I was blessed to be the retreat presenter for the weekend and relished the opportunity to walk alongside an incredible collection of women from different backgrounds and parishes. While most of the participants hailed from North Country parishes, including the leadership team who has been making this retreat happen for four years running, we had women from throughout the Diocese of Albany and even a few from beyond our boundaries. Together we confronted the hard questions, sat with the uncertainties and focused our hearts and minds on learning to abide in God.

Spiritual growth is no easy thing, and, in keeping with our theme, we talked about what needs to be pruned away in our lives to make room for God, where the weeds threaten to choke out the Spirit, and what we might need to do to nourish the seed that is struggling to blossom. Every woman there was ready to roll up her figurative sleeves and dig in. I watched as new friendships formed over delicious meals and around the flickering campfire. I listened as words of prayer, both spoken and sung, bound us together. As a collective we slowly let the masks drop away, revealing to ourselves and to each other the person God is calling each of us to be.

Someone asked me to share my biggest takeaway. That was easy. The retreat was a reminder that there are so many women on this path as seekers, and any time we can bring women together in a community like this, it shores us up and reminds us that we’re not alone. We need more of this. We need opportunities to gather, to pray together and to accompany each other on the journey.

You might think, “Don’t women do that at their parishes all the time?” Yes and no. Yes, we do gather and pray, but often the women are running the parishes’ critical programs, from teaching faith formation and decorating the sacred space to serving as cantors and distributing Communion. A retreat is entirely different, and oh so necessary. Retreats give us dedicated time away from our home, our work, our ministry, and, most important, away from the incessant “noise” of emails, texts, calls and social media.

For most of us, making time for retreat seems like a luxury, and yet, when it comes to spiritual growth, it’s critical. We tell ourselves we’ll use a slow weekend at home to spend time with God, but, if we’re honest, we know that’s often a losing proposition. Home tends to demand things of us, even when we have nothing else going on. Or, at the very least, it tempts us away from our silence and solitude with nagging demands to clean this and fix that.

This summer season, when nature itself beckons you to sit and soak up God’s goodness, see if you can find a full day or weekend to give everything over to God. Turn off the phone and the TV. Put aside the chores and social outings. Go to a place where you can hear God above the noise of the headlines and demands, and just be. Like the women of the Rooted in Faith Retreat, dig into the rich soil of your spiritual life and coax a tiny seed into a resilient little shoot. Bask in God and, in time, watch that seed blossom.

Mary will be leading the annual Stillpoint Retreat at Pyramid Life Center on Sept. 6-8. Click HERE for more information.

This post originally appeared in the June 26, 2024, issue of The Evangelist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo by Hannah Busing on Unsplash

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Here’s the best quote from the story below. And if curses offend you, just skip this post entirely.

“Women in today’s world are hit from all sides. Do this. Wear that. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Speak softly. Smile. Agree, agree, agree. Assimilate. Shut up. Stay down.

“The last thing we need is other women telling us what we should and shouldn’t do.”

Amen, sister.

Without further adieu, here it is…

24 Things Women Over 30 Should Wear

Read the full story HERE. Warning: NSFW. There are some strategically placed F-words, along with some really great photos of gorgeous women over 30 wearing whatever they want and doing it with incredible style. Rock on, ladies. You inspire me. And I want that outfit in the photo above, including those awesome shoes that are just barely visible.

And if you want instructions on how to make your own duct tape bra, leave a message in the comment section. 😉

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Being on the open road for four hours is the perfect time for thinking about waiting and the way we view time, or at least time spent on things that don’t seem important or productive or special. After all, the goal of my drive was the destination I had programmed into my GPS; the drive was just the means to an end. At least that’s how my mind usually works.

“Be here now.” I often write those words on a small dry erase board on my desk. It’s as much a reminder for myself as it is for those who come by to visit. Can I be present where I am at this moment, even if that happens to be behind a steering wheel, or on line at the grocery story, or in the waiting room at the dentist? It’s human nature to see those times as a sort of limbo where we’re biding our time until real life gets back under way.

