The Dale’s story is being shared by others with some frequency as of late. There have been a number of articles written, none of which we’ve pursued beyond being open to participating in the process. I have to admit that it is equal parts wonderful and terrifying. Wonderful because our philosophy of ministry and community is being discussed; terrifying because it might be possible that we be misrepresented (this hasn’t happened, I just know it could) or misunderstood. Further, it could appear as though The Dale is being put on some kind of pedestal, or worse, that I am being put up there with it.

I have been involved in this kind of work since before I finished my post-secondary education. I have seen and think it important to acknowledge that in this sector there lives the real danger of arrogance: the kind that arises out of living and working in an edgy environment, believing that we somehow “get” life more than some. This can get fed too when others applaud and say, “It takes a special kind of person to do this work- it must feel so good to be constantly giving of yourself”. Compliments are not a bad thing to receive, they can turn sour though when turned into an inflated ego. Plus, it’s not true: this is not about me just giving. It is more often about me receiving more than I ever give.

I desperately want the narrative of my life to be one that mirrors the life of Jesus, one where success has a decidedly different definition than the world’s. Jesus taught on hillsides, spent time with those considered undesirable by polite society and quietly healed illnesses and hearts. I don’t want my life to be about how much money I make or the amount of stuff I accumulate. I am repelled by the idea of celebrity. Sadly, though I want to be like Jesus there is a real internal battle for the opposite.

Which is why it will always be of the utmost importance that I remain close to the street, for here I am reminded that I am no different. My every day life is spent doing what many would consider mundane: I chat, I cook, I clean up spilled coffee. I also see and do things that some might not have the opportunity to do: I help someone dumpster-dive or accompany someone to court or hold the hand of someone detoxing. There is nothing glamorous about what I do. I also know that any number of my Dale friends would do the same for me.

One of the greatest gifts of all the publicity is that it reminds me of what’s important: being in a community where we can acknowledge our brokenness and decide to journey together toward deeper wholeness in Christ, humbly and with inevitable missteps along the way.

Just a short time ago a member of The Dale received an eviction notice. I’m carrying around a copy of it at his request. He is being told to leave because it turns out his home is actually an illegal rooming house. He’s mostly mad and scared. I’m decidedly sad.

This kind of story is not unique.

We all want to see our friend housed, it’s just that the challenge of finding a place that is affordable, clean and devoid of bugs is astoundingly hard.

So, imagine my amazement when he decided to help me do some dishes at the drop-in this morning and earnestly said: “I know I need a place. I could probably find one far away, but I can’t go. Nothing can replace the surrogate family I’ve found here”.

His words went right through my heart. I felt my determination to find a good housing situation become even more fierce. I was also reminded that though we have no walls of our own, The Dale is indeed becoming a place of belonging and home for both my friend and for me.

On the days where I feel like I can’t keep going, I’m going to remind myself of this.

Just over a year ago I introduced you all to Katie in A New Baby. As quickly as Katie arrived into our lives she was taken away. Many of us gathered around the new family with deep hope that they could remain intact. However, foster care was deemed necessary. In a moment life changed for a baby, her parents and by extension, The Dale: Heartache and Hope for Baby.

Many of you offered very practical support during the first week of Katie’s life. You gave diapers, a stroller and car seat, clothing, books and money. You filled cupboards with food for tired parents. We made sure that all these things got to and then went with Katie. I was routinely moved by the outpouring of love for a child hardly any of you met.

This past week I received word that Children’s Aid has decided Katie can come home. Today we got an amazing gift: Katie (who is now a toddler) and her mom arrived at our Thrift Store drop-in. I think I would have fallen over had I not been already seated. There was a palpable sense of joy in the room.

It looks like we might still get to be a part of the village that helps raise this child. Join with me in prayer and hope for Katie and her parents.

I’ve been on a bit of a self-imposed break from writing. I realized near the beginning of August that I was in need of some rest from regular life. I decided to turn off the computer and phone, hide out a bit, enjoy summery drinks, swim, read, knit and fortunately for me, hold a few of my friends babies for extended periods of time. Holding a brand new person is a good way to remind oneself of the preciousness of life.

I have missed this though. I tend to process via talking and since talking isn’t always an option, writing has become my next best option. Sitting here now I don’t even know where to start with all that has happened over the course of the summer. The time has simultaneously sped by and crept along. Strange how it does that.

