother Christian was also Henri Nouwen's Brother Christian, the monk he wrote about in Genesee Diary, the monk who helped him when he couldn't keep up with the bread making, the monk who made him a special monastic tunic so that he could feel more at home on his extended stay at the abbey.

And I felt my heart burst open. What absolute grace to be encouraged by this very same monk, to be singled out and prayed for by the man who once encouraged and prayed for Henri Nouwen. It occurred to me that Nouwen gets all the notoriety for his spirituality and his writings, and yet it is the quiet monk like Brother Christian who is silently but powerfully shaping people's spiritual lives, unknown to the rest of the world. I know that my Genesee experience was cemented by the personal connection I now have with those holy monks, some -- like Brother Christian -- who've been living that life of silence and solitude for more than half a century.

More reflections and photos to come tomorrow and in days to come...

"Teach us to count our days aright, that we may gain wisdom of heart." -- Psalm 90

Entering the silence of Genesee: Part 1

2011-09-05T15:32:00.015-04:00

I returned late yesterday from my private weekend retreat at the Abbey of the Genesee in Piffard, N.Y., where I was privileged and blessed to pray the Divine Office and attend Mass with the Cistercian monks who call this abbey home. To be honest, I'm not yet to the point where I'm ready to ramble on and on about my spiritual experience. Silent retreats are like that, at least for me. I want to hold onto that spirit of silence for as long as I can, even in the midst of the chaos of normal life. Right now, spending too much time trying to write my experience when I'm still trying to absorb it all would somehow corrupt the beauty of what happened there. And so much of what happened there is invisible, indescribable and still unknown to me. So I'll try to tell you a bit about the retreat in pictures and descriptions, and then throughout the week I'll be back with reflections and observations.

The photo above is a shot of the front of the abbey, which is a beautiful stone and wood structure where the monks graciously welcome visitors to join them in prayer. The abbey was founded from the famed Trappist Abbey of Gethsemani and is the location written about by Henri Nouwen in The Genesee Diary.

I arrived on Friday afternoon and got my first taste of monastic prayer when I attended Vespers at 4:30 p.m. When you walk through the front door of the abbey, you can turn right to go to the bookstore, bread store (more on that another time) and sitting area where you can rest and look out at the magnificent view. If you turn left, you go down the hallway seen in the photo to the left. This leads to the chapel. Strict silence must be observed once you enter the hallway. Through those doors is the beautiful chapel, with its wood ceiling and stone walls.

Inside the chapel, guests are invited to sit in the stalls facing the monks, separated by a low iron gate. The circular altar is in the center. What a gift to be allowed into this space and to chant the Office along with the monks. A bell rings, the monks rise, one of them knocks on a wood stall to signify it's time to begin and then the low, haunting melodies of the ancient prayers take over. We used the beautiful Abbey Psalter (seen here on the right) to pray throughout the day.

I loved each of the hours for different reasons, but if one stood out, it was Compline, specifically for the end of the hour when the monks turn to face an icon of Mary holding Jesus and chant the Salve Regina. The darkened chapel, two candles flickering under the icon, monks chanting. Can it really get any better than that? Well, perhaps only when you add to it a walk back from the abbey to retreat house just as the sun dips below the corn fields and the horizon right before your eyes.

I managed to make it over to Vigils at 2:25 a.m. on Sunday morning, which, of course, was spectacular for the very fact that while the rest of the world was sleeping, we were softly chanting.

Our retreat guest house was about three-quarters of a mile from the abbey, down a hill and then following a long stretch of field alongside a fairly busy country road. I often found myself wondering where all those pick-ups were speeding off to in the middle of nowhere.

Summer came on full force this weekend with temperatures hovering around 90 all day and well into the evening and no air conditioning. Anywhere. It was more than slightly uncomfortable, and I will admit that Friday was a rough entry period for me. I kept wishing it would be cooler, and then realized part of this retreat would be surrendering to what was instead of wishing for what wasn't. Once I accepted the fact that I'd be dripping with sweat for the next 48 hours, things got much better. (Of course, next time I'll plan for later in the fall or early in the spring.) I figured that with all my trips back and fourth to the abbey for various hours and then my five-mile walk along the greenway behind the retreat center, I clocked about 10 miles of walking on Saturday alone. Good thing I threw in those hiking boots at the last minute.

At the retreat center, I was assigned the "Hermit Room," so named because the guest who gets this room can remain even more isolated than the other retreatants. Although it was much more sparsely appointed than the other guest rooms, it had a private bath/shower and a comfortable rocking chair. I set up my own little sacred space on the desk of my cell. You can see it over there on the right, complete with crucifix, battery-powered candle, a pine cone I found on a morning walk, a copy of the icon from the abbey chapel, St. Francis, Thomas Merton, prayer books, Rosary beads, and some Queen Anne's Lace I picked on my long walk. The shell is obviously from a beach very far from Piffard, but seashells are always part of my sacred space.

Now, if you thought I was kidding about that Hermit Room label, please take a gander at my bed, which appears to be either a short picnic table or a large coffee table with a mattress on it. It was as hard as a board because it was, in fact, a board. (Other guest rooms had typical mattress/boxspring beds.) When I first saw this bed, I groaned. Out loud. Which you aren't supposed to do on a silent retreat. But I will admit that I slept quite soundly, so I guess all that walking paid off.

I didn't spend a whole lot of time in my room anyway since I was either up at the abbey or out on the lovely retreat center grounds or in the small chapel inside the guest house, which was a nice place to pray late at night when I wanted some quiet prayer time without heading out into the darkness. I did that once and decided against it after that. On Saturday morning, at 5:30 a.m. I grabbed my flashlight and reflective vest and walked alone and in total darkness up to the abbey. Longest three-quarters of a mile of my life. I started with my guardian angel and moved right into the Rosary. I didn't have beads. I wasn't even counting. I was just saying Hail Marys and Our Fathers as fast as I could, as if rushing the prayers would get me to that abbey faster. I saw the shadow of at least one large figure lope through my flashlight beam. I'd like to think it was a deer. And then one smaller animal. I opted for imagining a bunny or groundhog over skunk or rabid fox. When I finally saw the beautiful Asian-style lanterns of the abbey, I breathed a sigh of relief and vowed to drive whenever darkness was part of the prayer equation.

I'll bring you more photos and thoughts on my retreat in the days to come, but for now here is a brief video clip of one short piece of my walk to the abbey. It's the last stretch of hill before the abbey comes into view. Forgive the bright sun in your eye; it was almost dusk and the sun was getting pretty low. This clip is not nearly as compelling as Into Great Silence as there is no melting snow, dripping water, or feral cats, just me breathing as I hike up the hill and some occasional crickets chirping in the background. Click the play button below:

Foodie Friday: Nourishment of a different kind

2011-09-02T08:20:00.000-04:00

As you know, I normally reserve this space for whatever I'm cooking -- or ordering at a restaurant. But today it's a Foodie Friday of a different sort. As you read this, I'm making the four-hour drive to the Abbey of the Genesee for a private silent retreat.

It's my first visit to the Cistercian abbey near Rochester (that's the front entrance in the photo above). I called less than two weeks ago to see when they had an opening and lucked out. This weekend of silence is just what I need to end a summer that has verged on insane due to the amount of work I had to do with all three kids at home. (It was no picnic for the kids either.)

To be honest, I am mentally on my way to this retreat even as I write this, so I'll have to save any further blog posting until I get back. I will pray for all my NSS readers while I'm there. Please say a prayer for me as well. Here's where I'll be staying:

I hope the weather holds out so I can explore some of the 1,200+ acres, like this beautiful little spot:

And just in case you think this post is totally unrelated to food, have no fear. Monk Bread is a specialty of the abbey, so I hope to have some for breakfast when I'm there, and I plan to load up the car before I return. I'll let you know if it's as good as everyone says it is.

Manic Monday: The calm after the storm

2011-08-29T08:12:00.009-04:00

It's been quite the weekend. Not much was accomplished, other than staring at the swaying trees outside and praying they didn't land on our power lines. Oh, and The Weather Channel. Lots of wasted time spent listening to national and local people explain for the thousandth time that a flash flood means water moves in quickly. I've got a weather report hangover this morning, as I look at everything I didn't do while waiting for the power to go out and our basement to go under water. And none of it happened.

So here's what is going on this week...

Soundtrack: "Hey Jude" and "Sweet Child O'Mine," both of which Noah was playing for us on the piano last night. Nice.

Bookshelf: The Genesee Diary by Henri Nouwen. I haven't started this one yet, but it is ready and waiting for my own weekend retreat at The Abbey of the Genesee. I leave on Friday for three days of silence and prayer. Woo hoo!

