ERINN OXFORD

I am rather exhausted. Do you ever feel that way? Just tired out in every possible way? There have been a number of things going on that I am right in the middle of, though aren’t necessarily about me (or at least not directly) that are lending to my weariness.

Maybe a decent, though intense example of this occurred recently at the drop-in. On this day there seemed to be something in the air that was lending itself to everyone, including me, being out of sorts. A long-time friend and community member was in a bad way which led to some very poor behaviour choices, including becoming very threatening. We are committed to keeping the drop-in safe AND respectful, so an intervention was required. I want to be clear: this person wasn’t threatening me. In fact, every time I was able to catch his gaze as I stood in front of him, he slowed down and tried to remind me that he has respect for me and “didn’t want to do this”. Though I was able to guide him close to the door, things didn’t end well. One final threat toward someone else, which included a fist, landed inadvertently on me.

I’m okay. Maybe a little shaken in the moment, though fine. I know that what happened had very little to do with me. In fact, it had very little to do with anyone who found themselves on the receiving end of this person’s anger. Knowing this doesn’t make what happened justifiable, it just helps provide a larger context and I do believe that context is important. My friend has some very deep-seated pain that is coming out in a very displaced way. In fact, as we spoke he encouraged me to know this and share it. I suspect we have all been through something similar: acting out towards others as a result of our own struggles, fist or no fist.

Since Monday I have moved steadily from hard situation to hard situation, with very little time in between. I am grateful for the space this little blog creates in my life to slow down, ponder and figure out how to articulate the things I am constantly learning and being taught (sometimes over and over again), particularly in the midst of a lot of challenge.

Maybe now I can actually have a nap.

I was standing outside The Gateway- a shelter my husband used to direct- removing turkey after frozen turkey from my car, handing them to a few guys staying in the shelter, watching each (15 in total) being carted into the building via bright yellow laundry carts, all so that my caterer friend could cook them for The Dale’s February Feast and I thought, “I have a wild job”.

While I was manoeuvering the turkeys over a very large snow bank I looked up to see the huge smile of one of my Parkdale friends. I had known of some of his recent struggles and that he needed a shelter bed; I didn’t know that he ended up at The Gateway. We got the surprise opportunity to connect and have a really beautiful conversation about his personal growth over the last month.

From there I went to Parkdale Community Health Centre for our Art Drop-In. There I ate pancakes made by a community member, received a precious gift of a lion and a lamb fashioned out of clay, performed first aid on someone’s head, held the hand of someone in crisis, drank too much coffee and reminded people to come on Friday for the feast where I assured them, there would be a lot of turkey.

Joanna and I next went to a community member’s apartment. This person needs to move, but can’t until some things are fixed up. So, we all donned rubber gloves and got to work cleaning and painting. Being in the middle of a massive low-income building can be an eye-opening experience, one that I think all people should be required to have. I found myself thinking again about how wild my days are.

Sometimes when I tell these kind of stories people suggest I should write them down. I usually smile and suggest that all of this will be hard to believe, that “everyone will think I’m embellishing!”. In truth, most days are as varied as the one I am recounting here. I get to journey with a wonderful spectrum of people, experiencing a gamut of emotions every.single.day.

Later in the evening on this same day I joined our outreach team and walked the neighbourhood. We never know what will happen and simply endeavour to have our eyes, ears and hearts open to whoever we might meet and whatever we might learn. On this night we had a number of great chats with people, the topics of conversation ranging from theology to gentrification to politics to music to weather patterns to, you guessed it…

Turkey.

Posted on March 3, 2014 by erinnoxford · 3 Comments

A Complicated Grief

Six years ago today my Dad died. I remember, as though it were yesterday how I felt when I got the phone call, drove to his house, sat in a living room across the street from his house as the paramedics did their work, told Cate, planned a service and spoke a eulogy. In many ways those first days and weeks felt like a blur. My grief actually intensified as the days wore on.

I miss him. I hate that he never knew my nephews. I’m sad that he isn’t at Cate’s birthday parties anymore. I still can’t believe he’s gone, though I completely understand that he is. I even have fleeting thoughts that I need to call him and ask his advice on something.

Though I feel rather raw and consistently on the verge of tears today, I am also aware of a deep gratitude that keeps growing inside of me. I had a Dad that I loved and even though he isn’t here, still love. He taught me a lot about doing things well and working hard, something that informs my everyday life at The Dale. I learned a lot about honest communication and confronting in love because of my relationship with my Dad.

