ERINN OXFORD

Posted on November 5, 2015November 4, 2015 by erinnoxford

The Widow’s Mite

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.

Posted on October 22, 2015October 22, 2015 by erinnoxford

Travel Journal from Rome

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.

Posted on October 18, 2015 by erinnoxford · 3 Comments

Ciao da Roma (Hello from Rome)

I am writing from Rome, Italy. Had you asked me if I would be doing this even just weeks ago I would probably have laughed and explained that while a trip with Cate was certainly on the radar I couldn’t have imagined it this fall. For some time we have been commiserating as a family about how to mark Cate’s “coming of age” or in other words, becoming a teenager. Not long ago we attended a beautiful bat mitzvah that strengthened our resolve to somehow celebrate this milestone. Together we decided that a mother/daughter trip to a location chosen by Cate would be our special event.

Since September I have been fairly quiet here, in part because life got even more full than my already full norm. I sort of put my head down, wrote a handful of grant proposals, spent a lot of time with The Dale community, did a funeral, went on hospital visits, helped get Cate back into school, choir and dance routine, enjoyed Thanksgiving and tried to stay on top the administration of both my work and home. In the midst of all this we managed to find the money and a window of opportunity for Rome, a reality I’m still pinching myself about.

I think if the only thing I got to do on this trip was watch Cate’s face upon her first glimpse of the Colosseum it would be worth it. Seeing this place through two sets of eyes is a wondrous treat. We are surrounded by history. Yesterday we went to Pompeii and walked where others did until their city was covered by volcanic ash and forgotten in 79 AD. We are being reminded of the beauty and brutality of the Romans. We are also enjoying modern Rome: getting around on its transit system, eating amazing food and seeing where the old meets the new.

I am so proud of Cate and the young woman she is. Cate is mature beyond her years and yet not in a rush to be older than she is. She notices things: the detail in an ancient mosaic, the person sleeping in a doorway, the aroma of a bakery. She also seems to know this is an experience that not every thirteen year-old will have and is doing what she can to not take it for granted. She is eagerly writing about everything in her journal and excited to share it with Dion upon our return. We will only be here for a little over a week, but I know this is an experience we will never forget.

Posted on September 22, 2015September 22, 2015 by erinnoxford · 3 Comments

Journeying with MS

Dion and I were interviewed by Drew Marshall on the radio last Saturday. He asked us a lot of probing and down-right challenging questions about how the Multiple Sclerosis that Dion has impacts our life and faith. Since then I’ve been thinking a lot about what Dion and I choose to share about what is both a fairly public struggle and tender, private pain.

I once led a discussion about what it means to be vulnerable in community settings. Some pushed back on the notion that it is possible to be appropriately vulnerable because of past experiences when it just wasn’t. I understand that. I dug around in some dictionaries and thesauruses and found words like “trustworthy” and “authentic” to describe what I hoped would accompany the kind of vulnerability I wanted to define.

I desire to share authentically about the journey that Dion, Cate and I are on while being careful to hold some of the nitty-gritty for us. The reality is that pretty much everything about the disease of MS sucks, except that it has brought us closer together. As a family we know what it means to struggle. Cate is developing into an incredibly mature almost thirteen year old, in part because of what she is learning about love and compassion through this. God shows up in surprising ways: sometimes big and sometimes almost imperceptibly small. We know we have much: a home, an extended family, a large community of people who love us, mobility aids and good doctors. And we long for more.

The truth is, I would trade places with Dion if I could, even if just for a day so that he might run the way he dreams of. I believe that he could be physically healed and also live in a present where he isn’t. As I once confessed here, it is difficult being the one who is not sick. Sometimes I have no idea what I should say, do or ask for. I know Dion has days where he feels the same.

Thank you for coming alongside us in such a variety of ways and for listening as I fumble around to figure out how and what to share.

Posted on September 14, 2015September 14, 2015 by erinnoxford

Will the Circle be Unbroken

I don’t know exactly what was going on, but at the drop-in and while on outreach last Wednesday something seemed to be up. We saw friend after friend struggling hard. There was a certain heaviness that lay upon the shoulders of each person. I went home feeling burdened and sad.

As I reflected that evening, it occurred to me that many of my interactions ended with my hand being grabbed and usually held against a forehead. I would just stand there peering at the person on front of me, struck by their tears and clear longing for healing and hope, feeling like all I could do was hold on. One person said, “please just hold my hand and sing ‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken’ before you go”. A few others gathered and agreed. For the next few minutes I sang, struck by the poignant lyrics that seemed to bring to life the inward prayer of many that day.