I'm also finally finishing up the last few days of the 12-week program known as The Artist's Way. I've found it really helpful, creatively speaking. Morning Pages have become part of my daily routine, which is some sort of evidence of the strength of this book. I have a really hard time starting new morning routines.

I will maintain and then expand on the morning writing/creativity routine by jumping into a book I mentioned in this space weeks ago, The Artist's Rule, which looks at creativity from a monastic perspective. I plan to start that right around the time I head to Genesee, which seems like perfect timing since I'll be hanging out around monks. That's also a 12-week program. I'll let you know how it's working as I get into the heart of it.

Viewfinder:

This was our view at the start of the week,
sitting on the sands of Long Beach Island, N.J.

By Saturday morning, Our Lady of Guadalupe was stored in the shed, along with all of our other outside chairs and such. She may be the Mother of God, but she's not taking any chances in a hurricane.

We lucked out. No power outage. Just lots of small branches down. Here's the deck the morning after. The tarp? Well, believe it or not, our deck was painted one day before the hurricane and we were attempting to protect it from the very severe drip line that develops due to rain/snow/ice. Two things on our shopping list: a generator and gutters for the top roof line.

Appointment book: This will be a very busy week between work and kid stuff. I've got a bunch of jobs to finish before I head to my retreat and lots of back-to-school shopping that still needs to get done. On top of that, I'm checking day by day to see if I have to report for jury duty. Ugh. So far so good, but it's only Monday. Fingers crossed I don't get called in because that will just throw life into a total turmoil here.

Have a good one. Prayers for those who are suffering in the aftermath of Hurricane Irene.

For moms everywhere, on the Feast of St. Monica

2011-08-27T15:42:00.003-04:00

Just about one year ago, when I spent 11 days in Rome, I had the chance to visit the Church of St. Augustine (seen here) multiple times since it was just around the corner from Santa Croce University, where I was attending a seminar for journalists.

In this beautiful church, complete with an altar and angels by Bernini and paintings by Raphael and Caravaggio, is the tomb of St. Augustine's mother, Monica, whose feast we celebrate today.

I knelt before her tomb, so grateful just to be in Rome, and whispered prayers for all the moms who had asked me to remember their intentions while I was in the Eternal City. And I prayed for mothers everywhere, because no matter what our background, no matter how much we do, we often think its not enough, that we are not enough.

So today, as then, I am remembering all the moms I know and those I don't, praying we find the patience and strength we need to live out our vocations fully and joyfully and that we also have eyes to see not only where we think we fall short but where we are doing our best -- teaching our children, serving our families, trusting in God -- day after day, year after year.

I remembered all of you this morning as I said Morning Prayer, and I will remember you again in just a little while when I go to Mass. Please remember me in your prayers as well. And let us turn to St. Monica for comfort when we do come up against those hard times and wonder how we will get through. She was living proof that the power of persistent prayer can change lives -- our own and those of our children.

Riding the waves of prayer

2011-08-24T08:22:00.003-04:00

When I'm sitting on the beach, staring out at the Atlantic Ocean, I can't help but hear prayers of praise echoing in my head along with the crashing waves. The power of the ocean is unsettling and comforting all at once, and for me there is something deeply spiritual about that.

The endless beauty, stretching out to the horizon line is a glimmer of eternity. The soft sand wiped clean of our footprints as the water rushes back to the sea is a reminder of just how fleeting life on this earth really is. The joy on my children's faces as they ride the waves or collect shells in a bucket or follow a seagull along the water's edge is like prayer in motion as I watch them revel in what God has made.

Go outside today, if you can, or look out your home or office window, wherever that may be, and find the joy and wonder that awaits you. And hear these words from the Book of Daniel:

Bless the Lord, all you works of the Lord,
praise and exalt him above all forever.

Angels of the Lord, bless the Lord.
You heavens, bless the Lord.
All you waters above the heavens, bless the Lord.

All you hosts of the Lord, bless the Lord.
Sun and moon, bless the Lord.
Stars of heaven, bless the Lord.
Shower and dew, bless the Lord.
All you winds, bless the Lord.

Fire and heat, bless the Lord.
Cold and chill, bless the Lord.
Dew and rain, bless the Lord.
Frost and chill, bless the Lord.
Ice and snow, bless the Lord.
Nights and days, bless the Lord.
Light and darkness, bless the Lord.
Lightnings and clouds, bless the Lord.

Let the earth bless the Lord,
praise and exalt him above all forever.

Mountains and hills, bless the Lord.
Everything growing on earth, bless the Lord.
You springs, bless the Lord.
Seas and rivers, bless the Lord.

You dolphins and all water creatures, bless the Lord.
All you birds of the air, bless the Lord.
All you beasts, wild and tame, bless the Lord.

You sons of men, bless the Lord...
praise and exalt him above all forever. Daniel 3:57-82

Manic Monday: A whole lot of nothing

2011-08-22T15:46:00.002-04:00

I had hoped to make this a visual post, but, alas, I forgot my camera cord so there's no way to get the photos from there to here. Some other time.

In lieu of that, just a few notes...

Bookshelf: I'm still working my through -- more like savoring -- The Journal Keeper by Phyllis Theroux. One gem after another here, especially for those who write and/or have a spiritual bent. Jackpot for me.

Weekly Wisdom:

"I thought about how most of us are asleep while waking, how we open and shut our mouths making conversation, but we are still asleep." -- The Journal Keeper

Soundtrack: Atlantic Ocean. Nothing like the sound of waves crashing on the shore again and again and again.

Viewfinder: Oh, if only you could see what I see. Sand and surf and seagulls and sailboats. Blue sky and water stretching on forever.

Appointment book: Nothing official. Unfortunately, there's too much work packed in with the sunscreen and beach hat. I'm going to try to keep that to a minimum.

Foodie Friday: A breakfast of biblical proportions

2011-08-19T08:22:00.006-04:00

My breakfast this morning consisted of bread based on a Bible verse and preserves made by monks. Surely I'm going to have some sort of special day, right? At the very least, how about I don't gain a pound overnight, as seems to be the case in middle age?

So let me tell you about my Bible-based breakfast, which actually has nothing to do with spirituality and every thing to do with health and good taste.

First, the health. I originally heard of Ezekiel 4:9 bread, when I read "The Best Life Diet" by Bob Greene, food guru to Oprah Winfrey. Curious about the name, I searched it out and found it in the freezer section of the health food aisle of our local Hannaford's grocery store. Made by Food for Life, it is an organic sprouted whole grain bread based on an Old Testament Scripture verse:

"Take also unto thee wheat, and barley, and beans, and lentils, and millet, and spelt, and put them in one vessel, and make bread of it." Ezekiel 4:9

So there you have it. Those are the ingredients, with some additional stuff for variety. I'm partial to the sesame version, but you can also get regular whole grain, cinnamon raisin and more. It's quite tasty, especially when you top it with natural peanut butter or Trappist jam, which brings us to our next Foodie Friday point.

If you love Trappist jams (and who doesn't), get thee to The Christmas Tree Shop immediately. I'm normally not a fan of this store. In fact, whenever I go there, I usually leave muttering to myself and swearing I will never go back. But back I went, looking for something else, and lo and behold, there before me was the Trappist pot of gold. A pile, a boatload of Trappist jam in every flavor imaginable. At a very good price. I left with a dozen jars of jam and plan to go back. I got everything from the obvious -- blueberry, strawberry, seedless blackberry -- to the sublime -- Kadota fig and strawberry/rhubarb. Kadota fig? Who even knows what that is? But I bought it. Because how could I not. It's amazing. I had it just a little while ago on my Ezekiel 4:9 sesame bread. Yum.

Between early morning yoga, Morning Prayer, and my biblical breakfast, I'm feeling very holy this morning. What's on your menu -- food or otherwise -- today?

Manic Monday: Life in music, words and pictures

2011-08-15T08:47:00.010-04:00

It's a lovely rainy and cool August day here in the northeast, the kind of day that makes you want to curl up with a good book while the drops pitter patter against the windows. If only. I'm in my basement office instead, far from the sound of rain. Where is your day going to take you? What's on tap for the week ahead? Here's where I've been and where I'm going...

Soundtrack: Wicked, in particular the song "Popular." It hasn't been my choice, although I certainly don't mind. The girls have been blasting Popular for days, and dancing around the basement as if they're on a Broadway stage. Olivia and I went to see Wicked on Broadway last month, courtesy of her Grandma Mary Ann and Aunt Alison. Obviously, it left a lasting impression. Actually, I used "For Good," from the Wicked soundtrack for a spiritual friendship retreat I gave back in May. Great music from a great show.

