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Be My Sanctuary

Over the years I, along with my family, have invited you to be a part of our journey, even if it has been from a distance and primarily through what we share in our writing. I know this offers merely a glimpse of what is true for us on a day-to-day basis. We joke at The Dale that someone should make a documentary about what we see and do there, because otherwise how could one believe it? Words, as effective as they are, don’t always capture the essence of an experience.

I’m sitting in the hospital, uncertain about Dion’s health and what the future holds, and can’t muster the language to describe what this feels like, for myself or anyone else. Dion was admitted last Thursday, a day after our twenty year anniversary. Multiple Sclerosis has been with him the entire time. There is a weariness that has settled upon our family. We are tired of the struggle. Though we are routinely given strength that is not our own to manage, we quite frankly want a break. It doesn’t seem like too much to ask.

Our reality is this: we need to equip our house to accommodate Dion’s needs, or move. Moving is a difficult thing to imagine. We intentionally chose to be rooted in our neighbourhood and are now surrounded by a large network of support. It is the only place our fifteen year-old Cate has ever lived.  My brother and his family live on the same street and just one block away. Until her death, my mom lived around the corner in the same hospital Dion is in right now. For me, the house is a more than a shelter, it is a refuge. The reality is doing renovations will take less time than selling the house and waiting on an accessible condo to be built. We don’t know how much anything will cost, but know that in order for this to happen we will need to humbly ask for your help (and will soon let you know how).

I am constantly praying about all of this. I don’t understand why our road has been so repeatedly marked with suffering, though I know that it is in the dark places I have encountered great light. As I listen to the following song, I’m reminded that God remains my sanctuary. Somewhere in all of this is we will find hope. And mercy. And grace.

Turn the light off, go to bed
Tell me all about the day you had
Lay beside me, it’s time to rest
You can close your eyes, you’ve done your best

Let me be your sanctuary
Let me be your safe place to fall
I can take away your worries
The refuge from it all

All this time
We have together
Is our shelter from the rain
I will share the weight you carry
Let me be your sanctuary

We have weathered through the storms
Taking comfort in each other’s arms
When the dark clouds come again
I will lift you up and take you in

Let me be your sanctuary
Let me be your safe place to fall
I can take away your worries
The refuge from it all

Oh, this time
We have together
Is our shelter from the rain
I will share the weight you carry
Let me be your sanctuary

 

 

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A Cloud of Witnesses

Yesterday I had the privilege of getting ordained. Today, as I reflect on the experience, I am still overwhelmed with gratitude. It’s hard to put my feelings into words.

Many of my worlds collided in the sanctuary of 201 Cowan Avenue, all people I love. As I stood at the front of the church I was struck by the many, many faces that were looking back at me. The room was packed with a cloud of witnesses. Had there been time, I would have thanked each person by name for being there and told stories of how their life has impacted mine.

Some of the people in attendance I have the privilege of counting family, many of whom have known me my entire life. Sitting right near the front were Dion and Cate, the two I start and finish each day with. I could almost picture my parents in the crowd (and was grateful that my step-mother could be) even though my dad has been gone for nearly ten years and my mom since last May. Today, on what would have been my mom’s 71st birthday, I am feeling both her absence and in an inexplicable way, her presence and affirmation.

The journey toward ordination has been a long one for me: it started many years ago and finally picked up pace because of a few people’s strong encouragement, not least of which were my two supervisors Elaine and Andrea. These two women have become my friends and staunch supporters. I want to say a public thank you to them both.

I share all of this with The Dale. This is not my celebration, but ours. Together we are learning to put on compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience, to bear with each other, to forgive each other, and to put on love (taken from Colossians 3:12-15). It is messy, and raw, and very beautiful. Thank you for presenting me for ordination, for participating in the service, for decorating the room, and for extending hospitality to such an array of visitors.

It made me very happy to learn that someone left the service saying, “that was all about love”. I suppose those are the words I’ve been looking for to describe my feelings. Yesterday was about love. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

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Extraordinary in the Ordinary

What is an epiphany? The dictionary defines is as “a moment of sudden revelation or insight”. It is also what the church calls the 12th Day of Christmas: Epiphany, or “Three Kings Day” is a reference to when, after having travelled for possibly two years, the wise men finally get to meet and visit Jesus. I have long wondered what was in the sky the night Jesus was born. What got these people motivated to pack up and begin a journey with an unclear destination? Something had been revealed to them. Whatever was in the sky moved their mind and heart to go.

