About Life Lines

A no-fail system for busy moms

Thu, 6 May 2010 21:23:43 -0400

Technology is supposed to make our lives easier. We can carry our phones with us wherever we go instead of being tethered by a long springy cord to a wall. We can communicate in the blink of an eye through email or social networks that weave a web of “friends” that includes everyone from close family members to someone from elementary school who we barely recognize. And yet, rather than make our lives simpler, technology has, in many ways, added a whole new level of stress.

I was reading an article recently about the way our constant connection through technology is contributing to a breakdown of family communication and quality of life. Being able to work from home -- or from wherever we happen to be at any given moment -- may have its benefits, but the list of negatives is a whole lot longer. The article noted that while many of us have more “face time” with our children, we don’t necessarily spend that time talking to them or giving them any sort of undivided attention.

Guilty as charged. As a mom who stays at home and works at home, I rarely have significant amounts of time with my kids when I’m not simultaneously reading an email, writing a blog post or crafting a book proposal. My work is always one floor away, or, thanks to technology, one arm’s length away. I struggle on a daily basis to find a balance between my need (and desire) to work and my desire (and need) to play with my 4-year-old or listen to a recap of my 9-year-old’s day or sit with my 13-year-old in hopes that he will open up about something that might be bothering him. It’s not easy, and most of the time I feel like I’m failing.

So when I heard about two new books for Catholic moms, my ears perked up. The Handbook for Catholic Moms: Nurturing Your Heart, Mind, Body, and Soul by Lisa Hendey and Small Steps for Catholic Moms: Think. Pray. Act. Every Day. by Danielle Bean and Elizabeth Foss are perfect for any mom who is trying to figure out how to weave faith and values and maybe even a little peace and quiet into the hectic reality of modern family life.

Lisa’s book offers practical advice on living the life of a Catholic mom in the world today -- everything from menu planning and fitness to prioritizing prayer and nurturing a relationship with the Blessed Mother. Danielle and Elizabeth’s book provides a spiritual program for busy moms who desperately want to have a life of prayer but can’t figure out how to make it happen. Daily quotes, reflections and suggested “actions” can be read in less than five minutes.

“It’s important for moms to feel a sense of flexibility,” Danielle told me by phone, saying that moms can use Small Steps according to dated reflections or by focusing on specific virtues that head each monthly section, things like joy, sacrifice, courage and patience. “…There’s no judgment here. There’s no failing this system.”

That’s just what this stressed out mom wants to hear. Too often I start a prayer routine only to feel as though I let God down. I like the idea of Small Steps from the title on up. We can’t always take monumental leaps, sometimes we have to inch along.

So, silence the cell phone, shut down Facebook and open up one, or both, of these books. In their inspiring pages, you’ll realize that you are not alone, that you have not failed, and that even the smallest efforts you make on behalf of your prayer life, your family, and your own peace and well-being will have a significant impact on your daily life and the lives of all those you love.

2010 Copyright Mary DeTurris Poust. All Rights Reserved.

When Jesus Writes You a Letter

Fri, 23 Apr 2010 08:57:01 -0400

My plan all along was to use this column to tell you about the grace-filled experience I had on my Cornerstone women’s retreat. But to focus on all the sweetness and light without giving you the back story would be a little dishonest, so I want to rewind to the week leading up to the retreat, a time when I was in a dark and foreboding place, a place that felt like a pit of gloom that I simply could not escape.

Only two days before the retreat I wished I could get out of it because, as I told Dennis, I was not in the right place to stand before 50 women and witness to them about my faith and my life in Jesus. Dennis, of course, reminded me that the retreat was just what I needed to get back to that “right place,” but I felt like a hypocrite knowing that I would be leading others on a spiritual path that I was, at that moment, being dragged down kicking and screaming.

I’ve been in dark places before, but this one was different. It felt like it could swallow me whole. I don’t know if was the overwhelming amount of work deadlines staring me in the face, the onset of menopausal mood swings staking their claim (unfortunately not a joke), or Satan himself trying to keep me from bringing other people to Jesus (also unfortunately not a joke). But through the grace of God, I pulled it together only hours before the retreat and hoped for the best.

And the best is what I got. Surrounded by so many other women of faith, I immediately felt myself lightening. The other women on the core team with me seemed to pour life back into me minute by minute. By the time we opened the retreat on Friday night I was excited and joyful but still leery of how my talk -- “A New Life of Grace” – would go first thing Saturday morning.

As I got up to the microphone to speak, I felt a sense of calm, knowing that I had put this in the Spirit’s hands and I was just the instrument. I finished my talk unsure of how it had gone. People didn’t seem to be crying as they had during talks the night before. Was the tear barometer an indication that my message had missed the mark?