And sometimes the waiting is much more difficult than a long Friday afternoon drive. How often do I look at the events of my life as things I need to wait out until I reach a better or different destination? When I get through the big work project, a child’s illness, the busy holiday season, the inevitable annual financial crunch…life will be better, easier, happier. We tend to live in a state of “I wish (fill in the blank).” But “active waiting,” as Nouwen calls it, challenges us to settle into where we are right now and sit with our pain or frustration or boredom in hopeful expectation.

“I feel that for many people waiting is sort of an awful desert between where you are and where you want to go, and you don’t like that place,” said Nouwen, pointing out that the difference between seeing waiting as a time of growth rather than as a time of frustration is choosing hope over fear. “A waiting person is someone who is very present to the moment, who believes that this moment is the moment.”

We are all waiting in one way or another. Many of the women I met in Rochester shared difficult stories, and I marveled at how faith-filled they were in spite of their sorrows and stresses. I never would have guessed from looking at them that they were facing such obstacles and burdened with such heartaches. They are women waiting in hope, and they showed me in very practical terms what I’d heard in theory on the Nouwen recording the night before: “Waiting is never moving from nothing to something. It’s always from something to something.”

God calls us to see the “something” in the fallow moments as well as the full moments, in our struggles as well as our successes. That’s certainly not easy, especially if we’re suffering through it. It takes practice. We can start small—like on a drive across the state on a clear autumn day—and embrace what is rather than what we wish could be. The next moment isn’t the one that counts. This is the moment. Be here now. Wait in hope and see what God has in store.

This Life Lines column originally appeared in the Oct. 13, 2016, issue of Catholic New York.

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So here are the words, or at least some of them, and the YouTube clip. Now go, and be brave.

I close my eyes and tell myself
when I feel judged by someone else
that love, love, love
begins with me.

I dig in deep and must reveal
the secret for me heart to heal
no lies, lies, lies
or make believe.

But my stones and sticks
I pitch ’em quick
and get in the way of myself again.

And then I say,

I am not afraid.
I know how to be brave,
and in the best and worst of times
my colours never fade.
Bitter words can’t stain,
wash out or strip away,
’cause in a million shades of gray
my colours never fade. — Margo Rey

 

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Bookshelf: I finally have my own hardcover copy of Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less, which kept surfacing and resurfacing in my life until I finally figured I should borrow it from the library. After one renewal and lots of notes, I decided that this was one to have on my shelf for handy reference and so Dennis can read it when I’m done. Good book about doing what’s most important in life, not setting a long list of priorities that make everything equally important but picking the ONE thing at that moment that is MOST important. Hard to do because it always means a trade-off or a sacrifice.

GPS: I was blessed to be the leader/speaker of the 22nd annual Christian Mothers’ Retreat at Christ the King Retreat House in Syracuse this weekend. Our topic was my favorite: “Broken, Beautiful, and Beloved: Learning to See Ourselves through God’s Eyes,” and, as always, I got more than I gave. At least from my perspective. What a wonderful group of women and so inspiring. They started this retreat on their own 22 years ago with no parish or diocesan or organizing group as a sponsor. Just a bunch of moms who wanted spiritual nourishment and community. They are like one big family — godparents to each other’s children, best friends, encouragers, supporters, listeners, pray-ers. We talked about our brokenness and our belovedness and how to fit prayer into our very busy lives. And we made collages, my new favorite activity. Here are some of the ladies at work in the dining room.

Menu: Last night we made a Turkey dinner with all the trimmings. All of the yumminess of Thanksgiving with none of the stress. And we have enough leftovers for another mini-Thanksgiving during the week. I highly recommend doing this some time during the year if you love Thanksgiving but never feel like you get to relax during the meal. And we always have something to be thankful for, right?

