*Please Note: This is a letter that I have been working on for a while. I am excited to share it here and plan to send it out in various forms- I invite you to do the same!

Just six months ago Parkdale Neighbourhood Church began a new adventure. Faced with a financial crisis we decided to begin the process of “reboot”. Today we have extinguished many of our expenses, most notably those associated with our living quarters: we gave notice at 201 Cowan Avenue and have effectively spilled out into the neighbourhood, relying on various partners to house our ongoing programming. There is a beautiful resiliency to this community. We have been through much and have so many reasons to celebrate and continue to hope.

Our Monday Drop-In now meets at Bonar-Parkdale Presbyterian Church, located just one block from our previous home. Remarkably we are seeing our record of 120 people in the drop-in broken! Over the summer we held art workshops in the Masaryk Park, though with the cooling temperatures we are looking for an alternate location. I love sitting at a desk in the Sketch Administrative Office at 180 Sudbury Street and gathering on Sundays for a joint church service with The Jeremiah Community, our friends have so graciously welcomed me/us and offer constant support and encouragement. A street outreach team wanders the neighbourhood at various times during the week.

Though it is challenging to not have a space of our own, we are most certainly a community that exists outside of any single building. We are truly transitioning together while earning the “neighbourhood” in our name. We have made countless meals and pieces of art; sung songs and shared our needs; prayed and wept; packed boxes and cleaned floors; danced and laughed. We need one another.

Together we have nurtured PNC’s desire to be a place where those who are vulnerable and broken are deeply valued and all people are welcome. We invite people into full participation of the community, in the ways that they are able. For some, PNC is one of the few (if only) places they feel accepted and loved. When I asked my nine-year old daughter Cate to describe what it is that PNC does, she said simply “you let people in”. Yes, that is indeed what we do.

One of the people who has decided to “come in” is Joanna Moon. I am thrilled to announce that Joanna felt the call to PNC and has joined me on staff. She will be supporting our programming, building and caring for relationships and assisting me in rebuilding the structure of PNC. While I have felt far from alone, the weight of my responsibility as the sole staff has been heavy. I am grateful on so many levels to work with Joanna. She is my friend AND now colleague.

Mixed in with all these good things are continued challenges. An important part of what I need to do is find the funds for PNC, including my own salary. I am so grateful to the many people who are making it possible that I get paid for this work. The truth is, I still need help. This is not easy to talk about, however, I’m learning to. Please hear this as an invitation to invest in me and PNC with whatever resources you might have available to do so. One of the most helpful ways to give financially is through monthly giving (this is made easy online at CanadaHelps or through our Pre-Authorized Remittance system).

Of course investing in this work can look different for each person. Please consider becoming a part of the PNC story, either by checking out a Monday drop-in, joining us on street outreach, engaging in our worship on a Sunday afternoon, praying for us, encouraging us from afar or making a financial contribution. Good things are happening here; lives are being changed, including my own. For some this means making the choice to take a small step toward sobriety; or learning to believe they are loved; or choosing to get out of bed even though the depression is thick; or having the opportunity to not just receive, but to give.

PNC is one precious place. Please come on in.

“So what is it exactly that you do?”

I have been asked this a lot lately in regard to PNC. It’s a fair question. You ready? Here goes…

PNC stands for Parkdale Neighbourhood Church. I am the Director and only staff (though that is about to change- stay tuned!). PNC exists to create a safe, welcoming space in which all people are welcome. We value people who are vulnerable and broken. Everyone is invited into full participation of the community to the best of their abilities and to journey toward a deeper experience of the life God has given us. Many members of our community are under-housed and unwaged. Substance addiction and mental health issues are common. If you are looking for a place that is real and very raw, than PNC is that.

While I hold responsibility as staff, am housed and waged, I really am no different than anybody else at PNC. I too am invited to share my own vulnerabilities and brokenness on the journey. PNC is a home that we are creating together.

An average week for me looks like this:

On Sunday afternoons I, along with some volunteers, receive our Second Harvest donation at our Drop-In location. We assess the food, put it away and plan the Monday meal accordingly.

We have a church service. Over the last number of months this has been done in partnership with our friends at the Jeremiah Community. Am I ever grateful to those folks.

On Monday mornings I buy any additional groceries we need and head to the Drop-In. There we set up the room and cook for what is often a group of at least 120 people.

I encourage people to create art, lately in the park, but hopefully soon in an indoor space.

I do administration (you name it, I do it).

I fundraise. I write grant applications. I meet potential donors.