I have good friends and family who are remembering with me today. I am surrounded by people at The Dale Drop-In who are loving me through it. I look around at people drinking coffee, jamming, chatting and cooking and think, “this is good“. My Dad isn’t here to see it, but I have the strong feeling that he would be proud. And that, however melancholy I might seem, makes me very, very happy.

Posted on February 17, 2014February 17, 2014 by erinnoxford · 2 Comments

When You’re Not the One Who’s Sick

I, at least to my knowledge, am physically healthy. My husband Dion is not. 17 years ago he was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, known commonly and simply as MS.

I remember the day that Dion was struck with the first symptom: his whole side went numb. At that time we were engaged to be married. I watched him go through a battery of tests only to be told, “it could be one of two things: MS or a pinched nerve”. I desperately wanted it to be the latter.

Since Dion’s diagnosis we have endeavoured to not allow MS define him or us, though it has been an unwelcome piece of our entire marriage. The reality is that it has left and continues to create an indelible mark. Dion cannot run around the park with our daughter Cate. We cannot go for walks. Dion faces severe fatigue. We are likely needing to install a stair lift sooner rather than later in order to remain comfortably in our house- the only house Cate has ever known. Things that most of us take for granted, like putting on our own socks without getting exhausted, are the norm for Dion.

People look at Dion and can get that his body is facing limitations. He has been increasingly open and transparent about what this disease has taken from him. In the process we have also learned how to better communicate through this as a couple. Dion often says that MS is actually our disease. In many ways he is right, except that I can still feel my body.

I have no idea why Dion has MS and I don’t. I hate being able to do things that he can’t. I struggle with balancing the weight of my responsibility for Dion, Cate, our home and my work. I want to do it all well and then I get overwhelmed. I desire to help Dion in the ways he needs it and give him the space to do what he can still manage and sometimes I get wrong which is which. So often people tell me I look and act so strong, which is lovely, except that it masks my need for help and the amount of sorrow I carry. I need people to pray for Dion. And I need, though I am not sick, for people to pray for me.

Being the “healthy” (read: physically healthy) one has its challenges. It is difficult saying this because I fear it might sound like I am belittling what Dion is going through. I don’t. Every day I watch the person I chose to spend my life with struggle. I get to see first hand the brutality of having MS. I also get to witness how Dion is being healed in other ways through this illness. He is being transformed emotionally and spiritually and is helping me experience the same.

I would very truly switch places with Dion if I could. I long to take it all away. Even if it was for just a moment, a moment where he could chase Cate around the block or even just feel my hand in his.

“My life is all kinds of crazy”. That’s a line I hear a lot around The Dale. The more I hear it, the more I am convinced that this is true for all of us. Life is this wild ride of things that can be good, bad and everything in between. There is a time for everything: a time to weep and laugh, mourn and dance, be silent and speak. I don’t know about you, but for me the various times often overlap, rarely being entirely one or the other.

I feel so privileged to be entrusted with people’s stories of life. Some days I hear story after story, each one full of various regrets and loss, peppered with joy and glimpses of hope. More and more I am being asked to share these stories (most times leaving out identifying facts) by the community. I do this with caution, feeling the weight of responsibility to not misrepresent my people. I know though that they are entrusting me to be, in many ways, their voice.

With that in mind, consider the current reality of some of my friends:

: “Sarah” is completing community hours at the drop-in so that her charges will be dismissed by the court. The closer she gets to freedom, the easier it is to relapse into addiction and the sex trade. Pray for her. The good news is that she loves working in our kitchen and asked if we would “let her” continue helping out. The answer is an emphatic YES.

: “Dave” is dealing with serious health issues that have plagued him for years. And by dealing, I mean finally not ignoring them. Dave has buried every single one of his family members, making his getting help a huge step.

: “Harry” has found someone to love and is amazed that she loves him back. The two cannot be together right now because she has been hospitalized for mental health issues. He looks at pictures of them from last summer when she was able to laugh and smile, hanging on to the hope that this summer might bring the same.

: “William’s” alcoholism is eating away at his health. He is exhausted from sleeping in stairwells and longs to have a different kind of life. For years he has needed to ask me/The Dale for money, tokens and food. Today he handed me a twenty-dollar bill. I couldn’t refuse, knowing this was an opportunity for him to be the giver instead of receiver. He walked away with a spring in his step.