There is little historical information about these wise men and their journey.  In the gospel of Matthew it says they came from the East, leading many to believe they started in Persia. Matthew doesn’t explicitly say there were three of them, and it wasn’t until the seventh century that we began to call them by name. It has been argued that the star could have been either a regular star, a comet, or even a grouping of planets. This lack of specific information is, to me, a reminder that this story is not exclusively the wise men’s journey. We are on an epiphany journey ourselves.

I don’t know what the star looked like that prompted the wise men to move. Did they have any idea how long the trip across the desert would take? I have been thinking about those times when my heart and mind have been illuminated by a foreign light, especially during a dark night of the soul. Though the future remained unclear, I suddenly had a sense of what needed to happen next. Maybe you’ve had a similar experience. An epiphany can call us to courageously move into unchartered territory, a place where we see the face of God in a new way.

The wise men were beckoned to follow the star in order to come face-to-face with the child who would be the answer to their hope. Their lives, and now our lives have become entwined in the big-picture story, the story where the creator actually calls out to us by name and invites us to come, the story where divinity is revealed in humanity under seemingly very ordinary circumstances.

At The Dale last Sunday we talked about moments where God is revealed: holding a new-born baby; witnessing a beautiful sunset; saying “I love you” to a friend and really meaning it; being present when someone dies and trusting that death is not really the end; joining a community where you are accepted; believing that our lives are covered in grace. We can witness God in these ordinary, yet extraordinary places and suddenly find ourselves on a journey we never expected. Though the road might be long, it does promise to change our lives.

Light in woods

 

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Follow the Footprints

“I’m trying to wrap my head around how it is that you function without a building”. I’ve heard this sentiment from numerous people over the last two months. People seem to understand how a business would make the decision to have its employees work remotely, say from home, but a community organization and church choosing to be without walls? Less so. I do realize how hard it is to ‘get’ if you haven’t been around The Dale.

I often say that we have a well-established “nomadic routine”, one that rarely varies: Monday Drop-In and Lunch at 250 Dunn Avenue, Tuesday staff meeting at a local coffee shop, Tuesday Drop-In at The Salvation Army Thrift Store, Tuesday Bible Study at the St. Clare Centre, Wednesday Breakfast and Art Drop-In at Parkdale Queen West Community Health Centre, Sunday Service at 201 Cowan Avenue. Every Thursday morning you will find us walking through the neighbourhood on outreach. Sandwiched into the remaining space is supporting people in a variety of ways, administration, and fundraising.

In 2018 we will have been functioning in this manner for SIX years. I remember sharing the decision to give up our building and seeing the understandable looks of caution from people. I know there were many who presumed this would be a short-lived experiment, not because they wanted us to fail, but because they couldn’t imagine how this would work. I am here to attest to this: what was born out of crisis has become one of our greatest gifts.

The Dale relies on the buildings of others and are so grateful to all of our partners. By  aligning with such a variety of groups in Parkdale, we have access to a broad range of resources and expertise. I am convinced that together we are all made stronger. Further, in being “homeless” we have been reminded that the church is not a building. We have been taught by those who know what it means to be transient, how to be transient ourselves. Together we are living stones, ones that wander and tell of redemption and reconciliation.

Near the end of June 2012 we pushed our industrial fridge and freezer down Queen Street West to 250 Dunn Avenue, just a block away from our former home and the new location of our Monday Drop-In. A few friends dipped their feet in chalk paint and left a trail of prints along the sidewalk so people would know where to find us. If you look closely, you might see a few remnants of those footprints even today. Whenever I notice the faint outline of one, I grin and remember that was just the beginning of what has turned into an amazing adventure.

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When Christmas Hurts

It’s the most wonderful time of the year, or not. Mostly not for a lot of people I love.

The sentimental songs, the snow, and all the stuff can serve as reminders of estranged family, or no family, or family that is very far away; of cold nights spent in stairwells or under a bridge or in a house that is not a home; of no money for rent or food or presents. For me, this month is magnifying the absence of my mom. I am also admittedly feeling a weariness about the excessive commercial nature of Christmas. Part of me wants to hibernate until January.