I spend time outside on the streets, both during the day and one night a week.

I visit people in the hospital. I accompany people to detox.

I listen and offer pastoral care. I carefully work at telling people they are loved, regardless of what they do or don’t do. I humbly attempt to speak about love, mercy and justice. I build relationships.

The list doesn’t really end there, though I think this is a good place to stop. Because the truth is, the foundation of what I “do” is relationships. It is beautiful, messy, sometimes exhausting, occasionally painful, deeply good work.

Well, I hope my answer is clearer than mud.

This friends, is what I do.

“Lily” is a woman who doesn’t know her own birthday, though upon estimation is likely in her fifties. While she has lived a number of decades, Lily is very child-like. She longs for direction and needs help making what for most adults would be straightforward decisions. Right from the beginning of PNC’s community arts project, Lily was present. She even arrived on time, a feat uncommon to her. Lily would sit and paint, always asking for feedback about whether or not her “art was good”. She sought instruction, eagerly wanting to become more and more of an artist. Over time it was easy to see how Lily’s art was developing. Her work, though unmistakably Lily-like, matured.

When we announced that PNC would participate in an Art Auction with The Gateway, Lily immediately wanted to participate. She was excited about showing her art and possibly even selling it. The day before the auction I gave Lily a map and TTC tokens to get to the event. She was decidedly unsure about her ability to get there on her own. We went over and over the route (which involved only one streetcar and a short walk). To my amazement, Lily arrived early, flush with anxiety and pride. She positioned herself at a table and sat through the entire evening. I was thrilled at the end to be able to tell Lily that one of her pieces sold. With a huge smile on her face she simply said, “did I do good? I think I did good! Am I an artist?”

Yes Lily, you did good. And most definitely, you are an artist.

I love peaches. It’s true. I look forward to when the fruit is in season, large, ripe and dripping-ly good. Having just spent a week listening to a speaker (and friend) talk about mindfulness, I find myself slowing down enough to really appreciate the peaches I am gobbling up. It is all too often that I eat so quickly that I actually don’t taste the food. When I realize this I often think, “what a shame”. A peach is a seemingly simple thing that actually is a beautiful gift.

I was struck by the truth of this yesterday at the PNC drop-in. We received a large box of peaches as a donation. Though they weren’t all in great shape, some volunteers pared off the bruises, salvaged what they could and cut the remaining fruit into slices. I watched people fill their cups, each exclaiming how amazing it was to get to even eat peaches. One gentleman seemed to savour every.single.piece. I found myself resolving to not take the basket of peaches in my fridge at home for granted.

And so, last night I ate two peaches. Rather, last night I savoured two peaches. I held them in the palm of my hand, felt the fuzziness of their skin, smelled the sweetness and tried to think about every bite. I had to wipe the juice off my chin.

I hope, that as peach season draws to a close, I will carry this mindful approach to eating into the fall.

Apples here I come.

Today I received some very hard news: my Auntie Laurie has died.

We are at our beloved camp, which in many ways feels fitting, because Laurie, Bob and their girls spent years living in Parry Sound, just a ten minute car ride away. The trees, water and rock all feel comfortingly familiar. The smell of the air is good. I looked up at the carpet of stars tonight and stood in awe and deep sadness.

As I’ve said before and am sure to say again, death sucks. I am reminded of those that have already gone and struck by the reality that more will go, including me. I long for the day that death is eradicated and all is made whole.

Life will be different for people without Laurie. In many ways the grief began a while ago, though now it takes on a new fullness.
I am relieved to know that today was peaceful for her- I know that is something which provides some comfort.

Family, friends…May the peace that passes all understanding guard your hearts and minds. Let’s remember and celebrate Laurie. Let’s laugh. And let’s sing- Laurie made sure to ask that we sing.

I have been a little quieter here of late. It is not out of lack of desire to write and share, but more out of a general lack of time as I cope with the many things happening in life these days. Time seems to be spinning by and I am doing the quick step in order to keep up. I long to create healthy balance in my life. My apologies if I have missed your call or failed to respond to an e-mail. I am catching up and truly want to meaningfully engage.

PNC is settling in to our new drop-in space. The spacious, air-conditioned (!) room is making for some very calm gatherings. I am grateful.

I am trying to figure out a way to invite people to support us financially. No easy task I tell you. All I know is that our place needs to continue.