All I could do last Wednesday was offer my hand and a weepy rendition of a hymn from 1907. The song has been rolling around my head ever since.

I was standing by my window
On one cold and cloudy day
When I saw that hearse come rolling
For to carry my mother away

Will the circle be unbroken
By and by, Lord, by and by
There’s a better home a-waiting
In the sky, Lord, in the sky

I said to that undertaker
Undertaker please drive slow
For this lady you are carrying
Lord, I hate to see her go

Oh, I followed close behind her
Tried to hold up and be brave
But I could not hide my sorrow
When they laid her in the grave

I went back home, my home was lonesome
Missed my mother, she was gone
All of my brothers, sisters crying
What a home so sad and lone

We sang the songs of childhood
Hymns of faith that made us strong
Ones that mother taught us
Hear the angels sing along

Will the circle be unbroken
By and by, Lord, by and by
There’s a better home a-waiting
In the sky, Lord, in the sky

Posted on September 4, 2015September 4, 2015 by erinnoxford

Learning Each Other’s Names

I am glad so many people have learned that the young boy who drowned trying to escape Syria was named Aylan Kurdi. Names are important.

I think about the value of being known by name nearly every day. It matters to me when someone remembers my name and even more when they learn how to spell it. Erinn with two n’s is rare. When someone comes to The Dale the first thing we try to do is learn their name. One of my friends Michael talks about how he knew The Dale was a safe space away from the street when we took him by surprise and called him by name.

We all have an innate need to be known. Being known goes deeper than simply remembering one’s name though. We might be able to identify a celebrity by name, but know nothing about them as a person. This is where it gets messy. Authentic relationships are built when we are willing to reveal ourselves. Underneath our exteriors (whatever that exterior might look like) are complex emotions, failures and longings that we fear will be too much for anyone else to handle. That which we want most can also be the most terrifying.

This fear can flow into the way we take care of one another. Though we were designed to live in community we often don’t. Or we do, just in homogenous groups that we design to feel comfortable and very safe. We are called though to feed those who are hungry, clothe those who are naked, visit those who are sick and imprisoned and show hospitality to those in need. Remember too that each of us will take turns being the one who requires help.

I am convinced that if people consistently opened their doors to people like Aylan or my friend Michael, our world would look very different. A radical shift in our culture is necessary for this to happen. Maybe the start is learning one another’s names.

Posted on August 20, 2015August 20, 2015 by erinnoxford

Photos for and Inspired by My Mom

On Monday I went to visit my Mom who lives in the complex continuing care unit of a hospital around the corner from us. We had been away at camp the previous week, home for just enough time to do laundry before heading to Newfoundland. We had a couple of hours to catch up before I went home to finish packing.

I was folding clothes when the phone rang. With a steady voice, one of my Mom’s nurses explained that they had been unable to wake her up, assured me she was breathing and strongly suggested that we come. I immediately called my brother and together we joined our Mom at her bedside.

It was a scary night. At times we were very uncertain about what the outcome was going to be. I felt sure that I wouldn’t be getting on a plane. However, as we have experienced a number of times before, my Mom rallied. In the wee hours of the morning she opened her eyes, smiled and obviously recognized us and the others who had gathered. I felt jittery with relief.

I confess that I was entirely conflicted about embarking on our trip. With the encouragement of others, including my Mom I found courage to go. I promised her that I would heed her advice and take a lot of pictures. My Mom is an artist and I find myself trying to capture the things she would like to see, smell and touch. I am filled with memories of summers in Northern Ontario where the terrain is not dissimilar to Newfoundland. I know she would love it here.

Mom, I aspire to be as strong and gentle as you. I love you. These photos are for you (there are hundreds more for when we’re back together).

Posted on August 5, 2015August 5, 2015 by erinnoxford · 5 Comments

Cowboy

I knew Robert Wilson as Cowboy. I met Cowboy outside of the library at the corner of Queen Street West and Cowan Avenue, where he was hanging out with a crew of people I knew from The Dale drop-in. He finished that first conversation with a certain hand gesture: one where he would wiggle his fingers and bring his arm back to signify that things were “groovy”. From that time on we used it to greet one another hello, though our goodbye would inevitably include a hug.

I learned quickly that Cowboy lived life hard. He was an admitted alcoholic who I got used to seeing inebriated. Drunk or sober, Cowboy could articulate that he was numbing difficult things and wanted to be able to stop. It was not uncommon for him to attend our little Sunday afternoon church service where he would pray aloud for healing. In some of his worst moments he would sit atop the small flight of stairs into the space away from the service, close enough to be safe, far enough to be entrenched in his own thoughts.