Spiritual Signs: Although I love to pray and write a lot about different prayers devoted to the saints, I am not one to go to the saints very often. In particular, I never pray to St. Therese of Lisieux. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love her and her story and her Little Way, but I’ve just never felt compelled to call on her intercession. Then on Friday, I was reading about Pope Francis and his penchant for calling on St. Therese to take up his prayer needs and give him a sign. And the sign St. Therese is said to leave is roses. Again, it’s just never been part of my prayer life. But on this day, as I headed to Syracuse with some special prayer needs, I decided to call on St. Therese, hoping for a sign but not expecting one. I got to my retreat house room, put my bags down and looked for someplace to hang my clothes. I slowly opened the only door that could be a closet in the beautiful old room with a fireplace and enormous old-fashioned bathtub. I was worried I might be going somewhere I shouldn’t, like another person’s room. As the door swung open I could see hangers and stepped in all the way, and when I did, I was floored. There to my left, in what amounted to a big storage closet, were four giant vases filled with red roses. Velvet ones, mind you, but roses nonetheless. I have to say, she got my attention and I will not be so quick to ignore her in the future. To top it off, the next morning, when I told two of the women sitting in the conference room about the experience, one woman pointed to the wall behind where I was sitting, and there was a picture of St. Therese. Okay, I got it. You’re listening. I may have to go back and re-read her Story of a Soul.

Viewfinder: Two spontaneous shots to share with you, and by spontaneous I mean not quite in focus or thought out in advance.

Here’s the gorgeous sunset from the driver’s seat as I returned from Syracuse on Saturday evening. It was so jaw-droppingly beautiful I couldn’t help it. I just picked up the iPhone that was in the cupholder next to me, aimed it out the window and hoped I managed to capture even some of the magnificent sky. Here you go. Sunset at 65 MPH:

Meanwhile back at home…Olivia took out the garage-sale guitar we picked up for her a few years ago and decided to give it a try. So I tuned it up and showed her a few chords. I love this photo of Olivia playing and Chiara in the background in our living room. I have to admit that this photo of Olivia reminds me of myself when I was her age and played guitar day and night. Makes me smile:

Soundtrack: A little music for your Tuesday. This one is a new (to me) favorite: “Shelter” by The Strange Familiar.

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But, wait, there’s more great stuff your kid can do in this latest version. Read this:

The icing on this controversial cake is the ability players have to then gruesomely murder their prostitute and take back their money.

Still not convinced that this game is not only bad for children but bad for adults and bad for women and bad for society? Go on Youtube and search Grand Theft Auto V and you can see for yourself. It won’t be hard to find. I’m not linking to it here for obvious reasons.

I am so beyond offended by this game, as a woman, yes, but as a human being even more. And I’ve always been offended by this game, not just for how women are portrayed and treated on screen but for the over-the-top violence that is rewarded with points. And even before this latest version put sex into the hands of the controller, prostitutes were part of the on-screen world. Now it’s just a lot more graphic and offensive.

How is it possible that we find this okay, that this is a bestselling video game? Where are the feminist voices speaking out against this kind of misogyny? I’m dumbfounded. I sort of insulate myself from this sort of thing. We don’t allow it in our house, and to a large extent I don’t allow it into my mind because letting it into my mind puts images of violence and murder and beating of women there, and that’s not good for me, or anyone. Which is why it’s bad for society. When people spend hour upon hour using their controller to kill people, steal things, hire prostitutes, beat women, it begins to blur the edges of what’s okay in real life. It desensitizes us to violence, which is why the the military uses video games to help soldiers get over the innate human aversion to killing. My husband, Dennis, interviewed a lieutenant colonel in the army about this for OSV Newsweekly years ago, and now this expert has a new book out specifically on this topic, Stop Teaching Our Kids to Kill.

Video games — especially first-person violent video games — do affect us, even if we don’t realize it at the time. We can choose what we let into our homes and what we let into our heads.

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Why is it that nice pajamas seem as decadent and indulgent as those nice soaps I’ve had trouble using in the past. (Soap post is over HERE. And, for the record, I am slowly conquering that bad habit. I’ve got only one more nice soap waiting in the queue at this point.)

The only nice silk nightgown and silk bathrobe I have were purchased at Victoria’s Secret 20 and 25 years ago, respectively, and I still consider them too special for everyday use. I finally decided just recently that any robe that is marking its quarter-century anniversary should finally be put into regular post-shower rotation. When the girls see me in it, I get lots of oohs and aahs, like I’m wearing robes threaded in gold.