I sat with someone at a picnic table in the park today. She has become a regular at PNC over the last number of months, but this was the first time we had the chance to talk just the two of us. She told me of her challenging upbringing and her interest in breaking the cycle of poverty and addiction in her own life. Her eyes show her determination. I felt so pleased and proud of her in that moment and so humbled to be invited into the journey.

I have been admittedly feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things that I have to do around PNC. It’s not that I can’t delegate certain things (I have) or that I feel alone (I don’t). It’s that some things are just for me to do. I have been charged with a lot of responsibility and I long to hold it well. I desire to walk humbly, knowing always that this is not all about me. In fact, it’s not about me at all. It’s about creating a community of people built on a foundation of rock, not shifting sand. The only personality that PNC is about is God’s. And God is love.

In the spirit of love I must go deal with the pile of dishes in my kitchen and the heap of laundry waiting to be folded. A life in balance is such a challenge, no?

Good thing love is patient and kind and full of forgiveness.

Yesterday I accompanied my mom to a beautiful old Toronto home turned hospice. Her youngest sister Laurie is there because of the cancer that has invaded her body. Pardon me while I shake a fist at damn cancer.

Much of our family gathered: my other aunts and uncles, some cousins, my brother and sister-in-law and of course Laurie’s three girls and her husband. Dion had the opportunity to visit earlier in the day. We took turns being with Laurie- sometimes many of us filling her room, sometimes but a few. Always, always right there are Bob, Meghan, Kate and Emma, clearly knowing exactly what is needed.

The veil of tears is thick. This all feels surreal and so very sad. I will never get used to death drawing close.

What a remarkable privilege it is though to be present at a time such as this. I can’t imagine having been anywhere else, except in the company of Laurie and my family. I’m grateful the opportunity was and is there.

I have many wonderful memories of us all being together and certainly of Laurie. When I was small my aunt would take me for a day during March Break: we would wander Kensington Market, eat fresh bagels, buy a little trinket and go back to her place to make art. There was always lots of art making. I recall the time Laurie and my three or four-year old self were walking on the ice of Lake Ramsey in Sudbury- as we got close to Grandpa Bill’s boathouse Laurie fell through, fortunately it wasn’t deep, but oh so cold. I remember Laurie and Bob dancing in the kitchen. I have always admired the way Laurie gives gifts and now seek to do the same. She reads. She makes good salad. Maybe what I love most is Laurie’s ability to both laugh and cry with such ease.

When the wheelchair taxi arrived to get my mom home much of the family walked outside to see us off. As we drove away the driver kept saying, “look at all of you, you have the same smile. Nice family. Big, just like my family in Africa”.

With those words echoing in my head I now sit here writing, crying and occasionally laughing. I can’t stop singing “Our Town”, the song that was so sweetly sung, with ukulele accompaniment to Laurie by her girls and Bob, while we all stood in the hall…

Now I sit on the porch and watch the lightning-bugs fly.
But I can’t see too good, I got tears in my eyes.
I’m leaving tomorrow but I don’t wanna go.
I love you, my town, you’ll always live in my soul.

But I can see the sun’s settin’ fast,
And just like they say, nothing good ever lasts.
Well, go on, I gotta kiss you goodbye,
But I’ll hold to my lover,
‘Cause my heart’s ’bout to die.
Go on now and say goodbye to my town, to my town.
I can see the sun has gone down on my town, on my town, 
Goodnight.
Goodnight. 

I went to summer camp as a kid. There I got a significant amount of sun and mosquito bites; learned how to steer a canoe and play capture the flag; discovered how to make new friends in less than a day; created crafts that yes, I still have; developed an ability and desire to sit around a camp fire for a long time, sing songs and roast the perfect marshmallows for s’mores; and gained a deepened sense of faith and love for God.

I loved it. I loved the people, the smell of the air, the sound of the loons in the morning, the mist on the lake and the stars at night. I even appreciated the lack of sleep, the aloe vera needed to soothe sunburnt shoulders and stumbling around in the dark trying to find the outhouse (you know what I mean)- being the klutz that I am I would inevitably trip over some big tree root. *Ahem*

Cate is off to camp today for a week. This is not her first time, nor do I expect it to be the last. She already swims like a fish, adores jumping off the deep end dock over and over and over again, is keen to craft, sing and learn, and has an affinity for roasting marshmallows. I’m thrilled for her and admittedly a little misty-eyed: my little constant companion is going away and growing up. In many ways camp feels like a rite of passage.

I’m quite certain that Cate will return full of stories, sand, sun and s,mores: the stuff that memories are made of.

Oh, sweet summer camp.