I stood in the hall as they played the song I had chosen for reflection. I returned when it was time to do the activity I had planned. I asked every woman to write herself a letter from Jesus, to see herself through God’s eyes. I sat down and did the activity with them. I joked later that had I written that letter even two days earlier, it might not have been such a happy experience. Even then, bathed in the glow of God’s love, my letter from Jesus began like this: “What am I going to do with you?” Because when I imagine Jesus looking down on me, I imagine him shaking his head, a slight grin on his face, as he wonders with exasperation when I’m finally going to “get it,” to recognize that his love is unconditional.

When the letter writing was over, many women took the microphone to say that this was a difficult but powerful activity, that it allowed them to let go of the guilt they have over not being perfect, that it made them see themselves for the first time as good enough just as they are.

Today I invite you, challenge you, to take out a piece of paper and write yourself a letter from Jesus. See yourself as God sees you, His wonderful and amazing creation. And then, if you ever find yourself being swallowed up by darkness, take out your letter and walk back into the light of God’s love, for you are His beloved child.

2010 Copyright Mary DeTurris Poust. All Rights Reserved.

Letting go, starting with the laundry

Fri, 12 Mar 2010 21:16:46 -0500

A lot of things, both big and small, get in the way of my spiritual growth. And although I typically tend to focus on the large-scale obstacles -- pride, envy and other deadly sin type stuff -- I recently discovered a small but vexing thorn in my spiritual side. Laundry. I know, I know. Everyone has laundry. Why is my laundry so special that it could cause me spiritual angst? Well, it's not and it can't. It's how I respond to my laundry that can cause me problems. That is, until I took a long, hard look into my laundry basket and saw the light.  I do laundry for an active family of five, so mixed in with the regular socks and towels, jeans and pjs are soccer uniforms, school uniforms, dance leotards and more. It's constant, never-ending, relentless. You get the picture. But it wasn't really the washing and drying that always got to me in the past. It wasn't even the folding that took its toll. It was the putting away. Don't ask me why I drew the line at putting away. I would sort and wash and dry and fold. Then I would cart the baskets up to my bedroom and wait. And wait. And wait. And the longer I waited, the more the tension and resentment would rise up in me.  Why won't anyone put away their clothes, I would wonder? What would happen if I disappeared? Would they all go naked? It became a silent battle of wills, although I was the only one aware of the battle. I'm not going to empty that basket, I'd threaten in the dark, quiet recesses of my stony heart.  The funny thing is that in the midst of my laundry loathing, I would be reading various spiritual books on doing small acts of kindness with love, of looking at my daily tasks as opportunities to fulfill my vocation not with a chip on my shoulder but with a smile on my face. And so I decided to let go of the laundry, to stop fighting the piles of underwear and socks that mocked me from their stronghold across the room as I tried to block them from view with a book of reflections by Christian mystics.  I decided about six weeks ago to win this war not in a battle to the death but by bending toward the thing I most dreaded. I started a new routine. As soon as I fold the laundry now, I take it upstairs and immediately put it away. All of it. I hang shirts with a smile. I put pants away as I hum a tune. I am a veritable Snow White these days. I am this close to whistling while I work. And what has happened is amazing. I have gone from screaming and steaming about the piled up laundry to trying to surprise everyone by putting it all away before they realize it's even missing. I imagine my brood opening their dresser drawers and realizing that the pile of underwear is never depleted.  I have turned an obligation into an act of love. Really. And it surprises me. I find myself putting away clothes without resentment or annoyance, without feeling unappreciated. And all the while I am aware that I have been able to do this only by seeing it as a spiritual act, not a household chore. I am not putting away socks for the thousandth time; I am loving my children and husband as they deserve to be loved. I've read about this sort of thing from the likes of saints and sages but I never thought I could make it happen in my own stressed-out, frustration-filled life.  Who'd have thought that I'd find God at the bottom of a laundry basket? I wonder if He's hiding in the ironing board as well.

2010 Copyright Mary DeTurris Poust. All Rights Reserved.

Look out world, here she comes

Fri, 12 Feb 2010 20:11:26 -0500

Olivia, our middle child, is one of those kids who can’t see someone hurting without wanting to do whatever she can to make it better. It’s a quality she’s always had. Even back in preschool, I can remember her teacher sitting down at our first conference and saying, “Olivia loves everybody, and everybody loves Olivia.”

Olivia, 9, has a heart of gold. Her love for everybody and everything is the main reason she became a vegetarian almost two years ago and has never wavered. She stated it simply: She did not want an animal to die so she could eat. Where other parents may have insisted she eat what everyone else is eating, we could not. Why? Because there was no denying her decision was pure Olivia, and we weren’t going to squash that spirit.

