I think a lot about community and what it means to belong to one. If I have learned anything over the years, it is that community takes time and is far from a linear experience.

When we talk about creating a sense of family at The Dale, we do not mean it in the sentimental Norman Rockwell sense. It is hard fought, often messy, and dare I say, redemptive.

For me, restorative justice is about repairing harm, transformative accountability, and radical reconciliation. Some of my greatest teachers in restoration, redemption, and generosity have been core community members at The Dale.

Take the two people who, after being at serious odds, sit beside each other at one of our drop-ins and offer peace by saying they are praying for one another.

Take the person who caused so much harm at gatherings that we had to ask him to stop coming for a time, believing it was in the best interest of everyone involved, including him. For years, our relationship teetered on the edge. Then something slowly began to shift. Out of many difficult but consistent interactions, a mutual respect was formed. Now we express our love for one another.

Take the person who hardly ever says a word and yet showed up with a pint of blueberries from the food bank for my birthday and gave me a hug.

Take the people who had an explosive fight in the middle of lunch, the kind you would expect to be irreparable, and then quietly shook hands the next week.

Take the person who regularly admits, out loud and in front of a crowd, that they hear bad voices, are bored with God, and struggle with anger. Then they pray in a way that is so raw and full of emotion it takes your breath away. Because of their vulnerability, others begin to share too.

Take the person who is easily overstimulated and yet makes space for the guy who has to sing at the top of his lungs at least once every time we are together — and then even leads the applause.

Take the person who took the last meal of the day and then shared it with the person who came behind them, likely the only meal either of them would have that day.

Take the person on a fixed income who somehow saves $50 to donate ever so discreetly because they want someone else to have a nice Christmas.

This is the kind of community that has shaped me. Far from performative. Not perfect harmony. Not easy belonging. But people learning to give and receive, to forgive, and to love. People choosing, over and over again, to make room for one another.