Bookshelf: The Journal Keeper: A Memoir by Phyllis Theroux. I just started this book, on the recommendation of a friend of a friend on Facebook. I borrowed it from our library, but I already know that I will buy this book because I'll need to go back and re-read it, or at least portions of it, now and then. I find myself re-reading even now, only 37 pages in. So much here to savor. It's a wonderful reminder that even the mundane moments of our lives can be magical. Theroux certainly makes them feel that way.

Blog Bits: Kathy Schiffer over at Seasons of Grace gives us some nice food for thought regarding yesterday's Gospel and Jesus' "mean streak." Why couldn't Jesus have been "friendlier, more loving, more Christ-like?" Kathy asks. Click HERE and find out the answer.

Weekly Wisdom: "Taking a new step, uttering a new word is what people fear most." -- Fydor Dostoyevski

Appointment book: Lots of chore-type stuff this week -- eye doctor, orthodontist, hair cuts, school shopping -- on top of the regular work. And yet I am managing to keep up with my daily Morning Pages (part of the 12-week journey of The Artist's Way) and Morning Prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours. Slowly but surely these things are becoming so engrained in my daily morning ritual that I would miss them too much to skip them. That's some kind of major breakthrough for me, even if it might seem minor in the grand scheme of things. Bit by bit, that's how we grow. Baby steps.

Viewfinder:
Middle child demonstrates her archery skills at the Heldeberg Workshops.

Fresh fruit from Our Family's Harvest of Stanton Farms. The muskmelon was out of this world. Then again, so was everything else.

Our Lady of Guadalupe is a favorite resting place for our backyard squirrels.

Foodie Friday: Go visit these foodie blogs

2011-08-12T09:07:00.004-04:00

Today I thought I'd share with you some of my favorite food-related blogs. Go visit these sites and try a recipe or two. You won't be disappointed:

Bleeding Espresso -- Actually, you need to go to this site whether you cook or not. So much great stuff, not only about food but also about Italy, living simply, and much, much more. And the photos? Just breathtaking. So go. Now. It will be like taking a mini vacation in Calabria.

The Pioneer Woman -- Another great foodie blog that is about so much more than food. Sure you can get a recipe for spicy beans or red velvet cake (with photos to guide you through every step of the recipe), but you'll also find tips on home decorating, gardening, homeschooling, entertainment, and yet more beautiful photos. I'll give you a few minutes while you go there and come back here for the next suggestion.

Milkbreath & Margaritas -- Although this site looks like it's going through some revamping, check out the "Mouthwatering Monday" section for some great recipes. Bourbon chocolate mousse. Need I say more?

Global Vegan Kitchen -- Pretty self-explanatory, no? I have Vegan Planet by Robin Roberston (Global Vegan is her site), and I just love it. If you're looking for a great vegan cookbook, get that one. And, if nothing else, whether you're vegan or not, make the sweet potato/black bean enchiladas. Heaven.

Mark Bittman -- As I have mentioned in at least one previous post, Mark Bittman (aka The Minimalist) has become my food guru. Every recipe of his I've made has been perfection, from the risotto-stuffed Swiss chard to lentils with stuck pot rice. I don't just love his recipes and his minimalist style, I love his food philosophy. Join the cult.

That's it for today. I'll be back next Friday with a recipe or review. Ciao.

Manic Monday: I wish it were Sunday

2011-08-08T07:22:00.011-04:00

Here we are at the start of another week. It's just another Manic Monday...

Soundtrack: Perfect for a Manic Monday, two songs on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum: Good Life by One Republic and Let the Waters Rise by Mikeschair. The latter is a Christian song that I first heard when my Cornerstone sister Lenore used it at our retreat. I just love it, and sometimes it's a perfect fit for my mood, my day, my journey. I've posted it on NSS before. If you'd like to listen, click HERE.

Bookshelf: Still working my way through The Artist's Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity. I've got a couple of weeks to go. I'm hanging in there with my daily Morning Pages, and it's finally starting to become a habit. A good one.

But...I just got a copy of The Artist's Rule: Nurturing Your Creative Soul with Monastic Wisdom and, after reading the introduction, I can't wait to start this one. I've decided to do it right, however. So I'm waiting until I finish the first 12-week book before I dig into the next 12-week book.

I can think of several NSS reader friends who might like this book, so if you're in the Delmar area and want to get a copy and join me on this journey starting in September, email me and we can get a group thing going. Wouldn't that be fun?

Blogworthy: Related to the Artist's Rule, check out author Christine Valter Paintner's blog and website, Abbey of the Arts, by clicking HERE.

Quotables: "What other people think of me is none of my business." - Dr. Wayne Dyer (Oh, to be able to believe and live that one.)

Appointment book: We've got quite the full slate this week with Noah away at Boy Scout camp, Olivia heading to archery camp, and Chiara taking a camp called Walking the Native American Path. Add in a visit from a friend, family night at Boy Scout camp and two birthday parties on top of everything else and you've got one busy summer week.

Viewfinder: Here are a few scenes from the past week...

Vicky, an unbelievably beautiful chestnut mare at Krumkill Stables where Olivia was attending horseback riding camp. There were lots of horses there, but I only had eyes for this one. She looked right through me, like she was peering into my soul.

Check out this wonder of nature. A family of dirt daubers has taken up residence next to our front door. They finished the fourth tube of the nest yesterday. It's so beautiful I don't have the heart to get rid of it.

Things that make you go hmmm...You probably can't read the sign unless you click on the photo to enlarge, but it says: "Construction vehicle. Do not follow." Not "do not follow within 50 feet" or "do not follow too closely," just "do not follow." Well, since it cut me off, I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to do. Turn around and go home? Turn right just for the heck of it.? Stop? So I did the next logical thing, I followed and took pictures.

Remembering the power of one small life

2011-08-06T08:58:00.002-04:00

For the past few days I've been looking at the numbers on the calendar, growing more and more introspective as we inched closer to August 6. It was 13 years ago today that I learned that the baby I was carrying, my second baby, had died 11 weeks into my pregnancy.

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

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

With that same mother's intuition, no matter how busy or stressed I am, no matter how many other things I seem to forget as I drive my other three children to and fro, I never forget this anniversary. It is imprinted on my heart. As the date nears, I feel a stillness settling in, a quiet place amid the chaos reserved just for this baby, the one I never to got hold, the one I call Grace.

Three years ago, when I posted about this day, I talked about how Grace had shaped our family by her absence rather than her presence. I am very much aware of the fact that life would be very different had she lived. She managed to leave her mark on us, even without taking a breath. She lingers here, not only in my heart but around the edges of our lives -- especially the lives of our two girls who followed her. I know them because I did not know Grace. What a sorrowful and yet beautiful impact she had on us.

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

Sundials and solstice disks at St. Peter's

2011-08-05T15:13:00.005-04:00

When I went to Rome in September, my watch stopped working on my first day in the Eternal City. My initial reaction was to run out and, through pointing and gestures and lots of "grazies," try to buy a new one. Then I decided to take the Roman approach and not worry so much about time.

Turns out I never had to worry at all. St. Peter's Square is equipped with its own sundial, as well as markers to indicate the solstices and even the days when the sun enters various signs of the zodiac.

From a CNS story by Carol Glatz:

Hidden among the paving stones of St. Peter's Square there is a simple clock and calendar. All you need is a sunny day.

The 83-foot stone obelisk in the middle of the square acts as a sundial that can accurately indicate midday and the two solstices thanks to a granite meridian and marble markers embedded in the square.

Pope Benedict XVI proudly pointed out the hidden timepiece during an Angelus address he gave on the winter solstice a few years ago.

"The great obelisk casts its shadow in a line that runs along the paving stones toward the fountain beneath this window and in these days, the shadow is at its longest of the year," he told pilgrims from the window of his library.

In fact, at noon on Dec. 21, the obelisk's shadow falls on the marble disk furthest from the obelisk's base, while at noon on June 21 -- the summer solstice -- the tip of the shadow will fall just a few yards from the obelisk. In between are five other disks marking when the sun enters into which sign of the zodiac.

A long, thin granite strip running from the obelisk toward the pope's window and through one of the fountains acts as the meridian: a line that indicates when the sun has reached true or solar noon and is at its highest point in the sky.

The pope, in his solstice soliloquy, reminded people that the church has always been keenly interested in astronomy to help guide and establish fundamental liturgical days and the times of prayer such as the Angelus, which is recited in the morning, at noon and in the evening. While sunrise and sunset are easy to figure out, sundials could accurately tell midday, he said.

