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From Despair to Respair: Small Moments of Hope

Respair: an archaic English word meaning “fresh hope” or “recovery from despair.” From the Latin respirare—to breathe again. The opposite of despair. A return to optimism or renewed spirit after hardship. It can be used as both a noun and a verb.

I recently heard about the word respair and how there is a resurgence in its use. I find myself clinging to it during what has been a difficult month.

In just one week, The Dale lost three people. While no time of year is good to be without a home, winter presents especially challenging conditions. Folks who live outside are cold and wet. Our outreach times have notably been marked by people expressing their desperation.

I could go on about everything that is happening around the world: mass shootings, violent crimes, war, political unrest, and on and on and on.

And so, how do we turn despair into respair? Is it even possible—or is that too much to hope for?

This week, I challenged myself to look at the world with my senses, a practice I started during my sabbatical earlier this year. I saw gray clouds and two birds flying through them. I smelled a clementine as I peeled it and noticed the spray of its juice in the air. I heard the wind. I touched the icy cold of the snow and noticed the beauty of an individual snowflake. I slowly drank and enjoyed the flavour of a coffee.

I saw a friend who looks healthier than they have in a while.

A donor gave The Dale money to buy a significant amount of food from a grocery store. Tomorrow, a group of volunteers will help create 150 gift bags for us to distribute to our community.

The Dale’s art exhibit opening at Gallery 1313 buzzed with guests. I heard from multiple visitors how inspired they were by the beautiful range of work on the walls.

I had to call a funeral home and found myself talking with someone I have known their whole life and who lives doors away from me—now a funeral director.

While looking for a picture of one of the people who just died, I stumbled upon videos of their baptism at The Dale. He and I are standing in the blow-up pool/baptistry that we bought from Canadian Tire and set up in the driveway of the church. He is beatboxing while I sing, “Every good and perfect gift comes from You, Father of Lights.” The camera pans around the group gathered to witness the baptism, many of whom have since passed. It nearly took my breath away. Since then, whenever I think of it, I smile.

I watched a young girl standing on a sidewalk while it was snowing—her head tilted back, trying to catch flakes on her tongue, looking happy and content.

A friend whose finances are limited handed The Dale an envelope of money, saying, “This is to help make someone’s Christmas brighter.”

I received an apology and a hug (from someone who usually reserves an embrace for once a year).

These are arguably small moments, some of them bittersweet. None of them have fixed the bigger issues. And yet, they have helped me breathe again. Eating a clementine, making art, finding ways to give, receiving an apology, participating in community—these are things of light that penetrate the darkness. They are the good gifts that I sang about on that baptism day, and continue to sing about now.

Respair does not arrive all at once, and it does not erase grief or injustice. It comes quietly, in fragments. These moments do not solve the world’s pain, but they remind me that breath is still possible. And for now, breathing again is enough—for today.

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A New Step in Community Health at The Dale: Introducing Jacquie

The stories are endless. One person has a wound that is just not healing- the struggle to keep the bandage on and clean is nearly impossible while living outside. Another has a foot injury, but they can’t keep off it because they walk everywhere to access food and shelter. Someone else refuses to seek medical care because it triggers past trauma.

These challenges, and so many others, are why The Dale has long dreamt of incorporating a health-care component into our work.

Over the years we have been able to forge a tight connection to Parkdale Queen West Community Health Centre. Our partnership has allowed us to introduce our friends from the community to our friends who are clinicians. In many cases we are able to create a circle of care around an individual. They have also provided space for The Dale to do outreach and run a drop-in.

It was at our Wednesday gathering outside the Health Centre that we first got to know Jacquie Burkhardt. At the time, Jacquie was engaged in nursing studies and had been referred to The Dale. She quickly became a regular participant and, over time, a deeply engaged community member.

More recently, Jacquie indicated a desire to share her ability and gifting as a nurse with The Dale. In the spirit of raising up community members to contribute to programs and outreach, we now have the opportunity to add Jacquie as a Community Nurse. To begin, Jacquie will offer 12-15 hours per week. The role is still taking shape, and we are committed to slowly and thoughtfully walking with Jacquie as we discover all that this can become together.

