The sentimental, sugary, Santa kind of Christmas has me struggling right now. It’s not that I refuse to participate in our commercialized version of the season. In fact, I am very sentimental, love cookies and enjoy getting and giving gifts. No, it’s that I have daily reminders of how difficult Christmas is when family is scarce, memories are painful and presents are an unattainable luxury.

If I’m honest it’s not just the Christmas filled with stuff that has me stirred up. I’m longing for the Christ-child who was born into this world so long ago to fulfill the hope He established and finally make things right. I want poverty, addiction, injustice, disease and war to end. I want weapons to be turned into plowshares. I want estranged friends and families to be reconciled. I want the Kingdom to be fully realized.

There have been times these past few weeks where I have felt deep sadness. Joanna and I have been involved in end-of-life arrangements for someone who found themselves alone in death. We are making plans for a friend who will be entering the palliative phase of illness. We have stood in a tiny apartment, soon to be home, that is completely run-down, smaller than some people’s garages, and ill-equipped for the one moving in.

Just as I’m tempted by despair though a little light flickers that reminds me Christmas will come and hope remains real. A dignified end is now possible for our friend because of the efforts of many. A group of supportive people is going to meet soon to create a plan for our buddy who is sick. With a little elbow grease, that tiny apartment can be more home-like and is SO much better than the street. Last Monday we had a beautiful lunch with Christmas music, dancing, and lots of cookies. It has been chaotic, painful and good.

“We who have so much to do seek quiet spaces to hear your voice each day. We who are anxious over many things look forward to your coming among us. We who are blessed in so many ways long for the complete joy of your kingdom. We whose hearts are heavy seek the joy of your presence. We are your people, walking in darkness, yet seeking the light. To you we say, “Come Lord Jesus!”- Nouwen

The last few weeks have produced experiences that serve as encouraging reminders of why I stay the course at The Dale, both for others and myself. As we approach the end of another year I find them particularly poignant, in part because they stand in stark contrast to what many would consider “success”. For me, they reveal the complex nature of building community: a process that is marked by small, yet deeply meaningful steps toward healing and the restoration of hope.

A long-time friend came to the entrance of one of the buildings we use for a drop-in intoxicated in a way I’d never seen her. Previously abandoned by loved ones, the thought of Christmas had became too much. My effort to physically hold her up failed and we both landed on the floor, which is where we stayed for a while. In the doorway we sat cross-legged, holding hands and sharing the sorrow. Eventually another friend assisted her home. I was scared that once sober she might feel the accompanying shame and not return for awhile. We’ve talked since and what she remembers is being loved, by me, Joanna and the many who cast her understanding looks.

Every week we take an offering at our Sunday service. We believe that everyone is invited to give back a portion of whatever they have been given. This looks different for each of us, and for many is not financial. As a group we decided to change out our wooden offering plate for something else. That something else is now a woollen hat. Some simply touch it as a symbolic gesture of their gift while others give money. One Sunday someone gave a 2 for 1 coupon to coffee shop, an item that could easily have been been beneficial to hold on to and use. We ALL have something to offer.

“You do not need to do this alone” is a constant refrain from so many people in the community. I hear it when I’m stupidly trying to grab a box from a too-high shelf in the storage room, or failing to yield the many requests in the drop-in from a large number of people, or fretting about finances, or attempting to do too much in a single day. Meals are made, dishes are cleaned, people are listened to and fundraising is done by this beautifully diverse group of people. I realize that as often as I say, “you are not alone”, I still need to hear it for myself.

This is just a fraction of the stories I can tell. Today I was given a toonie to buy Cate a chocolate bar and a $5 bill to help her celebrate her birthday on Sunday from a friend who is very familiar with homelessness. Friends consistently bid Joanna and I farewell for the day with “God bless. Love yous”. People are praying for one another. We have a lot of disagreements, even fights, that are increasingly ending with forgiveness and restored relationship.

The Dale is a messy place. Some days are harder than others. The brokenness that we share is sometimes uncomfortably palpable. It is also a home to a lot of people. I want The Dale to be where a friend can come and collapse on the floor with us, where we share the load, give what we can, receive where we need to and learn how to love. My prayer is that we will truly journey together toward deeper wholeness in Christ.