The CNS story also points out that at the Basilica of St. Mary of the Angels and Martyrs, Pope Clement XI even had an astronomer build meridians to mark not only the noon hour but to "to make highly accurate celestial observations and solve complex astronomical problems."

More from the CNS story:

John Heilbron, emeritus professor of history at the University of California, Berkeley, told Catholic News Service that St. Mary of the Angels "could do things you couldn't do with telescopes at the time" like find out precise information about the inclination of the Earth's axis.

Heilbron, who wrote "The Sun in the Church: Cathedrals as Solar Observatories," said the basilica's meridian was also used "to establish a very good value for the length of the year."

It's fascinating stuff. And the facts once again give lie to the argument that the Church is opposed to science. Read the full story HERE.

Foodie Friday: Adding zest to life, or at least to a really good salad

2011-08-05T09:00:00.001-04:00

I was standing at the counter making a salad the other day when Chiara walked in and asked what I was doing.

"I'm zesting this lemon," I told her.

"What's zest?" she asked.

And so I explained how I was taking the very top layer of rind off the lemon without getting any of the bitter white pith underneath.

And then she asked the $64,000 question: "What if someone doesn't have a zester?"

I gasped. No one should be without a zester! How would I add lemon zest to the fabulous Mediterranean Orzo Salad I'm about to share with you, or the lime zest that gives such kick to my favorite quinoa salad? I don't want to think about it.

Your assignment this week is to go get a zester, if you don't already have one, and if you do, for goodness sake, go buy some lemons and get zesting!

Here's where I put my most recent zest:

Mediterranean Orzo Salad

16 ounces orzo or other small pasta
¼ cup olive oil
⅓ cup plus 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
2 tablespoons grated lemon zest
¼ cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 cups Kalamata olives, chopped
2 pints grape tomatoes, halved lengthwise
1 large red onion, finely chopped
½ cup lightly packed chopped fresh parsley leaves
1 cup feta cheese, crumbled
freshly ground black pepper
pinch of sea salt

1. Bring a pot of water to boil, and add salt and orzo. Stir and cook until al dente. Drain well in a mesh strainer, then pour hot orzo into the mixing bowl.

2.While the orzo cooks, stir together the olive oil, red wine vinegar, lemon zest, and lemon juice in the small bowl. Pour the mixture over the hot orzo and toss. Allow it to sit for about 5 minutes. Stir occasionally.

3.Add the olives, grape tomatoes, onion, and parsley, and stir well. Season with fresh ground pepper and a pinch of sea salt.

4. Just before serving, stir in feta cheese. Serve salad warm, cold, or at room temperature.

On my food radar this week:

I was scrolling around various blogs and following links from one to another and came across a blog called Not Without Salt and this picture of grilled brie topped with fresh figs and honey. Doesn't it look amazing?

I say that despite the fact that I have never in my life had a fresh fig. My Italian family always used to have figs at holiday meals, but I never tried them. And they weren't fresh. But this picture makes me want to run out and buy a fig tree. I do love brie, and love the idea of grilling it on my panini press even more. And I've got that new jar of Delmar honey just looking for a recipe and a big pot of thyme growing on my back deck. So, really, all I need are those figs.

I'm determined to give this one a try some time soon, although I do have this irrational (?) fear of the brie melting all over the panini press. I'll let you know what happens. If you want to beat me to it, go for it. Here's the recipe.

What's on your food radar this week?

The answer to one of life's greatest questions

2011-08-04T14:08:00.002-04:00

When this little hen walked over to my car and stared up into my open driver's side window, I thought I was finally going to uncover one of the biggest secrets of all time: Why did the chicken cross the road?

Alas, this chicken wasn't talking. She clucked a little, but I couldn't make heads or tails of it. I will say this: Based on my observations of her slow and somewhat erratic movements, her goal was, in fact, simply to get to the other side.

Come with me if you want to pray

2011-08-04T08:00:00.000-04:00

We're going on a field trip today. Over to Huffington Post, where you'll find me writing about prayer. Just call me HuffPoust. Why the foray so far afield? Well, HuffPo invited me to write about prayer in connection with my newest book, The Essential Guide to Catholic Prayer and the Mass. So today I'm covering "What's the Point of Prayer?" I'll start you off here and let you continue over there:

By Mary DeTurris Poust
Most of us, at one time or another, send up a prayer and hope against hope for the answer we want. And more often than not, we wait and wonder, as we continually check our spiritual inbox for some sort of sign, if perhaps our prayer fell on deaf ears, or on any ears at all. Hello? Is this thing on?

Unfortunately, prayer is not like a gumball machine. We don't put our prayers in and then wait with cupped hands for the correct response to come pouring out.

Prayer can be a tricky thing, even for those who do it religiously, so to speak. We can get the feeling we're not doing it right or that we have to be holier in order to pray. Not the case. Blessed Pope John Paul II once said: "How to pray? This is a simple matter. I would say: Pray any way you like so long as you pray."

So on that note, let's look at the five most common questions people ask me about prayer:

1. My life is already so jam-packed with responsibilities. How can I add daily prayer to the list?
Prayer is not meant to be a chore and certainly shouldn't become one more stress. Continue reading HERE.

When just beginning is enough

2011-08-03T07:40:00.006-04:00

"The grace to be a beginner is always the best prayer for an artist. The beginner's humility and openness lead to exploration. Exploration leads to accomplishment. All of it begins at the beginning, with the first small and scary step." -- Julia Cameron, The Artist's Way

I've been working my way through The Artist's Way: A Spiritual Path to Creativity, a book I first gave to my brother years and years ago, and then borrowed back, and then left on a shelf for about the last five years. It's a 12-week process of focusing on creativity and trying to unblock the stuff that's been pushed down over the years by the things we come to believe about ourselves.

I have to admit that many days, when I sat down to do my "Morning Pages," a daily writing requirement that's part of the book, I thought: "This is stupid. This is a waste of time. This won't get me anywhere." But since Cameron warns that it's likely you'll feel exactly that way as you begin this process, I stuck it out. Not always in a straight line from one day to the next, from one week to the next, but here I am in Week 8, which felt, at the outset, like a totally useless chapter for me. And then, lo and behold, as I sat down this morning, mumbling that the reading would be pointless, I came upon that quote at the top of this post: "The grace to be a beginner is always the best prayer for an artist."

And I felt myself open a bit. And I continued reading, and with every line more and more this chapter seemed to be just what I needed to read. Funny how that works. So back to the quote and why it stopped me in my tracks.

I'm not good at being a beginner. I want to be an expert from Day One. No matter what I'm doing. Even when I'm doing something I've never done before. Not sure where that mentality comes from, but, boy, is it a stumbling block. To expect perfection in everything is a surefire path to "failure," or to not trying at all. Often times, when we expect -- demand -- perfection, we do nothing instead. Doing nothing rather than doing something less than perfect is really a very poor choice. But, sadly, it is a frequent choice for far too many of us.

And yet, and yet, and yet. I often will throw myself into the craziest things I have no business trying. (Of course, Cameron would say that thinking I have no business trying something new and unusual is exactly the kind of attitude that keeps us from being creative.) For example, last night was my third hip hop class, a ridiculous activity for a 48-year-old non-dancer who wants to be perfect at everything. So I guess somewhere under the facade is a willingness to be be un-perfect in order to try something new, to be a beginner. Maybe it's the fact that hip hop is such an outrageous choice for someone like me that it's obvious I have no chance to be perfect, so the pressure is off. Much easier, say, than something that might involve anything I actually have had lessons or classes or background in -- singing, guitar, fiction writing, praying.

The grace to be a beginner....What thing have you always wanted to do that might open you up to that kind of grace?

When I read that line this morning, even though it was related to "art," I immediately associated it with prayer. Because there, too, I need the willingness and the grace to be a beginner, not to expect too much too soon, to sit there and be open to whatever might unfold, to come back day after day even when it feels like I'm not progressing and just practice my "craft," the craft of praying.

This week has been a good week for me in that department. I'm closing in on almost a full week of praying Morning Prayer of the Liturgy of the Hours, which is big for me. I usually get frustrated and give up for one reason or another. But this week, in the early morning hours before anyone else is awake, I work on my two MPs -- Morning Pages and Morning Prayer -- out on the deck or in the sun porch. And slowly, slowly I have found a rhythm there that feels right, one I hope I can keep up for good. And as soon as that thought enters my mind, I realize I'm heading right back to the quest for perfection instead of living in this moment, praying in this moment one day at a time. "Don't worry about tomorrow..." (Mt 6:34)

The grace to be a beginner...Find one thing today and simply begin. No long-range goal in mind, no image of perfection in your mind's eye. Just begin at the beginning and see what wonderful, unexpected places it takes you.