Today we had our Monday Drop-In. Interspersed throughout the day were interactions with people experiencing a variety of emotions. Some were grieving lost relationships and the death of loved ones. A number of people lit up when a new friend of The Dale showed up with their six-month old baby. Others expressed anger and frustration at life. A few joined in a rendition of Silent Night. By the end of the day my heart was heavy because though there were many sweet moments, there was much sadness.

Yesterday we gathered together for our Sunday service and lit the Advent candle that represents joy. What does it mean to not just experience a fleeting happiness, but a grounded joy in whatever our circumstances might be? A number of people, many of whom were at the drop-in today, and all no stranger to challenge, contributed to the discussion. We encouraged one another to not allow our struggles to define us or rob us of joy, to practice gratitude for even the smallest of things, to learn to rejoice, and to again and again, choose joy.

Right now, even as I sit here feeling burdened for my friends and missing my mom, I am trying to slow down and do what we talked about yesterday. I hunger for the peace that passes all understanding, something I know is real and gratefully regularly experience. It helps to remember that the impact of Christmas is to be felt everyday of the year, not just on the 25th, for light has pierced the darkness and brought with it hope and yes, joy.

“May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy. Those who go out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy.” Psalm 126:5-6

Light in the Darkness

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A Year End Letter

One of the first posts I wrote on this blog was titled, A New Adventure where I invited people to join me on a journey. Now, years later I share this letter, fully aware of how far The Dale has come. This too is an invitation, one to come alongside us in whatever way you can. Maybe you can give a financial gift, or share our story with someone else, or attend a drop-in, or…whatever it is, we are grateful.

 

The Dale is my family…We are a family held together with love.

Through thick and thin we stay together.

Marlene, talking about why she loves The Dale

When asked to describe The Dale, our people consistently say it is where they find friendship, community and a place to belong- it is like a big family. We love to be together and create space for everyone to fully participate, an attempt to have people experience what it means to both give and receive. For example, people might offer a warm hello, help to cook, do dishes, sweep floors, play music, or support someone in distress.

We have been working all year to tell The Dale story, to generate financial support, and to strengthen the ways that we are present in our neighbourhood. As a community without our own walls, we have a well-established nomadic weekly routine, one that takes us from location to location for our drop-ins, church service, and administrative work. We do street outreach and advocacy, visit people in hospital, in jail, in their homes, and outside, and accompany people to appointments and court.

The Dale is entirely reliant on the financial support of others to do what we do. As we reach the end of the year, we invite you to consider making a donation to this work. In order for us to plan and budget well, it is very helpful to receive monthly gifts of any size. This is easy to do by using our Pre-Authorized Remittance system. There are other ways to give too, including on-line.

We hope and pray that you think of the people at The Dale as friends, and that you find any contact with us enriching. It certainly is for us- whether you are volunteering, making a gift, being together in a community activity, or simply staying in touch and offering your encouragement.

The Dale is life-changing for Marlene and so many others who find friendship, community and a place to belong with us. So today, we ask you to help move The Dale into another year. Thank you so very much for your goodwill and support. We are grateful for you and others who care about The Dale and our people.

Sincerely,

Electronic Signature

Erinn Oxford

Pastor and Executive Director

Regular Giving

Give on-line through CanadaHelps

Become a regular donor by filling out this Pre-Authorized Remittance Form and sending to erinn@thedale.org or mailing to:

The Dale Ministries
PO Box 94, Station C
Toronto, ON  M6K 3M7

Cheques or Cash

Cheques should be written to THE DALE MINISTRIES and mailed to the above address. To donate cash, please contact Erinn Oxford at erinn@thedale.org.

 

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A Fall, a Burn, a Lamp, and an Ordination

I had just finished a session with my therapist and was entering the subway to head home. The station (or more accurately, the building that it is housed in) was under some major construction and erected some temporary, metal stairs. An elderly woman was next to me, carefully holding the railing and slowly making her way down. I felt the toe of my boot snag in a gap which thrust me forward into an almost movie-like fall. I tried to grab something to stop myself and nearly took out the woman in the process. I somehow managed to keep either of us from tumbling and breathlessly apologized for the accident.