The other night my family and I were watching television when something struck me as funny. It made them laugh too just not for nearly as long, which made me laugh more. There I was, sitting on the couch, almost unable to talk, tears rolling down my cheeks.

It felt good.

Joanna had a similar experience on Sunday. One of our community members made an off-hand remark that left her non-stop giggling. He thought it was great, especially because his humour had such success when he wasn’t even trying to be funny.

At the end of our Thrift Store Drop-In a friend managed to crack a joke about his own circumstances that made everyone laugh, including him. Any tension that had existed in the room felt like it suddenly dissipated.

Someone commented that research shows that laughter really does help. I looked it up and found that there are investigations into whether it is the act of laughter that is beneficial or if “a good sense of humor, a positive attitude, and the support of friends and family might play a role, too” (WebMD). Proverbs says that, “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit saps a person’s strength”.

I am grateful that laughter in the context of a supportive community at home and The Dale served to fill me up this week, and that it had a similar impact on others.

Maybe I should invest in a good joke book.

Looking earnestly at me from across the table he said, “Now tell me, what are we going to if The Dale has to start paying rent in the buildings we use? I’m concerned about this. What’s going to happen?”

I took a deep breath and said, “We’ll just have to find the money.”

I could see the look of anxiety in my friend’s eyes, recognizable because I all too often see it in my own face when I look in the mirror. This friend knows what it means to not have enough money to pay for rent AND buy food. I wonder for a moment how I can share the experience of seeing The Dale having its needs met consistently when that does not seem to be the case for so many people living in poverty. However, as I sat with this dear person in a room filled with our community happily chatting, eating, creating art and making music I thought: the story of The Dale’s survival is our collective good news.

We began to commiserate about next steps. I was moved to tears when he said, “how about I teach music lessons and just give you all the money for rent”. Other people joined in the conversation: one said that once he starts selling some of his wares the money will go to The Dale, another said she’d give us a cut of what she panhandles each week.

This is the widow’s mite. The Dale is strengthened by the sacrificial giving of people who have very little materially. I am humbled by this generosity and trust that through it we will indeed have enough.

Tomorrow we fly to Frankfurt, Germany for a two-hour lay-over before heading home to Toronto. Excluding travel days, we will have enjoyed seven full days in Italy, six of those in Rome, one in Naples and Pompeii. It has been an amazing trip with my girl, one I hope neither of us will ever forget.

Our decision to stay in Rome for almost the duration of our trip seemed to perplex many other travellers. Cate and I really wanted to get to know the city and give our full attention to each site. We wanted to see how people local to Rome live. Mainly we wanted to wander around the city, and so that is exactly what we’ve been doing.

In order to save a little money, we stayed in a hotel a little outside the city centre. This meant learning to navigate the transit system, a system that services the city well and is very, very busy. Each day involved multiple bus and subway rides, many of which were at peak hours. Cate and I managed to stay close. I’m proud of how well she managed the crowds.

We found it awe-inspiring to stand in places like the Colosseum and the Pantheon. We were stunned by the size of Pompeii and how “modern” it was. Cate routinely used the word ‘breathtaking’ to describe how she felt about something. Touching something built thousands of years ago is surreal. For me, being surrounded by such history has a way of enlarging my worldview, while simultaneously making me feel very small.

Yesterday we heard the Pope speak, wandered through St. Peter’s Basilica and walked up the narrow steps to the dome. As we stood looking out over the city I found myself thinking of Jesus, wondering what He would think of the way one of the birthplaces of Christendom has evolved. At one point Cate said, “how does it feel to be a part of the building-less Dale standing in here?” My only response was, “strange”.

Today we plan to re-visit our favourite spots, including restaurants. We started the day eating cornetto al cioccolato (Italian equivalent of a chocolate croissant) and will probably finish it with pizza. We will add to the thousands of pictures we’ve both taken. The Leonardo da Vinchi museum is calling our names. Most of all, we will be grateful. I hope that one day, should Cate have a child of her own, that a similar trip will happen for them.