Posted on by erinnoxford

The Story We Carry Forward

I am very influenced by the art of storytelling.

This is true in my life generally and in my work specifically. When I think back to my early days in Parkdale, especially when it was time to reimagine what was PNC into The Dale, it became very clear that both the story that led us to that moment and the emerging story ahead of us needed to be told.

There is something fundamentally human about storytelling. It can build empathy and trust. It connects us to one another. Stories help us make sense of the world and connect us to the past. As one Inuit saying goes, “Stories help the heart remember who we are.” At the same time, the stories we tell can teach us valuable lessons- lessons that shape how we live and influence our actions.

I recently read a book that emphasized telling the history of an organization is crucial because it transforms it into a community with a shared identity. I know that one of the key parts of The Dale’s history is how our nomadic way of being was made possible because our community shared honestly about the realities of living a transient life. There is an irony in how our transience has led to deep roots throughout a neighbourhood. Giving up a building was birthed out of crisis and has now become one of our greatest gifts. Not knowing that trajectory would diminish our story.

Over the years, The Dale has experienced a variety of changes. As a community, we have woven our individual stories into a collective one. As a church and community organization that fundraises its budget, we have consistently experienced the provision of what we need, even when uncertainty about how it will come has lingered. The size of our staff team has grown. We are more broadly recognized, our partnerships have increased, and we have a stable network of supporters.

I think one reason these changes have been possible is because our sense of identity has remained strong throughout. Our history has not held us back; it has propelled us forward. This does not mean that change has always come easily or without a lot of effort. Sometimes change is scary, even when it is good.

In his book Switch, author Chip Heath writes, “Rather than focusing solely on what’s new and different about the change to come, make an effort to remind people what’s already been conquered.” This resonates with me as I think about some of the shifts being made to my own role right now. As I divest some tasks and take on new ones, I find myself reflecting on The Dale’s larger story. The organization has never stood still. It has adapted, evolved, and discovered new possibilities while remaining rooted in its identity. Remembering that history gives me confidence for what comes next.

Looking back reminds us that the story has never been static. It has always been shaped by people willing to respond to change, embrace uncertainty, and remain rooted in what matters most. The next chapter of The Dale is still being written, and while we cannot yet see all that it will hold, the story so far gives me every reason to believe it is worth telling.

Posted on by erinnoxford · 1 Comment

Still Fathering Me

I went to my Dad’s grave on the weekend. It was my alternative to figuring out a gift for him on Father’s Day. It has now been eighteen years since that fateful night when I learned of his death. Somehow, it also feels like no time at all.

I have been thinking about my Dad a lot recently. One day I caught a whiff of cologne strikingly similar to the one he wore. As I ironed some shirts, I remembered him showing me how to make crisp creases in the sleeves. I pulled out my sewing machine and was immediately transported back to a day when we sat hunched side-by-side, trying to figure out how to do an invisible hem on his new pants. I found myself in a space that could have been designed by him: the curve of a handle, the flow of a room, the attention to architectural details. Whenever I drink coffee late in the day, I thank him for passing along a similar countenance for caffeine.

Maybe more than anything, I have been missing the opportunity to talk with him. Sometimes I wish for his interior design eye on a project, or for him to suggest a recipe. I long to share about The Dale and how far it has come. But mostly, I want to tell him about the challenges I am facing and have him father me through them. It was in his last years that my Dad leaned into listening in a more pronounced way. I remember how that felt and wish there had been more time for us to practice listening deeply to one another.

Though he is not here, I feel confident he would be a doting grandfather to all of his grandchildren, that he would be concerned about Dion’s health challenges, that he would continue to be inspired by good food, and that he would still use his hands when telling a story.

My Dad’s gravestone is inscribed with his name, his dates of birth and death, and a phrase he said frequently: “Life is not a dress rehearsal.” To him, that meant this life is not a practice run for something else. We do not get a chance to go back and replay our days, redo our choices, or wait indefinitely for the “real” moment to begin. The life we are living right now is the real thing.

As I brushed away a few leaves and bits of mown grass from the stone, I found myself imagining my Dad encouraging me to be present, to take meaningful risks, and to pursue what matters.

I guess, in a way, I got to have a sort of conversation with him.

I left the cemetery carrying both grief and gratitude. Grief for all the conversations we never got to have, and gratitude for the ways he remains with me eighteen years after his death. His words still echo. Every day is a gift we do not get to rehearse, only to live. And that feels like wisdom worth carrying home.

Posted on by erinnoxford · 2 Comments

Being Present to Time

I always thought the adults were wrong. As a child I would hear them say how “time just keeps moving more quickly” and I would shake my head. To me, summer vacation felt like I was gifted an eternity before school was to start again. When I felt bored, time did not move fast.

But guess what? They were right.

Now an adult- and one who has an adult child, I am noticing the passage of time more acutely. I recently had a birthday and could hardly believe my last one was actually a year ago. My school days feel very distant. I have worked in Parkdale since 2007, which means nearly twenty years.

It was in 2012 that I started this blog. At the time, I was looking for a way to invite people into the changing story of what would become The Dale. It also created a space for me to reflect on and process my own journey. One of my earliest posts was simply titled, “Therapy”.

All these years later, I am still in therapy. I have an appointment every other week. It is a standing commitment, one that only gets shifted due to emergencies or an unusual conflict. My counsellor offers me a safe space to share, consistently asks perspective shifting questions, helps me through times of crisis, and challenges me to continue the work of self-reflection while things are relatively stable.

I am different than I was when I started, and I suspect change will continue in the years to come. I do not mean that I am another person. Actually, I believe that I am more authentically myself and slowly growing more comfortable in my own skin. I give a lot of credit to therapy as a conduit of the healing grace of God.

One of the things I have been practicing along the way is being present to the moment. Most recently, I have added journaling with all five senses to my “presence” toolkit. It helps me notice my surroundings in a grounded way, one that actually slows down the clock.

I suspect time will keep moving at a quick clip. I wonder what it means to be present to time, whatever its speed. Summers still seem to disappear quickly. I am rarely bored, though now I sometimes wish I could be. I still both want and need therapy. The story of The Dale continues, as does mine.

When I look back, I do not primarily see the passage of time. I see people, stories, friendships, healing, and community. While time keeps moving at a surprising rate, the invitation, I think, is not to keep up with it but to be present within it.