I will confess that I can be a klutz. I suspect this, along with being pre-occupied by all the thoughts running through my head from the earlier appointment lent to my near fall. I was also thinking a lot about my impending ordination council. The next day I would be presenting my statement of faith before a group of people who would then vote about whether or not to affirm my sense of call, not exclusively, but particularly to The Dale. I guess I felt even more anxious than I realized.

I carried on with my day, only to have yet another incident. I needed a quick dinner and decided to pan fry some perogies. Somehow, and I swear I don’t know exactly what happened, I managed to spill hot oil onto my hand. It left splatter marks and one sizeable blister. This was not helping my nervousness about the next day.

After my ill-fated supper, I went to an event at Cate’s school which was a good distraction. Later in the evening I felt relieved that I was tired enough to go to bed at a reasonable hour, hoping I would sleep well. In the early hours of the morning I was suddenly awoken by…my reading lamp, affixed to the wall since 2001, FALLING ON MY HEAD. I kid you not. The light bulb even broke, leaving shards of glass on my pillow. I thought, this is either a bad sign or everything terrible that needed to happen is now out of my system and today will be fine. I hoped it was the latter.

Thankfully the ordination council proved to be a beautiful time of encouragement. All of my anxiety melted away as I told my story of faith and journey with The Dale, explained my philosophy of ministry and theological views, answered questions, and was voted (unanimously!) to be ordained by the CBOQ. I felt surrounded by the community that presented me for this process, which made it not my day, but OUR day. And the truth is, after a year of too many deaths, struggles and heartache, it was good to have something worthy of celebrating together.

In a weird way, I’m even grateful for my series of misfortunate events. The fall, the burn, the lamp all reminded me that I am a frail being. Whether I managed to steady my feet on those subway steps or not, God is with me. It is God who has invited me into my role at The Dale. In humility I want to be a leader who serves and loves people, albeit a klutzy one. I am thankful for the affirmation of my peers. I really can’t imagine doing anything else.

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How Both a Little and Big Hello Matter

One of the greatest gifts my mom gave me was her ability to be fully present. She had a way of actively listening and engaging in conversation that always made the time with her go too fast. I think this was only magnified when she was forced to move into hospital. Though hindered by fatigue, mom wanted to maximize her time with people. I know it was difficult when her health issues prevented her from visiting. Though she had a large capacity to manage a lot of alone time, mom thrived when with family and friends.

I miss my mom. I live around the corner from the hospital she called home. Every single time I go by it I look up at the window that was hers. Part of the beauty of living in such close proximity was that it was easy to pop over for a long OR short visit. We sometimes joked that a side benefit of her situation was that I always knew where she was. I often replay the journey to her room in my head: through the front doors, straight to the back elevators, up to the fifth floor and room 516, where I would announce my arrival in the doorway with a “hello, it’s me!” to which she would always say, “hello my sweetie”.

My mom loved to ask questions about everything that was going on in my life. I know that she kept a running note of things to pray about on her iPad. We laughed a lot. I would listen to all of her news (she was a great storyteller), sometimes as she directed me to do things around her room: dust, reposition a painting, open mail, tidy up one of her ‘meaningful piles’. I routinely cut her bangs, and with much trepidation occasionally gave her a full haircut.

My mom was gracious even when I failed to visit because life got too busy. I was never made to feel guilty. Instead, she would gently issue another invitation to come and explain that she missed me. I also knew that if mom was feeling especially lonely and willing to articulate it, I needed to take notice and get to her side, which in truth, I always wished I would have done before she even had to say it.

For my mom it was important that I show up even for just five minutes to have, as my nephew Harrison likes to call it, a “little hello”. No matter what length of time we had my mom would say she felt energized and I would leave feeling filled up. It was a great reminder to me that making time, even by setting aside little bits of it, contributed to both of us feeling valued and loved.

As I grieve and celebrate my mom, I want to remember the many lessons she taught me: lessons about the gift of presence, active listening, good storytelling, being honest about your needs, and how to infuse it all with grace.

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Cate with my mom, her Gran. They loved being together.
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The Consecration of a Person’s Poverty

She’s small in stature, with piercing eyes and wavy hair that, as she describes it, has a mind of its own. It is not uncommon to see her roaming around Parkdale, usually looking for help in the form of money or cigarettes. Some days are harder for her than others. The desperation that is likely always present internally, comes leaking out and manifests itself in wildly frantic behaviour. On a recent sunny Thursday though she was lucid and simply looking for a coffee.