Manic Monday: the first of many

2011-08-01T07:45:00.007-04:00

As a complement to my new Foodie Friday weekly post, I've decided to add in Manic Monday, sort of like bookends for the weekend. What's Manic Monday? It's a bunch of quick blasts that will cover different topics, from music I'm listening to and books I'm reading to photos and interesting quotes. It's a blog buffet. All you can read.

Soundtrack...Adele, Adele and more Adele, courtesy of my two girls, who love, love, love this young and talented artist. Specifically they play and replay Rolling in the Deep, Rumor Has It, and Turning Tables. I've got cool kids.

Bookshelf...I just finished Everything Beautiful Began After: A Novel by Simon Van Booy. I discovered this book by accident in a shop at the Orlando airport when our flight was delayed for hours and hours -- a reminder that having a book on a shelf where people can catch an interesting cover, feel the pages, read a few paragraphs is how you sell books. I never would have found this book just scrolling around Amazon. I loved it -- beautiful, poetic, thoughtful. Everything I want in a good novel.

Favorite line: "Loneliness is like being the only person left alive in the universe, except that everyone else is still here."

I'm also re-reading I Will Not Die an Unlived Life by Dawna Markova. This is an amazing book about living life to the fullest and being true to yourself and the people you love. I couldn't pick a favorite line from this one because the whole dang thing is my favorite. If you could see it, you'd know by the ridiculous amount of underlining throughout.

Viewfinder...A scene from Chiara's sixth birthday party at Del Lanes. Thirteen kids, four lanes, three pizzas, one cake, lots of fun. This one captures all three of my kids in motion, and yet none of them are actually bowling:

Roll tape...This weekend I finally got around to watching Of Gods and Men, the true story of a group of Cistercian monks living in Algeria under the threat of death by Muslim extremists. I won't tell you much more about the plot because I don't want to post any spoilers. I will say this, as I said on Facebook this weekend: I wish everyone I know could see this film. It is an incredibly powerful film about courage, faith and love. If you've ever wanted to know what's the big deal about the Catholic faith, what that faith looks like at its very best, watch this movie. Even if you don't like movies with subtitles. It's a truly beautiful film. By the time I got to the scene near the end where they are listening to Swan Lake and taking a sip of wine, I was sobbing.

Mangia...Cross another item off our Beach Bucket List. We finally had homemade waffles and ice cream. Doesn't this look yummy?

Mass as it must have been in the beginning

2011-07-30T11:34:00.009-04:00

My friend Bill (aka Msgr. William Benwell, vicar general of the Diocese of Metuchen, N.J.) was up for a visit and asked if he could celebrate Mass at our house. I was only too happy to oblige. While he's celebrated Mass at a vacation rental for us in North Wildwood, N.J., we've yet to have Mass in our own home.

As we were sitting and praying together, gathered so close to the altar, I couldn't help but imagine how our experience must have been very similar to what it was like to worship together in the early days of Christianity, when disciples gathered in homes to share a meal and celebrate their new faith.

So here are some shots of our home-grown liturgy. That's our living room coffee table altar above.

Celebrant and congregation.

An interactive homily on St. Martha, whose feast day we were celebrating.

Noah was the lector. Olivia and Chiara were altar servers. A first for Chiara. And I was minister of the cup, another first.

Foodie Friday: The start of something delicious

2011-07-29T07:58:00.008-04:00

If you've been reading Not Strictly Spiritual with any regularity, you know when I veer off the spiritual posting path, it's often to talk about food -- food I'm making, food I'm eating, food I'm craving. You get the idea.

So, today I'm launching my new weekly food-focused post: Foodie Friday. Every Friday I'll write about food. Some weeks it will be a recipe, some weeks a review, some weeks a picture. This doesn't mean I can't blog about food other days of the week, just that I'm committing to blog about food at least one day a week. This week you'll get all three -- recipe, review and photo. What a deal.

I thought today was the perfect day to launch Foodie Friday since it's the feast of St. Martha (Look at that! It's about spirituality AND food. It just gets better and better.) You remember St. Martha. She's the one who gets a bad rap for cooking and cleaning and serving dinner while her layabout sister, Mary, sat at Jesus' feet and just listened. Okay, maybe that's not quite scripturally accurate, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it. I may be a Mary in name, but I am absolutely a Martha in spirit.

Today I wanted to tell you about my foray into a basic Italian food that is so simple and yet so overlooked: polenta. It's peasant food, really, but as with so much good, cheap peasant food (see last week's zucchini blossom post), our society manages to remake its image and charge way too much for it. But you can make delicious polenta at home for very little money, especially if you buy it in bulk at a health store like the Honest Weight Food Co-op (for Capital Region folks).

Here's how I made my polenta. It's a recipe I adapted from How to Cook Everything Vegetarian by Mark Bittman, my food guru. I changed it up a bit and served it topped with broccoli rabe that I blanched briefly and then sauteed in olive oil with sliced garlic, which is how I cook almost all of our vegetables. (What can I say, I'm Italian and my kids fight over who gets the garlic slices.)

Creamy Polenta with Garlic and Cheese

1/2 cup milk, preferably whole, although I used skim with a splash of half and half
2 cups water
Salt
1 cup coarse cornmeal
I tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 spring fresh rosemary chopped, or a teaspoon of dried rosemary
1 teaspoon of chopped garlic
1 tablespoon of butter
Grated Parmesan cheese

Combine milk and water with large pinch of salt in a saucepan over medium heat. When it's close to a boil, add the polenta in a steady stream, whisking the whole time to keep away the nasty lumps. Add the rosemary.

Turn the heat down to a simmer and keep whisking until the polenta gets thick -- about 10 or 15 minutes. If it starts to look too thick too soon, add a little water. (I did this. I was fine.)

Add the butter, cheese, garlic and stir. Grind some pepper into it to taste. Serve immediately as a side dish or main course. I doubled this recipe for my hungry family and used it as a side dish with baked salmon and sauteed broccoli rabe.

Variation: You can make grilled or fried polenta by decreasing the amount of water and making a thicker mixture. Don't add the butter, cheese. I'd probably skip the garlic and rosemary as well for this version. When it's done, spread the polenta on a board and let it cool for a while. Then cut it into slices -- about 1/2 inch thick. Now you can brush the slices with olive oil, salt and pepper and throw them on the grill or into a frying pan.

Mini Restaurant Review of the Week: Swifty's in Delmar

Swifty's replaced Beff's in Delmar a while back. While we'd been to Beff's with some regularity, we hadn't ventured into Swifty's until last weekend. After church at historic St. Mary's in Albany, we tried to find a lunch spot downtown. No luck. Albany is like a ghost town on a Sunday afternoon. So we headed back to Delmar and into Swifty's. We got there around 1 p.m. when a small lunch crowd was starting to arrive. Very small.

First we asked about what beers were on tap (since this is a pub). We were told that no beers were on tap, as the beer was warm and they didn't want to serve warm beer. Well, I applaud them for not wanting to serve warm beer, but, really, NO cold beer on tap in a bar at the start of a lunch hour. Then the waitress didn't even bother to tell us about any good bottled beers we might want to try instead. So we drank water, which was better for us anyway. (Another beer-related pet peeve: They didn't separate out local or regional beers on the blackboards, so if you're from out of town, you might have no idea that Ommegang is Belgian beer made nearby.)

I ordered the fish and chips, as did Dennis. Noah got the cowboy burger. Chiara got the chicken fingers and fries. (Olivia was weekending in the Cape. Excuse me.) So...the fish and chips tasted good at first, but with every oil-soaked bite my stomach began to feel more and more like I was eating lead. At one point when the waitress came over to check on us, both Dennis and I had pieces of fish in napkins, trying blot up some of the grease that was, quite literally, dripping from the fish and from our hands. Not good.

I love a good side dish of coleslaw, but I took one bite of this and warned everyone else off. I thought it might be bad. Perhaps the mayo had suffered the same fate as the beer. Noah's burger -- stacked with onion rings and bacon, yow -- was good, but he said his mac salad tasted weird. I think the only one who didn't complain about the meal was Chiara. Then again, she ate only three or four bites, so that's not exactly a ringing endorsement.

Bottom line: We have no plans to return to Swifty's, even if they decide to chill the beer. Too many other better options.

Okay, that's a rap for the first Foodie Friday post. We'll be back next week with more food fun. And possibly a review of Lombardo's in Albany.