And now, in Jacquie’s own words:

Each Sunday during our service at The Dale we are invited into a time of offering. During this time we are reminded that God gives each of us gifts and whether they are big or small they are all valuable to God. The basket is at the front and we acknowledge each person’s gifts might look different and some may not fit in the basket. These gifts may be things like a piece of artwork or a call to a friend or helping clean up after drop-in. Then we are invited to share a portion of what God has given with each other in community. I have recently graduated as a registered practical nurse. In the posture of our offering, I am excited to be joining The Dale as a community nurse using the gifts God has given me in service of our community.

I have experienced joy and belonging at The Dale. Five years ago, when I first approached Erinn about volunteering, she welcomed me to come to the health centre and “hang out” at Outreach. Since then I have been increasingly connected to the community. Together we have experienced church on Sunday, eating together, drop-in, playing games, Bible study, carolling, camping trips, BBQs, open mic’s, celebrations and memorials. During this time, I have received support, care, and encouragement and have had the opportunity to share in the lives of community members with trust and acceptance. As my nursing skills expanded, I have had the privilege of hearing people’s stories, accompanying people to appointments, sharing health knowledge, and helping to navigate health challenges. Through a process of discernment and attentiveness to God’s leading, I am excited about stepping into this new and evolving role.

After we collect the offering, we pray. These prayers are consistently characterized by gratitude and humility. I am grateful to The Dale team and the community as they have affirmed and encouraged me to share my gifts in this way. I welcome your prayers, encouragement and support as we step more deeply into community together.

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Speaking Their Names

The room was already prepared when we arrived: vases of long-stemmed yellow roses graced the center of each table, a guest book waited near the entrance for people to sign, and a screen scrolled through the names of members of the Parkdale Activity Recreation Centre (PARC) who had died over the past five years—many of whom were also deeply connected to The Dale.

Over 126 names.

As I read through the list in silence, I could feel the grief rising in me. It stopped just behind my eyes—or so it seemed—hovering close to the surface, unsure how to make its way out.

As friends and partners, The Dale and PARC came together to create this service of remembrance. It had been a long time since PARC was able to hold a memorial of this kind, and we were eager to help. Joanna and I met several times with staff members to plan, and the whole team took part.

During the service, I sat behind the keyboard beside Max and Isaac on guitar and bass. Together, we created pauses between the reading of names with songs—songs the whole room joined in singing.

An Indigenous Elder opened the gathering, reminding us that those who have gone before us are our ancestors—people we can continue to hold close.

It was a hard afternoon. And a good one. Strange how something can be both heavy and freeing at once. We needed to speak our friends’ names aloud, and to do it together. Over the course of the afternoon, a little air was released from the growing balloon of grief. The pressure behind my eyes slowly eased as the tears came and the memories resurfaced, all held within a room full of people who understood.

I left PARC feeling tender. I know the depth of my grief reflects the depth of my love. Still, at the end of the day, death hurts. Though I cling to my faith that death is not the end, I miss so many people. The number keeps growing, and is beyond 126.

And yet, even in the ache, there is something unbroken: the call to keep showing up, to keep building community, to keep loving. As Mary Oliver wrote:

“To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.”

I’m still learning how to do that. But I think that’s part of what it means to be alive.

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Living Into What’s Next

I am in a new stage of life. This became especially apparent to me on my sabbatical, during which I turned 50 and helped my daughter move out and launch her adult life (which for me means living alone due to my husband living in long-term care), all while being away from my job and one of my primary communities.

Let’s just say I felt the transition.

Pivotal during this time was my retreat with a spiritual director. I told her that, in addition to the changes above, I sensed it was time to consider some shifts in my role at The Dale. When I took on the position of Executive Director, my job description was necessarily broad — at the time I was the only staff member, tasked with reimagining the organization. I did everything from fundraising to running programming, reporting to the CRA to doing outreach, bookkeeping tasks to washing dishes. Today, I get to work with a team.