Such circumstances might seem completely foreign to some of you. That’s understandable. Notice though in each story how the light meets challenge: there is an element of hope in each, however little it might seem. When I consider my own story I see the same. There is a time to mourn and a time to dance, and as another author once put it, sometimes it’s the same time.

Posted on February 5, 2014February 5, 2014 by erinnoxford

Here to Thrive

Our homelessness was born out of necessity and is now one of our greatest gifts. This is the story I need to tell about The Dale.

During the early summer of 2012 The Dale moved out of what had been our home for years. We didn’t have anywhere to go, except we knew we must continue to gather as a community. I recall saying, “if we have to, we’ll host our drop-in in the park” and I meant it.

Since that time we have found new places to gather around the neighbourhood. Relationship and partnership have sustained and strengthened us. Various organizations generously opened their doors, including: St Francis Table, Sketch, Parkdale Community Health Centre, The Jeremiah Community, Epiphany and St Mark Anglican and Bonar Parkdale Presbyterian Church. We got creative and decided to meet in unexpected places such as the back of The Salvation Army Thrift Store. A home also known as Junia House became a meeting place and occasional host to Board meetings and even baking parties. We wander the streets, visit on park benches and frequent a large number of coffee shops. We host a Bible Study in a Coffee Time which has generously waived the maximum loitering limit. We are, in a word, mobile. This mobility means that the neighbourhood knows us in a whole new way and us, it.

With this in mind, it has become clear that the next step for The Dale does not include finding a building large enough to fit everything we do. We are dreaming about maybe a storefront or a small Winnebago. Either way, we will remain committed to being a presence that roams. By being a church without our own walls we have increased our visibility and yes, our viability. The money we save by not having to manage the general upkeep and day-to-day costs of a building is huge. Instead, we can use it to staff and run programming that directly impacts our community. With additional money we can do more of the same.

Are there challenges? Absolutely. I don’t carry keys (other than a few internal ones) to a single building that we use. Our storage is minimal. People need to remember where to find us on any given day. I will be the first to admit that some days my own optimism gets worn down by these limitations. Though I suspect everyone can, to some degree, relate to that feeling. The truth is, these cons pale in comparison to the very real pros of our situation, which include that our friends who know transience see that we have learned about it too; that we are working together with more and more groups; that we know our neighbours better, including residents, store owners and even the police; that we do a lot with very little.

Homelessness is not something I would hope for anyone. I long to see its end. I am grateful that The Dale can stand alongside so many who are under-housed in a different kind of solidarity now because of our own limited experience. In that sense, our homelessness is a gift. I believe too that it has led us to a clarity of vision and mission. We survived a terrible crisis and are stronger now. We are here to thrive.

Posted on January 23, 2014January 23, 2014 by erinnoxford · 2 Comments

Reason 1001

While sitting in the Tim Horton’s during our outreach time last night I noticed them taking notice of us.

Two young-ish (I’m terrible with age) men were clearly perplexed by The Dale team engaging with so many people who, as they put it, are “homeless”. It was so cold last night that the coffee shop was pretty full. We got to say hello to more than a couple of community friends.

I was waiting close to the door when one of the guys piped up and asked, “what exactly are you doing?”. I introduced myself and talked about what we do at The Dale. Apparently they had seen us the week before giving out what seemed to be money to the same person over and over again, felt concerned and thought about intervening on our behalf. I was pleased to explain the money in question was actually tokens and that we know well the fellow receiving them.

I ended up having a really positive conversation with two people who are no longer strangers.

This is reason number one thousand and ONE that I love being a church without walls. For those of you new to The Dale’s journey, we do not have a building of our own. We instead spend time in buildings around the neighbourhood and outside. These two people would likely have never met us had we not decided to hang out at 9 pm in Tim Horton’s on a blisteringly cold night, nor would they have considered speaking to anyone who they would identify as homeless.

Next week we’ll buy them a coffee and introduce them to a few people.

I love it.

I have a friend who lives on the street, drinks a lot of cheap alcohol and is estranged from the life he grew up in. When I talk about hope he counters with, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know what hope even means”.

Fair enough.

I do believe that when I am talking to my friend who self-describes himself as hopeless, I have to be willing to share the reality of my own life when explaining the hope I know.