Now THAT'S an Ode to Joy

2011-07-27T09:31:00.005-04:00

This is so much better than the version we do at church. Chiara was smiling from ear to ear when I put this on. H/T to The Ironic Catholic for this silly but satisfying version of Ode.

21 questions for a spiritual midwife

2011-07-25T10:15:00.008-04:00

I have Joyce Rupp's book Open the Door: A Journey to the True Self sitting on my desk next to a blank journal, just waiting for me to dive in. It was recommended to me by one of my dear spiritual mentors, but I've been hesitant to start, perhaps afraid of what I might discover about myself if I work through this book, or what I might feel called to do? I just chalk it up to the usual "I don't have enough time" excuse, but I know it's deeper than that.

Now, having read this great interview with Joyce by Mike Leach of Why Stay Catholic, I'm inspired to begin my journey through Joyce's "Door." He asks her 21 questions about her faith journey, her work and her hope for the Church and the world. What a great way to get to know someone. Here's the first few questions and answers to start you off, with a link to Mike's page for the rest:

1. Joyce, how are you an average Catholic?
I was certainly an average Catholic back in the 1950’s, when I was living on a farm in northwest Iowa. One of eight children, baptized in a small rural Catholic church, I attended a parochial elementary and high school. Today I live with more questions than answers when it comes to Catholicism. Perhaps that still makes me an average Catholic.

2. What is your favorite word?
Hope

3. What is your least favorite word?
I don’t have a least favorite. I find words intriguing.

4. What sound or noise do you love?
Listening to softly falling rain on foliage

5. What sound or noise do you hate?
Motorcycles coming down my street in the middle of the night

6. What is your favorite book?
The Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore

7. Do you have a particular Catholic role model?
Caryll Houselander...

Click HERE to read the rest at Why Stay Catholic.

Catholic bloggers in NY's Capital Region

2011-07-23T16:52:00.005-04:00

The latest issue of The Evangelist, the Diocese of Albany's weekly newspaper, included a story on local Catholic bloggers, and I was on the list.

Here's a snippet from the story by Angela Cave:

Among the thousands of Catholic bloggers populating the Internet with thoughts on spirituality, politics and the Church are several well-known residents of the Albany Diocese.

Mary DeTurris Poust is the author of several books on spirituality and a column that appears in two newspapers. A parishioner of St. Thomas the Apostle Church in Delmar, she writes a personal blog called “Not Strictly Spiritual” (http://notstrictlyspiritual.blogspot.com) in addition to contributing regularly to Our Sunday Visitor newspaper’s daily blog(http://osvdailytake.com).

As many as 2,000 people read her posts at Our Sunday Visitor; about 100 follow Not Strictly Spiritual.

“Sometimes, it’s the oddest thing that will catch somebody’s attention,” said Mrs. DeTurris Poust, offering the examples of posts on a religion-themed episode of the “Glee” TV show and on an artsy statue of Blessed Pope John Paul II.

The blogger gets the biggest response when she exposes her vulnerability and helps readers on their own spiritual journeys.

Common topics include hindrances to her spiritual life, reflections on retreats and Bible readings, thoughts about liturgical seasons and an annual post about her miscarriage.

“People want that connection to other people when they’re hurting or going through a rough time,” she said. “I think that’s when my blog is at its best.”

On the other hand, “if you want a pesto recipe, I’ll give you that,” she added.

Some of her posts chronicle the lives of her husband and three children in words and photos, while others dissect the spiritual aspects of ordinary tasks.

One of Mrs. DeTurris Poust’s favorite blog entries explored her quest to survive the chore of doing laundry with a smile on her face, in a show of love for her family.

Yet another sought to find serenity in a bowl of oatmeal: “I want to become more aware of the connection between the fast-paced, non-thinking eating that I do and the fast-paced, non-thinking living that I do — and the praying that I don’t do,” she wrote.

But when she’s not in a “good spiritual place,” she’s honest about it with her readers.

“I certainly don’t want people to get the impression that I’ve got it all figured out,” she told The Evangelist. “I think we forget that, a lot of times — that we’re all out there, we’re all trying to walk this path and we can feel like we’re alone.”

You can read the full story, which includes links to other Capital Region bloggers, by clicking HERE. If you're curious about some of the Not Strictly Spiritual posts Angela mentions in her story, here are a few links (just click on the title):

Learning to Let Go, Starting with the Laundry

Finding Serenity in a Bowl of Oatmeal

Remembering the Power of One Small Life

Where Am I? Connecting the Spiritual Dots

Angela also mentioned my blogging at OSV Daily Take, which you can find by clicking HERE.

Setting the record straight on Mary Magdalene

2011-07-22T15:49:00.003-04:00

She was one of Jesus' closest disciples, there at the foot of the cross when the others ran away, the first one Jesus appeared to after the Resurrection, a critical figure in the earliest Church, the "Apostle to the Apostles," and yet Mary Magdalene continues to be dogged by the incorrect identification as the prostitute from Scripture, or, when novelist Dan Brown gets involved, as the wife of Jesus.

So today, on the Feast of Mary Magdalene, I was so happy to read "Who Was Mary Magdala?" by Jesuit Father James Martin over on America's In All Things blog.

Father Martin writes:

The most benign explanation for this confusion over Mary’s identity is that there is a veritable crowd of Marys in the Gospel stories (besides Mary, the mother of Jesus, there is Mary of Bethany and Mary, the wife of Clopas). Mary Magdalene was also, oddly, conflated with a woman who had bathed Jesus’ feet with her tears, dried them with her hair, and then anointed them with oil. In AD 591, Pope Gregory I preached a sermon in which he proclaimed, “She whom Luke calls the sinful woman, whom John calls Mary, we believe to be the Mary from whom seven devils were ejected according to Mark.”

This inaccurate identification became more or less church teaching for at least a millennium.

A less benign interpretation of this “confusion” is that the early church was threatened, even horrified, by the stunning example of a woman among the early disciples. Strictly based on the evidence in the Gospels, Mary Magdalene enjoyed an exalted standing. She was not only the first one to whom Jesus appeared after the Resurrection, but also the one who proclaimed the news of his resurrection to the other disciples, including those who would be the leaders of the early church communities: Peter, James, Andrew, and the rest.
Thus comes Mary’s traditional title: “Apostle to the Apostles.” Her fidelity to Jesus during the Crucifixion, as well as Jesus’ appearance to her, are marks of distinction that place her, at least in terms of her faith, above the men. Some of the “extracanonical,” or “apocryphal,” gospels (that is, those not included by the early church councils with the traditional four Gospels) picture her as the most favored of all the disciples. “[Christ loved] her more than all the disciples,” says the text known as The Gospel of Philip.

Perhaps it was convenient for the early church fathers to dismiss Mary Magdalene and even insult her as a prostitute, fearful of what her role would mean for the place of women in the early church.

They didn't teach that version in CCD class, did they? Can I get an Amen? Now, please go read the rest of the post -- which is an excerpt from Father Martin's A Jesuit Off-Broadway: Behind the Scenes with Faith, Doubt, Forgiveness and More -- by clicking HERE. You'll get to read Father Martin's take on the "marginalization of Mary Magdalene" in its newest form, thanks to Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code, which is too often taken as fact, even by well-meaning Catholics.

St. Mary Magdalene, pray for us.

The truth about Dorothy Day, from someone who knows

2011-07-21T15:12:00.004-04:00

I've always been drawn to Dorothy Day. Maybe it's the powerful combination of her words and actions. I think more so it's my awe for someone who's able to do what she did. To be willing -- happy, even -- to be mistaken for a homeless woman. To so radically embrace the poor and so faithfully embrace the Church. A modern-day St. Francis, but totally her own. Totally new.

Author and Orbis Books publisher Robert Ellsberg, who worked alongside Dorothy Day for the last five years of her life, writes beautifully and eloquently today (on Huffington Post) about Dorothy -- who she was, what she stood for, and the things we should never forget:

Despite all the sadness and suffering around her, she had an eye for the transcendent. There were always moments when it was possible to see beneath the surface. "Just look at that tree!" she would say. It might be an act of kindness, the sound of an opera on the radio, or the sight of flowers growing on the fire-escape outside her window: such moments caused her heart to rejoice. She liked to quote St. Teresa of Avila, who said, "I am such a grateful person that I can be purchased for a sardine."

Above all she was a woman of prayer. She attended daily Mass, when she was able; she rose at dawn each day to recite the morning office and to meditate on scripture. After years of reading the breviary the language of the Psalms had become her daily bread: "Sing to the Lord a new song ... sing joyfully to the Lord."