As I considered what this might mean, I kept getting caught up in the obstacles I saw in the way. Most notably, we have to fundraise for everything at The Dale — including our salaries. It’s not as easy as just creating an additional staff position. But that was where my spiritual director stopped me. She challenged me to think about what I really want, as if anything might be possible. Then, with clarity about what I need, the barriers can be directly addressed.

This is what I have discovered: I would like to have more space to vision new things for The Dale, while remaining present to the community. For example, we would like to support people with low-barrier, dignity-based end-of-life care. I would also like to continue my work with Story Day, which includes brokering and nurturing connections amongst people who are motivated to address poverty and injustice. While I’m already engaged in these areas, I know I could be more effective with space to focus — which brings me to this: I’d like to have an administrative assistant.

This idea is in its infancy, and so this isn’t a job posting. Talking about this publicly is a part of me owning this longing — one that I’ve named with both The Dale Board and the staff team. A key piece of the puzzle is finding additional funding. I know that administration is not the most appealing budget line to support, but I can assure you of its necessity for a healthy organization. If this vision resonates with you, I welcome your thoughts, support, or even just encouragement as we explore what’s next.

Just today I told a friend that I continue to experience a spaciousness in my spirit post-sabbatical. I feel grounded. The transition back to routine at The Dale has been very good. There is a Story Day next week that I can’t wait to see unfold. Life at home is feeling far more settled. In the midst of everything, I can still hear that invitation to discover what I need and name it with precision.

Now I look forward to living into it.

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Homecoming

I have to admit I felt nervous as I anticipated my first day back in the community after sabbatical. There wasn’t a lack of readiness in me to resume regular life. In fact, I felt eager to reengage. I suppose some of it felt like the ‘going back to school’ jitters I got as a student. I think most of it was that sabbatical was an entirely new experience not just for me, but The Dale- I knew how I journeyed through it but did not know how everyone else did.

Through Dion I learned that one person was convinced I was not going to return. This was rooted in previous experiences of other people going and not coming back. I hoped that my arrival would allow these concerns to melt away, though also understood that when old wounds are triggered, healing and recovery can take time.

When I first saw this person, we had a long embrace, each with a hand on the other’s head. I felt a wash of relief. She went into the building ahead of me. When I later entered, I saw that she had brought balloons (that said happy birthday on them) and colourful plastic leis for some of us to wear around our necks. I sat beside her to say thank you for the decorations, and she looked at me and said, “I can’t believe you came back”.

What followed was an emotional, vulnerable conversation. I explained that being with her and everyone at The Dale is exactly where I want to be, and my intention was always to return. We hugged again.

Later, during our service, she shared with the group her gratitude for Joanna, Meagan and Olivia, a theme that was consistent throughout. Unsurprisingly, the team had done a tremendous job over the last four months (I am so proud of them). And then, with tears, she expressed how happy she was that we were all together again.

I was reduced to a puddle of tears where I was seated.

One community member came over and gently put a number of tissues in my hand, another placed their hand on my back.

In the final week of sabbatical, I had tried to be intentional about what my return to The Dale would look like: what conversations I would need to have, what tasks I needed to catch up on.

But what I couldn’t prepare for was how it would feel.

As I reflect on this past month, the word that stands out most is: homecoming.

I am no longer re-entering. I have entered.

Posted on by erinnoxford · 1 Comment

How I Broke Up and Got Back Together With My Phone

This summer, I broke up with my phone.

I’d been thinking about it for a long time, always finding reasons not to follow through. I was using it too much and then feeling depleted by the end of the day. But when I went on sabbatical and a new kind of space opened up, I wondered if I finally had the courage to do it. Around the same time, I came across a book by Catherine Price, aptly titled How to Break Up with Your Phone. That was the nudge I needed. 