After our dog died, we told the kids, “No more pets.” But about six months later, as Olivia trolled the website of the local humane society, our resolve began to weaken. “Never” became “maybe,” which eventually became “after vacation,” which finally became “Get your coat; we’re going to the humane society.” We headed there for one cat in particular: Fred, who was described as super friendly and able to get along with kids and general chaos. Perfect for our house. We left the shelter that day with Fred and an unrelated but incredibly cute kitten named Mirabella. Without Olivia’s caring heart and constant badgering, we would not have this feline pair that, I have to admit, adds a little bit of fun to our house despite the damage they sometimes do.

When the Haitian earthquake hit, Olivia saw images of suffering Haitian children on TV and said, “We should adopt a Haitian baby.” She said it not as if she was asking a question but as if she was making an absolute statement. It was beyond difficult to explain to her that as much as we would like to be able to do such an incredibly generous thing, we simply are not in the position to do it. “We have no room,” we said. “Chiara can share my room and we’ll give the baby her room,” Olivia responded. “Adopting a baby costs a lot of money,” we said. “You can have everything in my piggy bank and anything else I get,” she answered.

It was touching and heartbreaking to see how desperately she wanted to help those poor children. Olivia cares deeply, but does she care too deeply? Is it possible to care too deeply? I pondered that and thought about the more radical saintly people of our faith – St. Francis of Assisi, Blessed Mother Teresa, Dorothy Day. These holy men and women would have said, “You can never care too deeply. You can never give too much.” Nevertheless, the ways of the world simply don’t allow us to give away everything when we see people in need. We have to strike a Gospel-centered balance, but that’s not easy.

As we headed to church one Sunday, Olivia and Noah loaded their pockets with allowance money for the Catholic Relief Services collection to benefit Haiti. After a quick mom-dad conference, we sent them back to their rooms and helped them come up with a more reasonable amount. We were trying to honor their generosity while teaching them how to give intelligently and carefully. And they, in turn, were reminding us that we are called to give more with our hearts than with our heads.

I look into Olivia’s eyes and see an ideal, the way we all could be if we lived according to God’s ways and not the world’s ways. And I have a feeling that she’s going to grow up and show me and everyone else that it is possible to live that ideal because Olivia is not going to let a little thing like the world get in her way.

2010 Copyright Mary DeTurris Poust. All Rights Reserved.

Entering the ‘Twilight Zone’ of parenting

Tue, 12 Jan 2010 20:10:48 -0500

Just last month, Dennis and I entered the Twilight Zone of parenting, also known as the Teenage Years. Noah, our first-born, reached the magic age on New Year’s Day, giving us the chance to ring in not only a new year but also a new era.

Fortunately for us, it hasn’t been a total baptism by fire. Noah has been kind enough to ease us into teenage life. For the past six months or so, he’s taken to glowering at us from under half-closed eyelids and responding to just about everything we say -- from “Hi, Sweetie. You look nice,” to “What happened to that permission slip?” -- in the same annoyed tone. I figure right about the time Noah starts pulling out of this semi-permanent funk, Olivia will be moving in and then Chiara right behind her. We’re looking at 15 straight years of teenage angst here, people.

Of course, not everything having to do with teen life revolves around the teen (despite what said teen thinks). A lot of what will happen in the coming years, already is happening right now, has to do with how we respond to our teen and what kinds of freedoms and limits we give him.

It’s Noah’s job to test boundaries and to pull away, even as he secretly wants our affection and attention. As I roll my eyes and sigh with exasperation every time he growls his morning greeting, I know in my heart that this is how it is meant to be. For my part, I have to do a little letting go while being careful not to leave him in a free fall. He has been very sheltered for 13 years. Now it’s time to trust that what we’ve taught him will get him through some difficult growing pains. I vaguely remember those early teen years; they were no picnic.

And so we enter into this new era together, albeit from different perspectives. As Noah wrestles with the responsibilities and decisions that come with being a teen on the way to adulthood, we wrestle with the choices and reactions that come with being adults in the midst of a new phase of parenthood. It’s uncharted territory for all of us.

Just this week, we talked to Noah about ending the piano lessons he has taken for more than five years. He just doesn’t seem that interested anymore. Rather than the simple responses we may have had as parents of a toddler or young child – time out, for example – we have to find a new way to make an impression. So we asked Noah to think about why he wants to continue lessons and why we should continue to fund them and then tell us without shrugging his shoulders or saying, “I don’t know.”