I don’t think that I have made it a secret on these pages that I have my own share of difficulties. My parents divorced when I was seven and my brother three. I have spent much of my life battling the desire to be a people pleaser and so-called perfectionist. I’ve had my heart broken. My husband has Multiple Sclerosis, which he was diagnosed with while we were first engaged, nearly 17 years ago. My Dad died suddenly and too soon in 2008. My Mom has lived in hospital for 10 years as of 2014- this the result of removing a brain tumour which would have caused the same damage had it been left alone.

These are some of the bigger ticket items in my life and of course don’t tell the whole story. The trouble with a list like the one above is that it fails to communicate the complications that arose out of each item. True too is that these are not strictly my OWN things, they involve many others. I am not an island.

The truth is, I don’t get why the storms around me have very rarely been calmed. I have shed buckets of tears, both in front of people and hidden away behind closed doors. I have screamed at and wrestled with God until completely exhausted. I have argued that it is entirely false that “God won’t give you more than you can handle”. I have thought that hope was in fact, all lost.

Somewhere in the midst of each struggle I have been given strength. I am this weak girl who has strength not my own. I am ever so slowly watching my heart being healed. I am learning to be present to the moment, where I catch glimpses of light and hope as simple as being handed a cup of cold water by my friend- the friend who until that moment thought he had nothing left to give.

“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed”. 2 Corinthians 4:7-9

A couple of Sundays ago I was busy setting things up for our afternoon service. A community member (I’ll call him Tom) showed up to help and chat.

Tom is one of my younger folks, someone who many might refer to as more of a “street kid”. He has a mop of dark hair, likes to wear baggy clothes and walks with his head down. Tom’s reality is one where couch surfing, eating at drop-in centres and hustling for money is the norm. He also regularly makes me laugh out-loud.

On this day Tom was telling me about having spoken to a family member for the first time in 3-ish years. He decided to call because it was Christmas. Since connecting he has been contemplating the truth that if this person dies, he will no longer have any blood relatives. He repeatedly said, “Erinn I’m gonna be totally alone”.

I found myself listening to much of Tom’s story while standing by the counter in the small kitchen. I heard about his childhood, his desire to fit in, his struggle with substances. Absent-mindedly I poured some milk into a container and tossed the drained carton into a recycling bin.

Tom stopped mid sentence and said, “Erinn! You aren’t recycling properly. Look, let me show you…”. Tom retrieved the carton, rinsed it out, flattened it and gently placed it back in the bin. He told me that recycling is one of the few things he can do to make sure the world is a little better. I immediately felt his chastisement and learned my lesson. Though I think he thought it weird, I was moved by the experience. There was something beautiful about the care he took with the one thing he has control of.

My heart is large for Tom. In some ways he feels like my kid, and if I’m not mistaken he feels like it too. His real life stories often make me wince and wish it could all be different. I tell him frequently that he is not alone and I hope against hope that he believes it.

I also tell him that I every time I recycle I now think of him.

Posted on January 2, 2014January 2, 2014 by erinnoxford · 1 Comment

Resolutions, Sort Of.

I’m not so good at New Year’s resolutions.

It’s not that I don’t believe in striving for helpful change in my life. Actually, I’m quite the opposite. It’s just that I find the heat produced by making a change “cold turkey” goes rather tepid come, say, January 15th. *Ahem* It’s far too easy to fall off the proverbial wagon and then give up. I do like a definition of resolution that I recently found: it’s the “process of reducing things into simpler forms”. That sounds right, because for me it’s all about baby steps, that making a mistake doesn’t mean all hope is lost, that each day is a new day.

With this in mind, I am taking some time to imagine what I would love to do/see/create/learn in the coming year(s). In no particular order:

Fold laundry soon after it comes out of the dryer. When I actually do this it makes its way into drawers and I feel far more relaxed. Hey, if this is the ONLY place I can lessen stress in my life, than I’m game.

The Oxford car has turned into a taxi and storage room for The Dale. It has been determined that due to my husband Dion’s health he must (read: only, ever) drive using hand controls. Our car is now equipped with these. So, I am now dreaming about getting what I already affectionately call a “Dale-mobile”. I figure if we can’t have walls of our own, we could maybe have wheels. Having a vehicle of our own would allow us even more freedom to help people move; visit people in hospitals, treatment programs and jails all over the city; accompany people to appointments; and of course, store stuff. We’ll see!

I hope to grow The Dale’s staff team.

I will endeavour to not worry about money at home or at work. The last two years have taught me a great deal about this. We have been provided for in beautiful and often unexpected ways. Further, I will work to give even more away.