The first half of Price’s book explores how technology is intentionally designed to be addictive. It is meant to be a sobering read. Here is an example: 

“I’d argue that…if you wanted to invent a device that could rewire our minds, if you wanted to create a society of people who were perpetually distracted, isolated, and overtired, if you wanted to weaken our memories and damage our capacity for focus and deep thought, if you wanted to reduce empathy, encourage self-absorption, and redraw the lines of social etiquette, you’d likely end up with a smartphone.”

Ouch.

The second half of the book offers a structured breakup plan and even includes the directive to write a letter to your phone. Mine went something like this:

It’s you, and it’s me. You’ve been engineered to grab my attention and keep me distracted—it works for your algorithm, and it makes people money. And here’s the thing: I let you. I do appreciate a lot of what you offer, but I need to clear my head. I need some changes.

So, I took a deep breath and started. I did a 48 hour detox. I deleted social media apps and games. I made my home screen black and added a question to it: “WHY DID YOU PICK ME UP?” I also moved my charging station off my bedside table and into another room.

One of the things that Catherine Price talks about is how smartphones keep getting easier to use. For instance, to open your phone you first had to type in a passcode. Then it became a fingerprint. Now, you just look at it. The point is to reduce friction. And so, I found ways to add friction. I made it a requirement for me to type out my username and password for each application every single time. It is amazing how that added step helped me to pause and ask, Do I really need to do this right now? 

As my sabbatical draws to a close, I’m cautiously optimistic that this new relationship with my phone is sustainable. Ironically, I plan to use technology to protect me from technology. For example, I’ll return to social media—but with the help of an app that blocks access during certain times of day.

And I’ll keep asking myself: Why did I pick you up?

By putting this out there, I guess I’m also asking for a bit of accountability. Please don’t hesitate to check in and ask me about how this is going. 

My hope is that I can control my phone, not the other way around. I have to say, so far it has been worth the break-up. 

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How a Five-Senses Journal Has Impacted My Sabbatical Experience

I have been writing in what is called a “Five-Senses Journal” since day one of my sabbatical. Each day I write down things that I have seen, tasted, heard, touched, and smelled. Recently a few different people have asked me what -if anything- it is teaching me. 

I am reminded to not take for granted having access to all five senses. 

My life is generally very full, and while I might like to think all of my experiences will remain locked in my memory, they do not. There is something about connecting with my senses and then writing it all down that is improving my recall.

At the beginning of my sabbatical I had a difficult time adjusting to being away from The Dale. The practice of paying attention to my senses helped me name my discomfort, be present to it, and move through it. Though this was hard work, it was also good. I would not change it. 

I can get stuck in my head. Unhealthy thoughts create barriers that prevent me from living in the moment. Noticing the sound of a bird, the texture of a blanket, the smell of a cake baking, the taste of a raspberry warmed in the sun, or the sight of a friend helps me get unstuck. 

I sometimes talk about how expressing gratitude is like exercising a muscle: the more I do it, the easier it becomes. I think exploring life in a sensory way is the same. My journal entries today are longer and easier to write than my earliest ones. 

My creativity has been sparked. I stood for a long time looking at a piece of art that eventually brought me to tears. I left that, and other similar experiences, feeling a new sense of inspiration. 

There are so many difficult things going on in the world. There is plenty to remind me of this. Noticing beauty brings some equilibrium. I want to experience the wonder of the world ‘and’ work for the kind of justice that will allow others to do the same. 

I don’t know for sure, but will hazard a guess that this process has contributed to time not whizzing by during my sabbatical. As I age, my experience of time seems to speed up. I am grateful to have it slow down. 

What a gift it is to Smell, See, Hear, Taste, Touch. What began as a sabbatical practice is quickly turning into something I hope to continue long after it ends. 

Images of sensory experiences during my sabbatical:

Postscript: Writing is an important part of the way I process, and so I will occasionally share about this sabbatical journey here on my blog. My sabbatical includes a commitment to be intentionally off-line about 98% of the time, and so I look forward to interacting more upon my return in September.   