I am very aware of time as I look at my daughter Cate. I’m laying beside her as I type. She is no longer a baby- of this I’m reminded, especially when I look at the newborns in my life. Cate is about to enter grade seven, a grade I vividly remember being in. I wonder aloud how I can be the mother of an almost twelve year old. In parenting the years go quickly while the moments seem long, similar to how I feel about these few months of summertime. Sometimes I fear that this kind of passage of time will not allow me to remember all that I want to about Cate’s growing-up years, except for maybe the many mistakes I have made along the way. I’ve been considering how backwards it is that I might recall the worst instead of the best. What I really want to do is remember the entirety of the experience.

I guess if there is one thing from my hiatus I would like to share, it is this: I have been reminded of the pleasure of living in the moment. I have stared at the stars, slowly sipped coffee and sung while strumming my ukelele. I have laughed with friends, sat quietly in the corner of each of our drop-ins at The Dale and relished in the sounds of our wonderfully diverse community, been on dates with Dion and played with Cate. Rather idyllic? Well, yes and no. I have also wept, attempted to manage crisis, double-booked myself, been to funerals and struggled with fatigue. Living in the moment doesn’t promise everything will be easy. It does however, help me to appreciate it all in a different way.

Kind of like what happens when I stare into the face of a baby.

A few months ago I walked into my Mom’s room to be greeted not only by her, but also a group of family members: two aunts, one of their cousins and his wife. It was a nice surprise.

As I sat listening to the conversation that included reminiscing, I was struck by how comfortable I felt. I love hearing stories about my extended family that I had either forgotten or never heard. I found myself keenly aware that these people have seen me grow from a baby into an adult. They remember when I was known as the three-year old “wild child” and can tell some of my most embarrassing moments. They have seen me struggle.

On a couple of recent occasions I have met people who know one of my first cousins. Without any of us knowing the connection, they told me that I reminded them of somebody. I was amazed to discover that they actually meant somebody I grew up alongside. As Cate matures, I am often struck by the bits of her that remind me of her dad’s side side, but also my mom, dad, brother and yes, cousins. She has what many people refer to as the “Muirhead glow” (my mother’s family name). Though that glow is uniquely hers, I also believe it is an inheritance.

Too many people in my life do not have happy memories of their childhood. Many are currently estranged from family. I grieve this with them. My prayer is that while we cannot ever replace their families, we can create something new together. Every once in a while in the process of doing this we get to witness people reconciling with relatives. None of this is easy:  it is usually ever so slow and often complicated.

I am grateful that the strength of my family has given me a strong foundation, one that inspires me to be even a small part of creating new spaces of home. Thank you.

My friend Diana Fong died yesterday. It is a strange feeling when death comes: for me it is equal parts familiar and foreign, because though I have lost people before, each person leaves a unique hole.

I got to know Diana first as “Princess”- her name at Koinonia, the camp she worked for and also, in many ways, called home. Through friends we were introduced to the camp built on a hill beside a pretty lake called Haines. For years we’ve spent a week as a family there. Camp Koinonia was host to The Dale at the beginning of July and where Cate and two of her friends went yesterday to stay for a week. I imagine that it is somehow fitting that Diana died on the first day of Kids Camp, the place bustling with people. I think I will always look for her sitting in her spot in the lodge, overseeing the comings and goings of campers. She loved that place.

In 2012 The Dale (at that time PNC) needed help. We were rapidly running out of financial resources and needed to re-jig much of what we were doing as an organization. I put out an impassioned plea for bookkeeping assistance. Diana responded immediately. Until she fell ill just a short time ago Diana remained The Dale’s volunteer bookkeeper. It is not an overstatement to say I’m not sure what I would have done without her.

Diana and I did not always see eye-to-eye on things. We quite often had debates about the direction something like The Dale’s fundraising efforts should take. One of the things I will always appreciate about our friendship was the way we knew when the disagreement had gone too far. Diana and I learned how to talk things through and apologize to one another. There was something deeply real and good about our relationship.

Diana will be missed by many people. It was not unusual for Diana to respond as quickly as she did when I needed help at The Dale. Diana loved to help and was generous with her time. There was an abundance to Diana exhibited in her desire to support others, including the many children who she became a surrogate-like parent to. My condolences extend to her family, her friends and the many communities that she touched.

You will be missed Princess.