Cowboy became a good friend. He would always say, “girl, how ARE you today?” I knew he really wanted to know and would call me out if I didn’t give an honest answer. When I needed to share hard things he would look at me with compassion, nod his head and say, “in the end, in the end, in the end…things will be okay”. Coming from Cowboy, this sentiment was the opposite of trite. I knew that he understood the challenge of life and was pointing to our future hope.

The last time I had a conversation with Cowboy was near the beginning of June after a little memorial service we did for a community member’s father, a man none of us had met. It was a beautiful time, full of love and support for the bereaved. I sang ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ at the request of Cowboy. Afterwards he sang a couple of lines to me, unashamed of the tears that accompanied them. He spoke of how much he loved his friends and family, gave me a hug and left.

That night (I will spare the details of how) Cowboy ended up in hospital, unconscious and on full life support. Upon hearing the news the following day, I went to the hospital and met the family that surrounded him. Over the course of the next month and a half Cowboy was well cared for until his body couldn’t do it anymore. It is hard to believe he is gone.

I think about Cowboy a lot. I miss him. The Dale misses him, as do so many people in Parkdale. My prayer is that in the end, in the end, things have been made right for him. I live in hope that our goodbye is actually a groovy ‘see you later’, finger wiggling and all.

Toronto Star notice: Robert “Cowboy” Wilson Obituary

Posted on July 21, 2015July 21, 2015 by erinnoxford

Diving In

Over the last number of weeks I have been travelling to and from the various camps that my daughter Cate is attending. Before one of the treks I grabbed a handful of CDs that I hadn’t listened to in years, hoping to be inspired by music I once knew. In the late 90’s, just before I started work at Sanctuary (a place that has inspired the work of The Dale in countless ways and precious to my heart) I listened incessantly to a song about “diving in”. This was the first song that played as I turned on the car.

I’m diving in, I’m going deep, in over my head I want to be
Caught in the rush, tossed in the flow, in over my head I want to go
The river’s deep, the river’s wide, the river’s water is alive
So sink or swim, I’m diving in. Here I go.

Making the decision to join the Sanctuary staff was entirely appealing and terrifying at the same time. In addition to being scared of having to fundraise the money for my own salary, I struggled with self-doubt: was I really the right person to join such a unique community? As memories of that time flooded back, I began to realize how similar I felt right before starting my current role at The Dale. In fact, how I sometimes still feel the anxiety of jumping in the proverbial “river” that is my work.

The Dale is at an interesting time in its life. In many ways we have come through crisis and are enjoying some relative stability. Our relationships with one another, our partners and the neighbourhood are expanding. More people know our story. All of these good things bring more responsibility and increased need. As relationships deepen, so does our capacity to truly feel one another’s pain. We need to be honest about the good news of our story and the fact that we continuously live rather close to the edge. It’s a complicated, sometimes scary space to be.

I found myself weeping as I sang along to this song I hadn’t heard in such a long time. It touched a part of me that I was maybe only quietly aware of, the part that right now needs to say again and again “I’m diving in”. I want to keep swimming and trust that I can be in over my head because the water is truly that alive. Here I go.

Posted on July 7, 2015July 7, 2015 by erinnoxford

An Unexpected Reminder: The Faith of a Stranger

Someone came into our Thrift Store Drop-In today and asked to speak to me about “religious stuff”. I had no idea what to expect or what turns such a conversation might take. Looking into folded hands he said, “do you remember when Jesus told the man to pick up his mat and walk?”

Yes, I surely do. In it, Jesus heals the man who has been a paralytic. It is a story that I think of often: when I visit my mom who has lived in hospital for more than a decade, when I hold the hands of friends at The Dale who are struggling, when I consider the toll Multiple Sclerosis is taking on my husband.

He continued, “I want even a portion of that for my friend who can hardly walk and is too skinny and has no money.”

I could feel a lump rise up in my throat as he emphatically talked about the desire for healing. Over the last number of weeks I have thought of little else. The deepest part of me has been consumed with wondering why healing seems so far away. Honestly, it might even be the reason why I’ve been so quiet here.

Our talk was relatively short and finished with, “will you pray for him? We have to keep believing” before he excused himself to go and buy some food for the ailing friend. I was struck and encouraged by his faith. This stranger, probably unwittingly, reminded me that where there is faith, there is hope.