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Immersed: A Sensory Walk by the Ocean

I recently spent an afternoon walking nearly 8 kilometres along the shoreline of the ocean. I had a towel in the crook of my arm and a bag in my other hand, arranged to hold my sandals too. The sand before getting to the water’s edge was hot, nearly burning my feet. It cooled and firmed up by the waves. I could taste salt in the air.

As I walked, I took notice of the imprints left by the pearls of people’s toes or the full tread of a shoe, the webbed feet of seagulls or the paws of dogs. I had to keep watch for jelly fish beached in the sand, careful as to not get stung. I examined a few of their gelatinous brown bodies and thin red tendrils, occasionally noticing them pulse with some life, almost as though catching a breath.

I waded into the water, waves cresting at my knees. Seaweed sometimes curled around my ankles — pungent and green in varying shades. I stooped to examine bits of sea glass, mussel shells, and sunlit rocks that gleamed like gems.

Eventually I found an outcropping of rocks that I could sit on and let my feet linger in the water, my toes digging around the floor of the sea. A bug I could not identify landed on my arm and proceeded to stare as if to size me up. I took the snack out of the bag I was lugging around: strawberries, hulled and washed, sitting in a blanket of paper towel, water, and a container of nuts. The strawberries were deep red and the perfect amount of juicy sweet.

I gazed at the enormous sky, blue with only a few clouds. The Spiritual Director I am meeting with while in this part of the world has encouraged me to reflect on the landscape before me. And so, I tried to still my busy inner voice and decided to play with some sand. I noticed its soft, gritty texture, how it filled every crevice, how it could take on any shape. In the sunlight, it sparkled like glitter.

The wind picked up and my hair got wild. A few people greeted me as they passed. A child splashed in the water with glee. I thought of how my mom would have loved exploring in this way. Tears mixed with salt water air stung my eyes. I listened to the many sounds around me, including the crash of waves, the squawk of gulls, the wind and even my own feet hitting the ground. I left my belongings in a pile and went into deeper water, cooled by the embrace of the ocean.

As part of my Sabbatical practice, I have been attentive to the five senses. I write in a journal that is set up for me to reflect on what I have seen, heard, tasted, smelled and touched each day. I have found this helpful as I try to ground myself in the moment.

I eventually made my way back to where I began—windswept, sun-drenched, my towel now damp and my bag lighter. Arguably, my spirit was lighter too.

Postscript: Writing is an important part of the way I process, and so I will occasionally share about this sabbatical journey here on my blog. My sabbatical includes a commitment to be intentionally off-line about 98% of the time, and so I look forward to interacting more upon my return in September.     

Posted on by erinnoxford · 3 Comments

Searching for Peace Amidst Change: My Sabbatical Journey

I am sitting in the sun as I write. I can hear woodpeckers but cannot seem to spot them. There is a light breeze that brings with it the heavy scent of lilacs. It sounds bucolic, though I am in the middle of the city. I am trying to sort out a wide assortment of feelings from a chair in my backyard, which has included me ugly crying in it. I have just completed week two of my sabbatical. 

These early days of my time off have caused both joy and discomfort. I am grateful for the gift that it is to have this sizeable chunk of time off. I feel supported and encouraged. And, right now I am also out-of-sorts. During my last week we held a funeral for a community member named Barry and learned of the death of another, named Phil. Grief upon grief, which I will attend to, except I’m used to grieving over time in the context of our community. I really miss The Dale. Then my daughter Cate moved out. I am excited for her and deeply proud of this step she has taken. This too is true: I really miss being in close proximity to her. 

As I navigate this time, I realize that I am used to the rhythm of rest that I have held for years. This includes Fridays as my Sabbath and August as vacation. When July rolls around I can feel my body anticipating the cessation of work during the dogdays of summer. But this year? Well, I don’t think my body understands exactly what’s going on. A number of people have suggested that I am likely more tired than I realize, which I can hear. Believe me when I say I know having this time is a privilege and I really want to settle into it and the rest it will provide.  