When I went to the Catholic Worker I was not motivated by explicitly religious interests. Like Dorothy, I had been raised in the Episcopal Church, but I had pretty much drifted away from organized religion. What drew me to the Catholic Worker was Dorothy's lifetime of consistent opposition to war, and the fact that her convictions were rooted in solidarity with the poor and those who suffered. Ultimately, I came to appreciate not just Dorothy's anti-war convictions but the deeper tradition and spirituality that sustained her. I understood nothing about Dorothy if I didn't realize the importance of the sacraments, prayer, liturgy, and the communion of saints, in which her witness was rooted. When I understood that, I felt a need to become a Catholic myself.

Reading that recollection gives me courage and hope. So often today we're led to believe we can either be true to the Church or be true to ourselves. Dorothy shows that we can be both. What a comfort and motivation to do more, be more, trust more.

If that doesn't get you, then try this conclusion to Ellsberg's post:

Dorothy was a great believer in what Jean-Pierre de Caussade called "the sacrament of the present moment." In each situation, in each encounter, in each task before us, she believed, there is a path to God. We don't need to be in a monastery or a chapel. We don't need to become different people first. We can start today, this moment, where we are, to add to the balance of love in the world, to add to the balance of peace.

Start today. Right here. Right now. And be sure to go to HuffPo to read the full post by clicking HERE.

From Hundred Acre Wood to Deathly Hallows

2011-07-21T10:27:00.006-04:00

In the span of about five days, I saw the new Winnie the Pooh movie with my 6-year-old, the Broadway show Wicked with my 11-year-old, and Deathly Hallows: Part 2, the last Harry Potter film, with my 14-year-old. Those are some pretty disparate entertainment choices – the benefit of widely spaced children – but the funny thing is that they’re not really all that different when you strip away the smoke and mirrors. And honey pots.

Okay, Potter’s Lord Voldemort and Pooh Bear’s “Backson” aren’t quite in the same league, but the overarching themes of all three of these productions are the same: the power of love, the importance of friendship, the willingness to confront our worst fears, no matter how terrible, in order to do the right thing. As it turns out, whether you’re in the Hundred Acre Wood or the Forbidden Forest, life still comes down to choices -- between darkness and light, good and evil.

As I sat in the theater with Chiara, who was just a few days shy of six, I soaked up her enthusiasm for the beloved Pooh characters as they bounced and rolled and waddled along, doing what they always do – getting confused, helping each other, searching for the one who can protect them from the scary stuff in life, Christopher Robin. And, for a little kid not yet old enough to know real evil, a colorful, horned, cartoon “Backson” can be just as scary as anything J.K. Rowling conjured up.

Even in Wicked, the awesome prequel to the Wizard of Oz, the story of the wicked witch turns out to be a story of friendship, trust betrayed and trust regained, and, of course, doing the right thing even when the right thing gets you exiled, or, worse, melted.

How often do we face choices that have the power to change the course of a life – our own, our children’s, a stranger’s. I’m not talking about life-or-death choices, although those sometimes come along as well. I’m talking about the little choices that can have a big impact: the words we use, the look on our face, the things we do in the course of our day–to-day lives. Do we choose light over darkness? Do we cast someone aside out of mistaken notions of who we think they are or ought to be? Do we let fear keep us from doing what we know is right even if it’s hard? Do we have friends to walk the journey with us? Do we constantly keep an eye out for the One who can comfort us, protect us, guide us onto the right path?

Some things are universal. Whether it’s a quaking Piglet fearfully going out into the unknown to save his friends trapped in a ditch or a stalwart Harry Potter unflinchingly preparing to sacrifice his own life to save his friends and his world, the stories come back around to the same lesson: We are called to walk this path with others, and to give of ourselves – maybe even all of ourselves – for those we care about. And even for those we don’t. Sounds a lot like the Gospel, doesn't it, with some animation, great music and special effects to drive the point home. I don't know if my kids got all that, but I sure did.

Summer blossoms, stuffed and fried UPDATED

2011-07-17T15:48:00.009-04:00

When I went to Rome last September, I roamed from restaurant to restaurant, desperately asking (in my pathetic version of Italian): "Fiori di zucca fritta?" Fried zucchini blossoms? And the answer was a resounding: "No, not in season." Argh.

I had never had fried zucchini blossoms and had never made fried zucchini blossoms, but my grandmother always talks about making them back in the day. So this has been my quest: to find them, to make them, to eat them.

Then yesterday, at the Delmar Farmer's Market, I spied a bushel of them, although I was completely put off by the price - $1 a blossom - and knew my grandmother would be totally outraged if I paid that price. So I walked on by and then I walked back, and looked longingly. My friend Dorothy finally said, "Just buy them!" So I asked if I could get a deal if I bought a bunch. I ended up with 18 blossoms for $8, which is not bad at all. That's them above and below, before I removed the stems and trimmed them. Aren't they pretty?

Now to figure out what to do with the delicate blossoms. So I looked through a Rome book Dennis bought me last Christmas and found a recipe I could adapt, which means I was planning to leave out the anchovies. I don't care how much flavor they have. Blech.

I washed the blossoms and patted them dry. Then I took goat cheese and stuffed it into each flower, wrapping the petals around it. UPDATED: The second time I did this recipe, I added some chopped fresh basil, some chopped scallions, a scoop of cream cheese and a splash of half and half to the goat cheese and mashed it all together before stuffing. Yum. Try that. Next I dipped it in a flour batter made with flour, water, a pinch of salt and a teaspoon of white vinegar. Finally, they went into the frying pan, where I cooked them in oil for about five minutes. Remove, place on a warmed platter and sprinkle with coarse salt. Like this:

The result: Squisito! I fully expected to get at least four of the blossoms, but my girls liked them so much I got only two. I'm making another round tonight and may try tweaking the goat cheese filling by blending in some garlic or other flavoring. We'll see.

I reported all this to my grandmother with pride. When she made them, she didn't stuff them, just battered and fried them up. I may try that another day, if I happen upon a bushel of blossoms for a good price before the season is over.

Meeting Sister Moon on the way to the Y

2011-07-15T07:44:00.002-04:00

I have to admit, when my alarm went off at 5:10 a.m. today, I was not bursting with enthusiasm for the morning yoga class I planned to attend. For a minute or two I considered closing my eyes and skipping the whole thing. But I knew I'd feel better about my day if I started it with some deep breathing and yoga stretches. So, I headed out.

I got to the garage only to find I had the wrong car keys. I dropped my yoga mat -- the very same one I'd need to put my face down on in a few minutes -- onto the dirty garage floor. It was just one of those mornings. I headed toward the YMCA grumbling under my breath and listening to Derek and the Dominoes sing Layla.

And then I turned the corner and gasped. Really. There, right in front of me, was a full moon so big, so low, and so perfect that it took my breath away. And suddenly my entire mood, my entire day took a turn for the better. I smiled the whole way to the Y, thrilled every time there was a clearing through the trees and the moon came back into view. As I turned into the Y, with no cars coming in either direction, I just waited in the road for a minute, soaking in one last look.

As I got out of the car, I found myself whispering a prayer of thanks -- for the unexpected beauty, for the wake up call when I was allowing minor inconveniences to color my day, for the reminder of the awesomeness of God's great creation. I wish I'd had my camera with me, but, to be honest, no picture could have done it justice.

I've always felt a connection to the moon, more so than the sun. What? You find that odd. Yes, I'm odd. Seeing that moon today reminded me of a little moon-inspired reflection I'd scribbled into a journal long ago, a sort of Ode to the Moon. My version, I guess, of St. Francis' Canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon. (So many reasons to love that saint.)

To this day I can remember that night almost 20 years ago, when I felt surprised by and drawn to the moon in much the same way as I did this morning. Back then I was walking home from the train after a long day of work, guided through the local cemetery and empty parking lot by a sliver of crescent moon and the clearly visible dark side. (My favorite part of the moon. Of course. If you're going to be wacky, be wacky all the way.)

I know I'll remember today's moon with the same clarity, not only because it was so beautiful but because it arrived on my horizon at just the right moment.

Have you ever had a moment like that, when some glimpse of beauty or wonder has caught you by surprise and lifted you up? What thing in nature speaks powerfully to you?

Here's the song Canticle of the Sun to start your Friday and set the tone for your weekend.

"The heavens are telling the glory of God,
And all creation is shouting for joy!
Come, dance in the forest, come, play in the field,
And sing, sing to the glory of the Lord!"

Listen with the ear of your heart...

