ERINN OXFORD

Last Wednesday I left our morning drop-in to go home because I felt awful. I got home around 12:30 pm, crawled into bed and slept until 4:30 pm. I hardly ever sleep during the day like that. I continued to doze into the evening, slept all night and remained in bed throughout the next day. I don’t know what I had. A cold, or maybe a touch of a flu? If I’m honest, I know that mixed into the sickness was stress. The combination meant my body had no other option but to stop and rest.

Just days before I fell ill I received the call that a friend, fellow musician and core member of The Dale had taken his own life. In disbelief I called the police, longing to hear it was a mistake. It wasn’t. This news arrived on the heels of officiating two funerals already this year. Since last summer we have said goodbye to Cowboy, Rob, Leonard, Barry, Jackie, Will and now Clive. All of this death means that one grief seems to bleed into another, rarely with enough space between to come up for air.

A few people have recently asked me if in order to manage these losses I keep a safe distance away- I guess sort of clinically detached. I am actually quite the opposite, deeply weeping and mourning for all of my friends. I feel determined to honour each one with dignity and respect, so much so that I, along with Joanna, have taken responsibility for people with no next of kin. I don’t want to be hardened to all of this. I recognize too that in order to stay healthy I must create space to process, grieve and rest.

Besides a lot of sleeping last week, I took time to pray, watch funny television and drink cup after cup of tea with honey. I endeavoured to sit in gratitude for a bed and quiet home to recover in. It wasn’t all picturesque: I ugly cried and wrestled with God too. As I began to come out the other side, I was able to give thanks for how God continues to walk with me in these valleys. These deaths, simply put, suck. There is also something deeply beautiful about being there with people at the end of their lives AND with those left behind.

As we plan this next funeral, we are thinking about the small repertoire of songs that our friend played regularly in the corner of the drop-in. One of them was Green Day’s “Time of Your Life”. It has been stuck in my head for days and seems a good, though maybe tragically ironic way to end this post. 

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test, and don’t ask why
It’s not a question, but a lesson learned in time

It’s something unpredictable, but in the end is right,
I hope you had the time of your life.

So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time
Tattoos and memories and dead skin on trial
For what it’s worth it was worth all the while

It’s something unpredictable, but in the end is right,
I hope you had the time of your life.
 

If you have never been to The Dale, coming to a Monday Drop-In is a great way to be introduced to our community. It is here that you can see what it means for our people to be invited into ‘full participation’. As messy as it gets, the Drop-In is also a pretty well oiled machine.

Many of our community members, aka volunteers show up around 9:30 am. A huge urn of coffee is put on to perk, tables are set and food prep begins. I arrive at 1o with any additional groceries we need in hand, clean laundry (mostly tea towels and aprons) and occasionally tokens that will be distributed throughout the day. Souad, our Volunteer Kitchen Coordinator guides the action by asking her “sweeties” and “munchkins” to chop the vegetables and get things in the pots. As she so often says, The Dale kitchen is not her’s, but ours. And she’s right.

Joanna and I are in and out of the kitchen, some days more than others, but usually to disinfect a sink, help with some dishes and deliver items from the storage room. We are thrilled to have such an amazing crew cooking really good food for what can be up to 120 people. Trusting our team means that we are free to connect with people in the drop-in. There is usually a nice hum in the room, accented by people jamming on musical instruments in the corner. Yesterday Mr Bojangles was practically on repeat.

There are times when things can get difficult. Take yesterday, when a couple of people had open alcohol in the space. We endeavour for The Dale to be both safe AND respectful and so immediately needed to ask our friends to stop drinking or take it outside. They did. Sometimes people come in crisis, simply needing to be heard and loved. Oftentimes we get to hear very, very painful stories. We also come having our own off days. I can attest to the fact that I have arrived at the Drop-in very much needing to be listened to and hugged.

Just before 1 pm I welcome people and explain how things work: we bring platters of food to every table and ask that each person ensure its fair distribution, at the end of the meal we are all invited to take our dirty dishes to some big bins of soapy water by the kitchen. We give a round of applause to the many people who have helped on that day, explaining this is a meal for the community, by the community. Then Joanna gives a run-down of our weekly schedule, Souad describes the meal and I lead a short prayer.

Yesterday we had a beautiful green salad with fresh garlic and lemon juice, meat patties, ham, a sort of ratatouille, fruit salad and banana cake. People routinely comment on how restorative eating healthy food is. I am convinced that something special happens when people sit around a table sharing food.

Clean-up requires rinsing dishes before running them through a Disinfector and often involves blaring “Stand by Me” and dancing in the kitchen (I highly recommend it). Because we use a space that is not our own, we have to leave it as we found it. All of our kitchen supplies need to be put back in our little storage area in another room. We work to be done by 3 pm.

If you are ever close to 250 Dunn Avenue on a Monday, please drop by. We will encourage you to join a table and enjoy a meal because we want to experience the gift of your presence. I’ll probably tell you about how Mondays are one of my favourite days. Together we can sit back and get a glimpse of The Dale at work.

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.