We got a two-page written response, proving that he can present quite a persuasive argument when he puts his mind to it. The three of us approached the piano problem as adults and near-adult, talking instead of lecturing (on our part) and listening instead of ignoring (on his part).

We know the next few years will be fraught with difficult decisions for all of us. There will be times when we will have to tell Noah he cannot do certain things no matter how ready he thinks he is. And, there will be times when Noah will prove that he is ready despite our fears and hesitation.

As I look ahead to the big events in Noah’s life – driving a car in only three years, graduating from high school in five – I realize that a lot of what will happen in our relationship over the next few years will hinge on my ability to accept that my baby isn’t a baby anymore and on my willingness to step back and watch him spread his wings, even as I am quietly waiting in the background, ready to catch him at a moment’s notice.

2010 Copyright Mary DeTurris Poust. All Rights Reserved.

Rediscovering married passion and joy

Mon, 7 Dec 2009 14:17:39 -0500

This morning I got up and hung a little sign on the window over my kitchen sink. It says: “Make a decision to love.” I taped one to the bathroom mirror and over my desk as well. What’s with the cryptic notes? They’re part of my re-entry into the real world after experiencing an eye-opening and life-changing Marriage Encounter (ME) weekend with Dennis.

This was our first ME experience, after years of hemming and hawing about whether we should go. I’d often suggest it, but we would always come up with a laundry list of excuses as to why it wasn’t possible. Mainly, how could we go away for an entire weekend when we couldn’t find a sitter for two hours on a Friday night?

And so we continued on our not-so-merry married way. We were still deeply in love, but it was a little less obvious with each passing crisis and every added responsibility. Our sacramental covenant was starting to look a lot more like a business partnership. What happened to the outward signs of love that used to make our inner commitment so apparent? If we continued to pile on things that pulled us apart, would our relationship eventually crack under pressure? We weren’t about to find out.

We decided to figure out a way to overcome the obstacles and put aside our fears and signed up for the November weekend at Don Bosco Retreat Center in Stony Point. As we drove up to the center Friday night, Dennis and I both wondered aloud if this could be everything it was cracked up to be. Wouldn’t we be just as well off if we took time away at a hotel in New York City? How could a two-day experience transform our lives as promised?

It didn’t take long for us to see that this weekend did indeed have the potential to give us something a vacation away could never give us: the tools we need to traverse the sometimes rocky road of married life with trust, love and anticipation. With every hour that passed, we peeled back another layer, revealing the couple we had been when we first fell in love. By Sunday night we realized that we now had within our grasp the ability to experience the passion, joy and excitement we once felt as newlyweds every single day for the rest of our lives.

The weekend isn’t a magic potion, of course. It’s not like getting an immunization that will protect our relationship from all the outside forces that threaten to tear it down. But it does lay the foundation for helping us live our love in positive, life-affirming ways. And, in case you’re wondering, there is no required group sharing. This isn’t about confessing your deepest feelings to strangers or about rehashing old hurts. This is about looking forward as a couple – just the two of you alone in your room – and finding ways to communicate so that the love you have inside radiates from you both and warms everyone around you. Sounds impossible, but it’s for real.

Sitting there with 18 other couples (and one priest participant) and listening to the stories of our presenting couples and priest, I felt lifted up by their honesty and their commitment to their vocations. I felt surrounded by hope and faith.

As Dennis and I headed home, with the kids talking endlessly about their own adventures away from mom and dad, our renewed zeal for our marriage burned bright between us. Although darkness and fog enveloped the van as we drove north, dawn was breaking in our hearts because we had made a conscious and deliberate decision to love.

2009 Copyright Mary DeTurris Poust. All Rights Reserved.

The up side of a glass ‘half empty’

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 10:29:43 -0500

By all appearances, I am a glass-is-half-empty kind of person. Something as simple as a burned pot of tomato sauce or a broken dish can send me crashing into a woe-is-me state. And yet, I would argue, beneath my pessimistic veneer beats the heart of an eternal optimist. My husband, Dennis, would probably raise an eyebrow over that statement, or just outright laugh, but the older I get, the truer I believe it to be.

I think it has something to do with my desire to shed some of the worldly wants that take up too much of my energy. And I think it has something to do with the realization – finally – that I am truly blessed and that I should appreciate my blessings while I have them. Because I know all too well that in the blink of an eye life can go from near perfect to perfect storm.

It occurred to me recently, as Chiara skipped through the kitchen singing a song about a baby beluga and Olivia practiced Hot Cross Buns on her violin and Noah headed out to a middle school movie night, that life is good, very good. Despite the chaos, despite the almost-daily nagging that must go on just to get the kids to do what they know they are supposed to do, despite the bad economy and general stress, there is not much that could make my life any better than it already is.