2011-07-11T20:11:00.004-04:00

From the Monastery of St. Scholastica in Subiaco, Italy.
Photo by Mary DeTurris Poust

Happy Feast of St. Benedict! Here's a snippet about St. Benedict from my newest book, The Essential Guide to Catholic Prayer and the Mass:

"While the Rule of St. Benedict covers everything from how much wine the monks were allowed to drink with dinner to receiving guests at the monastery, it's still very much relevant to our lives today. Even the parts about moderation in food and drink can be adapted to our modern lives.

"St. Benedict opens the Rule with these words: 'Listen with the ear of your heart.' That's a favorite quote of mine, and it hangs on a stone plaque in my office. It gets to the heart of prayer life, and the heart of life in general. We're not meant to run from one thing to another without focus, without peace, without direction. We need to stop, breathe, be quiet, and listen with our hearts.

"...St. Benedict teaches us to live an integrated life. So prayer is woven into the work we do each day, whether we drive a bus, balance budget sheets, or care for our children. Our community is our family, our friends, our parish, our workplace. And our study? Well, we're doing that right now as we attempt to learn more about faith and prayer in order to grow closer to Christ.

"So if we lean toward a holistic view of spirituality, of our faith as intricately woven into every moment and event of our lives, then Benedictine spirituality could be a path to explore..."

Summer vacation. It's official now.

2011-06-27T14:30:00.018-04:00

We kicked off summer officially today, with a short hike around Beaver Trail at Five Rivers Environmental Center and a picnic lunch. I thought that meant we could check two things off our Beach Bucket List (hiking and picnic), but I was informed that today's outing doesn't count because Dennis wasn't with us.

I never tire of visiting Five Rivers, which is just a few miles from our house. Come along for a hike and see what's out there...

Obviously the trails were not icy, despite what the warning sign says. Muddy, yes. Icy, no.

The pond was full and the waterfall rushing, thanks to the recent rains.

Checking out the water chestnut that is taking over the pond, and hoping to spy a frog or turtle.

If you look closely, you can see the wings in motion on this bright blue darning needle. Is it a darning needle or a dragon fly? I'm going with the former.

My favorite view, no matter what the season.

Seeing the world upside down.

Up through the trees.

Half the trail was closed due to flooding. We circled back around and came at it from the other direction.

And we were glad we did because we spotted this little guy from the bridge. A much bigger version was too deep in the water to capture in a photo.

A mama turkey and three babies. She let us get so close, unnervingly close.

Chiara in what has been labeled the "sleeping chair," courtesy of her godfather on a previous visit. I guess the chair only works on him.

Lily pond.

It's not easy being green.

Our annual summer Beach Bucket List

2011-06-22T11:17:00.006-04:00

It's the first day of summer, and that can only mean one thing: Time to make our annual summer list of "musts," our Beach Bucket List. Of course, it doesn't mean we'll get to everything, and this year's list includes a few things that get put on the list every year but never manage to get checked off (Howe Caverns, drive-in movie, and camping, to be specific). This year we have to make those three happen, at the very least.

If you'd like to know more about how our Beach Bucket List began three years ago, you can read my July 2010 Life Lines column about it (below):

Last summer we established a new tradition at our house: a summer list of things the kids want to do before they return to school in September. It’s sort of like a Bucket List for kids, or, in this case a Beach Bucket List. The kids liked the idea so much that when I suggested it they immediately got out a marker and a giant sheet of neon orange poster paper and started mapping out the details.

Family camping and tide pooling were listed alongside bike riding and making s’mores. They even listed a few oddities, such as repainting their bathroom, as well as some very basic things like swimming and gardening. Each item on our list had an empty box next to it, waiting for a check mark to show we’d fulfilled a wish or goal. We hung the list on our basement door so we could watch our progress over the days and weeks.

Sometimes there would be a flurry of Beach Bucket List activities, days when sleepovers and water slides and picnics collided all at the same time and allowed us to check off items in rapid succession. Other times things lingered unchecked – like family camping -- until the very end of summer, reminding us that some goals take time and planning and, dare I say, an extra dose of enthusiasm on mom and dad’s part. Even at that, our camping “trip” was in our own backyard, but the kids loved the tent and fire pit and eggs cooked outside in the early morning as much as if we’d driven an hour or two to real campsite.

We recently made this summer’s list. Clearly some things are going to be perennial favorites. Walking on the beach and going out for breakfast are probably always going to be on our list, no matter how the old our family gets. But we discovered some new twists. Chiara, almost 5 years old, added “coloring and crafts.” Olivia said she wants to meet up with a little girl she met at the beach last year and has been pen pals with ever since. And, of course, family camping – at an official campsite – is at the top.

Lots of people talk about making a Bucket List, based on the movie of the same name. And there’s something to be said for writing down our hopes and dreams so we can look at where we’ve been and where we want to go. The danger is when we fill our list with only those difficult-to-attain dreams, the things that may take us a lifetime to complete. Not everything has to be over-the-top.

We grown-ups have to learn to approach our own Bucket Lists with the enthusiasm of a 5-year-old on a summer afternoon. Sure, we may want the big stuff – a trip to Italy, a week-long silent retreat. But we can’t overlook the seemingly small stuff – sitting on the deck with the kids and watching the bats come out at night, picking apples from the tree, buying a bouquet of sunflowers for no reason at all.

Life is full of big moments, small moments and in-between moments. We have to relish each one as it comes along without getting hung up on the one that got away. By making a printed, taped-to-the-wall list, we can see our hopes – and our accomplishments – in plain sight, reminding us of all the good things that are yet to come with a little effort and a lot of trust.

So this summer I’m making my own Beach Bucket List. I’m guessing that many of my wishes will duplicate those of my kids. What a happy coincidence it will be when we simultaneously check off our accomplishments with fingers sticky from toasted marshmallows and hair sticky from salt water and sand.

To read other Life Lines column, visit my website HERE.

Where am I? Connecting the spiritual dots

2011-06-20T19:40:00.007-04:00

So here's the deal. When I become scarce in these parts, it's not because I don't appreciate and miss all of you. I do. It's usually because I feel so inept at giving you anything that might provide some spiritual nourishment. Lately that's where I've been. I feel spiritually spent in my own little world, frustrated by goings on in the larger Church, and Not At All Spiritual -- which, as you know, is NOT the name of this blog. So rather than say anything, I say nothing.

A couple of things are related to my state of mind lately, so I'll give you links that might connect the dots.

First there's just a general sense of disappointment with so many of the human failings of our Church and the fact that we seem to be losing more than we're gaining. Then, today, a friend on Facebook posted the link to a column, Top Ten Reasons to Stay Catholic, in America magazine, and it seemed to hit the mark dead on. So I'll share that HERE.

And then, very recently, there has been the former-Father John Corapi debacle. To be honest, I have ZERO patience for this. I'm disgusted by the pathetic situation that is playing out on YouTube and in the blog world. I won't bore you with the details here, but if you want to see my brief post with some good links, click HERE to go to OSV Daily Take. This situation is just one more reminder of how easy it is to get off track and lose spiritual focus.

I'm in this because of Jesus Christ. I'm not in it for some TV personality who has taken on superhero cult status, or for some cause-of-the-moment, or some misguided notion of what Christianity is all about. That being said, I don't pretend to be even remotely close to what I should be if I portend to be a follower of Jesus. But I'm trying. Every day.

A few weeks back, when I gave a spiritual friendship retreat in Rhode Island, I mentioned to the crowd that I once went to confession and told the priest that I often feel like a hypocrite -- I write books and columns and posts about being more spiritual and prayerful and yet my own spiritual life is woefully inadequate. The priest told me I sounded "just like a priest."

During a break in the retreat, a woman came up to me and said she needed "to take issue" with something I said. I started running through everything I had said and assumed it must have been the part where I referred to God as both Mother and Father. Then the woman (who turned out to be a religious Sister) referred to my comment about being a hypocrite and the priest's response to me. She said, " You may not have the collar or the faculties, but you are a priest." I hugged her and said, "Thank you."

I don't say that as a commentary on women's ordination (it's not). I say it because in that moment someone seemed to recognize how I feel about what I do. I can't imagine what it feels like to be an actual priest, but I do know what it feels like to preach and not necessarily practice, to write and all the while be thinking I should just get down on my knees and pray instead. I know what it feels like to have a sense of responsibility for helping other people move down the spiritual path when, so often, I'm floundering around to find my own way.

So I'm here tonight to tell you that I miss being here more regularly, but I only show up when I feel I have something helpful or insightful to share with you (other than reposts and links to reviews, etc.). Thank you for being patient with me and for coming back despite only sporadic posts lately. NSS is my first love in terms of writing. I wish I could be here more often, but I am so thankful for the times I can show up and share with you.