Part of the challenge right now is holding so many seemingly disparate feelings at the same time. I have to remind myself of what I often say to others: two things can be true at once. I can be grateful and sad. I can know there is wisdom in a decision and still find it uncomfortable. I can want to get out of the way and desire to be in the middle of the action. I can long for connection and solitude. Life is not a straight line.  

My counsellor and I talked about a phrase that I might say to myself when I am tipping toward anxiety about my absence from The Dale. I came up with this, “No matter what you do or don’t do, you are beloved.” I close my eyes and turn my head to the sky to say just that. The busyness in my brain begins to slow and my senses are heightened. I think of Barry and Phil in a way that makes me smile. I consider my love and esteem for The Dale Girls. I know that I will see Cate soon. Dion and I get to spend far more time together and he’s helping me ask good questions about this sabbatical. I am experiencing the care of The Dale community in a different way and know that they are also taking care of one another.  

The sun has moved its position. Occasionally a cloud passes over it and I sit in its shadow. A squirrel is digging in a container that I am about to plant some flowers in. Next week Cate and I will be going on an adventure of a trip. I just turned 50. This time is not moving fast. I imagine this means it has more to teach me about being present to the moment. Week three now begins.  

Postscript: Writing is an important part of the way I process, and so I will occasionally share about this sabbatical journey here on my blog. My sabbatical includes a commitment to be intentionally off-line about 98% of the time, and so I look forward to interacting more upon my return in September.         

Posted on by erinnoxford · 2 Comments

Sabbatical Announcement: A Period of Rest and Renewal

Having spent the last few weeks telling The Dale community about this directly, I am ready to share the news more broadly: I am about to take a sabbatical. This is something I have been encouraged to consider for a long time. And for a long time, the timing was not right- until now. I am extremely grateful that this announcement has been met with understanding and encouragement. It has also evoked a number of very good questions. And so, I am going to share some of those, along with my answers here.

What even is a sabbatical?

A sabbatical (from the Hebrew: שַׁבָּת Šabat (i.e., Sabbath); in Latin sabbaticus; Greek: σαββατικός sabbatikos) is a rest or break from work. It is an extended period of time intentionally spent out of regular routine. It can be a variety of lengths. For me, it will be four months.

Am I burnt out?

No, I am not. I am excited to live into this time while being in a good place. I also believe taking a sabbatical is a preventative measure.

When is it?

My sabbatical begins on May 1st. I will be returning to The Dale on September 2nd.

Why now?

My daughter Cate is preparing to move out and launch her adult life. My husband Dion is living in Long Term Care. I am about to have a significant birthday. My life includes a large amount of loss that requires an attentiveness to grief. It took years, but The Dale is finally looking like it did pre-pandemic. I am bursting with ideas for The Dale and all that is happening around Story Nights/Days. All of this and more contributes to my needing some time to adjust and process this next stage of life.

What will I be doing?

Having sought the wise counsel of many people, I have decided to try and live into the tension of both structure and spontaneity. I will be focusing on rest, intentional time with family, spiritual formation, and visioning things for this next stage of life personally and at The Dale.

What will happen at The Dale?

The day-to-day of The Dale will continue without interruption. The staff team, together with our Board of Directors, a group of support people, and a community that leans into the call to full participation will keep things going. Joanna, Meagan and Olivia are going to do great, of this I am confident. I am proud of them. Please join me in celebrating their capacity and offering support through prayer and many good thoughts.

Will I continue to pray for people at The Dale and in Parkdale?

This question got me every time, and the answer is an emphatic YES. My love and care for this community has not changed and will continue wherever my location.

I have been in Parkdale since 2007 and have held my current role since 2012. I can hardly believe this adds up to 18 years. I have to confess the thing that provokes the most anxiety in me is being away from my long-term community. I love The Dale and feel loved by it. I also know that there is wisdom in embracing this opportunity and am definitely excited about it. I look forward to a break from routine, holding a posture of rest, listening for guidance about this next stage of life, and coming back invigorated and ready for more.

Postscript:

Many good things are already in the works for the fall, including Story Day 2025. Please put October 22nd on your calendar!