Hanging onto favorite things is a habit of mine, spanning all clothing categories in my world. I refuse to part with the 27-year-old Levi 501 button-fly jeans that I still use for gardening or the black leather fringe jacket I bought in college or the 30-year-old leggings from the Limted that look like new and feel just right with fuzzy socks and an oversized hoodie on a winter’s night.

And although those worn things are perfect for some occasions, maybe I need to go get myself some real pajamas, something with a matching top and bottom, if only to change up the Christmas morning photos.

If you’re like me, I’m recommending — no insisting — that you do the same. Before Christmas, go get yourself a beautiful pair of PJs, not from Walmart or Target or Kmart, but from a “real” store. Doesn’t have to be super expensive, just super comfy and maybe just a little luxurious.

See that T-shirt over there on the left? I’ve had that since my brother played high school baseball in the 1980s. It’s still in my pajama draw. It’s going. Today. Okay, maybe not into the trash. Maybe I’ll pair it up with my old 501 Levis for next year’s gardening.

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And this from the narrator:

“For all six women, their style and attitude was not just about the clothes they wore. They all have the same steely determination. They all share a quality, a spirit that keeps them going regardless.”

Can I get an Amen?

Watching this video made me smile and laugh and shake my head in the very best way. I love these women. I love their confidence, and I love the way they defy every preconception about older women.

As I watched, it made me even happier with my decision to get braces at 51 because, guess what? Only a crazy woman who has no intention of getting old any time soon or following stereotypical social conventions, would get braces at 51. Only a crazy 51-year-old woman would go to the store for walking shoes and come home with three-inch-heeled suede ankle boots and then wear them with a skirt to speak at a church. Only a crazy woman of a certain age would buy a Batik handkerchief skirt and wear it with a Guess jean jacket from the juniors department with a big gray silk rose purchased on the street in Greenwich Village along with a dark green scarf with little Indian bells on it.

I am that crazy woman, and this documentary only makes me want to kick it up a notch. While watching this I thought of so many fabulous friends and Facebook acquaintances who fit this same profile. You know who you are, and I love you all. You inspire me, the same way these women do and remind me that age really is a state of mind.

Here’s to growing old together with style! Watch the documentary. It’s 45 minutes, but worth every second.

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“Whether you are single or married, managing a busy household buzzing with children or adjusting to the quiet of an empty nest, Rooted in Love will give you the spiritual inspiration and practical tools you need to embrace your calling as a Catholic woman.”

Donna — in her many books, on her popular EWTN television show, and through her public speaking engagements and retreats — has a talent and a knack for gently leading people, women in particular, closer to Christ through her willingness to share stories from her own life, her steadfast knowledge of Catholic teaching, and her profound faith that is, indeed, rooted in love, God’s love, which is so deeply embedded in Donna’s daily life you can feel it even in an email message — or on the pages of her beautiful books.

I can assure you that when you read Rooted in Love, you will feel as though you are sitting down with a good friend to talk about your spiritual struggles and “successes,” and at every turn Donna will be there cheering you on, reminding you that you don’t have to be perfect, giving you the gentle nudge you need to take the next step on your spiritual journey.

But Donna doesn’t just give you nice platitudes and pretty words; she gets to the heart of the matter — Church teaching, lessons from the saints, meditations, reflection questions, and more. Page by page, she will help you discover ways to truly live out your own vocation as a Catholic woman.

In one story, Donna recalls a plane trip and a fellow passenger having a very difficult time. A man sitting two rows behind her asked: “How did you do that? You helped that girl. How did you do that?” And Donna replied simply: “God put a lot of love in my heart. I like to help people.”

And that’s just what Donna does in the pages of her new book. She helps people come to know God more deeply until they, too, find their hearts filled to overflowing with love.

To enter the Rooted in Love book giveaway, leave a comment here before midnight tonight. Tomorrow we will randomly select a winner, and I will announce it here on Not Strictly Spiritual.

Follow the rest of Donna’s blog tour by visiting her website at www.donnacooperoboyle.com or going to Ave Maria Press.

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