We have recently started blocking every Thursday morning for outreach, which for us means we walk around the neighbourhood and connect with people along the way. Joanna, Meagan and I are enjoying being outside and are feeling thankful that Kirti, a case worker/counsellor from Parkdale Community Health Centre is joining us each week. Sometimes we chat with community members of The Dale, sometimes we meet new people, sometimes we intervene in difficult situations, sometimes we strategize with Kirti about how to help someone find housing or treatment or whatever support they might need, and sometimes, in the case of our friend I have just described, we provide a coffee.

With the drink in hand, she settled onto a small ledge jutting out from a storefront and said, “Do you think God sees everything I go through? Do you think God sees me? I mean, look at what I have gone through. Does God see ME?” Meeting her gaze, I fought back tears and said, “I believe God does.” She went on to describe much of her life: how it began with a desire to be a nurse, but spiralled out due to multiple traumatic experiences, many of which are too difficult to describe here. Poverty, a mental health diagnosis, and the loss of a child to the system have all contributed to her pain.

“People don’t see me you know. Or when they do they only see my dirty fingernails and messy hair. They can’t see past it. I’m not loveable in their eyes. But we are so much more than our outsides you know.” Yes, I told her, you are so right. I found myself thinking of the Beatitudes as I continued to listen. Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount says things like, blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are those who mourn. What does that mean for this friend?

The origin of the word ‘bless’ meant to consecrate and speak well of, most often used toward God. Viewed through this lens, the Beatitudes reveal how God consecrates things like our poverty and grief. God holds up and makes blessed those who are poor and broken, revealing them as precious and having connection to Him. Similarly, when we seek peace, when we show mercy, when we mourn and when we are meek, God is connected to us. In this way there is not an absence of God in life’s greatest challenges.

This woman has already endured more than many people will in a lifetime. I don’t understand the disproportionate distribution of challenge. And yet, when I look in her eyes and listen to her story, I am struck by the wisdom she carries. While sipping on her coffee, she spoke significant truth about the condition of humankind, love, and grace. It became time for Joanna, Meagan, Kirti, and I to move on, but before we did I thanked her for being so open and said, “you are loved”. To which she replied, “I think God does see me. I even think God views me as special.”

Indeed.

 

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Being Mindful: The Merging of Laughter, Tears, and a Watermelon Costume

I’m trying to direct my attention to the things that are happening in the present moment. It’s helpful for the most part. I say that because what’s right in front of me is a collection of things that are good, hard and pretty much everything in between.

Take today.

I woke up feeling good, which I received as an incredible gift. I’ve been sick and out of sorts this past week, acutely missing my parents and hyper aware of the challenges that I face. Somehow this morning my spirit was lighter.

I love the fall and today felt more like it to me. As I write, there is a cool breeze and late day sun pouring in a window.

Two funerals took place this afternoon for women I did not know, but were connected to many people I love, including Dion and Joanna, through The Causeway and Sanctuary (a place that functions much like The Dale). My heart grieves two more lives gone and reminds me of the many people we have said goodbye to this year.

Cate has decided she wants to be a watermelon for Halloween. A watermelon! So now I sit surrounded by reams of fabric and an old hula hoop, endeavouring to create a costume that she will be proud to wear. It’s a definite work in progress.

Today we celebrated a friend’s birthday at drop-in. We ate cake and carved pumpkins.

There are a number of people at The Dale who are not housed or at risk of being evicted. They need help, like yesterday. My voicemail is full of requests for The Dale to offer assistance. It’s humbling, hard work.

I’m making a pot of turkey soup, which is filling the house with a familiar, comforting smell.

Being mindful of what’s right in front of me does not make everything easy, though it does help in the way I manage it. Similar to my experience of Sabbath-keeping, it helps me to slow down and really look at things. I am able to pay better attention to not just my feelings, but what is motivating them.

Which brings me back to today. I have laughed and cried (and likely will do both again). I feel a mixture of joy and sadness. Somehow this day has been infused with a mysterious, yet firm sense of hope. Today, in this moment, I am grateful for all of it. Even the challenge of making an outfit that resembles a watermelon.