As I get older, and, dare I say, wiser, I am starting to notice things I once took for granted. I look around and see a healthy family, and thank God that the worst we have had to deal with so far is the occasional cold or stomach bug. I watch my children surprise me with an unexpected act of kindness toward someone else, and I thank God for the time I’ve had with them and pray that there will be much more. I hear Dennis upstairs getting Chiara ready for bed, reading a book and saying her prayers, and I thank God for a husband who is still my best friend.

I’ve never been one to shy away from telling people my age. The numbers have never meant that much to me. But now, at 47, I am definitely more aware of time and its passing and how quickly the years seem to fly by. I know that what I have today may not be what I have tomorrow – physically, mentally, financially, professionally.

Sometimes when I talk to my grandmother, who is almost 97 and still living on her own, I hear the exhaustion in her voice. Her days stretch on endlessly, as do the nights. Just bending down to tie her shoe is fraught with danger because one little misstep and she could fall. In her I can see at once how powerful and how fragile life is. She is a testament to willpower and determination and strength. But even with all of that, time eventually has its way.

I pray that I get the kind of time and health that my grandmother continues to enjoy, and yet I am very conscious of the fact that I am now the age my mother was when she died. A swing of 50 years.

It would be easy to dwell on the latter possibility, to mark my days with what-ifs and fear, but then I’d be giving up what I have right now for what may never be. “Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself.” (Mt 6:34)

So it turns out that maybe the glass is half empty, but that’s only because I’ve decided to drink fully from the cup of life.

2009 Copyright Mary DeTurris Poust. All Rights Reserved.

Vampire craze is more bark than bite

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 10:32:07 -0400

My 4-year-old daughter recently walked into the kitchen and announced that she wanted a pink bed just like the one she saw on the Disney Channel show her big sister was watching. She mentioned that this bed had a lid on it that the girl closed when she slept. I stopped my chopping and went into the family room to find out what was going on.

Turns out the Disney show was running a very special vampire episode, jumping on the undead bandwagon that has taken popular culture by storm. Vampires are back in fashion, with TV shows, books and movies, even vampire-inspired clothing in every shop window and catalog. The current fascination got me thinking: What is it about vampires that people find so appealing, and do I need to worry about my children being exposed to the scary creatures trapped between life and death?

I quickly decided that my preschooler is too young for anything so confusing or scary as a vampire and warned the older kids to turn off any show that has a vampire theme if the she is in the room. The older kids, however, are a different story. This is where we parents need to walk the fine line between letting our children read or see too much of a dark thing and shielding them so much that we never get into the deeper discussions about good vs. evil.

Throughout history, stories have helped us explore morality in entertaining ways. Some, of course, do it with much more spiritual force than others. Think The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings. Both are fantastical fiction, scary for children, but powerful morality tales with deep Christian allegory. If you’ve read (or seen) the stories, you can’t deny that C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien were using the world beyond the wardrobe and the creatures of middle earth to teach us something about ourselves.

So I wondered, could we find even a glimmer of that spiritual dimension in the vampire stories of today’s pop culture? I went to the source for the answer: Anne Rice, author of The Vampire Chronicles series. Rice, who returned to the Catholic Church in 1998 and vowed in 2002 to focus all of her writing on Christ, confirmed what I had already been thinking. We are drawn to the vampire, as we are often drawn to frightening creatures and stories, because these mythic figures allow us to explore aspects of ourselves that are isolated or alienated.

“I don’t think parents need to be worried at all. Kids are very aware of what’s a fantasy and what’s not a fantasy…the kids that write to me certainly know that. Their emails indicate that they’re responding to the romance in my books, to the glamour, to the beauty of the vampire, but they know perfectly well this is a mythic figure,” Rice told me.

So it’s up to us parents to help our kids navigate fiction that may excite them on the surface but has the potential to enlighten them if they dig a little deeper. Of course, that should be the case with any serious fiction that children read, be it a story of a young wizard or a young vampire or a young Hobbit.

As we gear up for Halloween, a holiday with deep religious roots – both pagan and Christian. Ghosts and goblins, vampires and witches will take to the streets en masse tonight as children and adults alike celebrate the secular version of this popular holiday. It’s the perfect time to talk to our kids about what the fictional figures the horror genre stand for and to remind them of the reality that stands in opposition to them on the side of light and hope: the saints, holy men and women of history, and, of course, the One who keeps us from falling into the kind of dark and isolated hell that the vampire is meant to represent.

2009 Copyright Mary DeTurris Poust. All Rights Reserved.