ERINN OXFORD

Sabbath: a period of rest.

Without Sabbath I do not know how I would function. I say this out of experience, for there have been plenty of times when I have failed to rest and as a result am a mess. Remind me of this when I forget to rest in the future.

The concept of Sabbath is rooted in the creation story: God worked to bring the world and all its inhabitants into being and when done, rested. He made this day of rest holy. I love that what was made holy was time. When I am actively choosing to not DO, it is good.

This of course is counter to much of our culture. We prioritize being busy and getting lots of stuff done, oftentimes allowing ourselves to be defined by our work. While doing our work well is so important, it is not meant to be all-encompassing. I am not simply Erinn Oxford, Director- my life is more nuanced than that.

The way my work looks demands that I carve out Sabbath on a weekday rather than a weekend. For me it is Friday. The biggest challenge I have is not making Friday my “catch-up day”. I could easily fill it with housework and all those things I failed to do during the week. I have to very intentionally choose to put those things aside and trust they will get done later. And here’s the thing: they do get done. By really resting, I am truly rejuvenated and able to return to work well.

I recently went to a place called the Cedars at L’Arche Daybreak in Richmond Hill. The Cedars is a house that one can use for quiet spiritual retreat. Whenever I’m there, I am struck by the peace that the place exudes. I always wonder why it feels so challenging to recreate that same sense elsewhere. I’m coming to understand that what is unique about the Cedars is you go there expecting to rest.

I guess that’s the heart of Sabbath- that God gives us permission to approach a day EXPECTING to rest. What an amazingly wise, loving gift, one that helps me understand who I truly am and redirects my attention to the One who matters most.

Thank goodness for Fridays.

Some days just don’t look the way you expect them to.

Take today. Instead of going to the Monday Drop-In I’m at home. This, after Cate sort of lost (read: threw-up) the bowl of oatmeal she’d just had for breakfast. I knew immediately that she couldn’t go to school. I also knew that I really needed to go to work. I found myself smack in the middle of the incredible challenge it is to be a working mother.

This challenge is complex. My own journey has been a gradual one. I stayed home with Cate until she was in school, at which time I started working very part-time. Over the years I have watched Cate’s own readiness for independence grow and have generally kept my work life in step with that. I do not take for granted that this cannot be everyone’s experience. I also understand that it is not what everyone would choose. For me it fit.

Now I work at PNC full-time and days like today happen. I have a husband who works too and so together we have to figure it out. One amazing thing is that the culture being cultivated at PNC is one where the work is shared. I absolutely know that while I will be missed, the drop-in will happen. It will be a lot of work, yes. I am grateful to the many who are taking on my part of the load. From what I can tell, we all believe it is work that is so worth it and deeply good, which is exactly the way I also view the work I stayed home to do- the work of mothering.

I know that when Cate heard me say, “you are staying home with me” there was a huge sense of relief on her little face. I also know that when I’m back at PNC, everyone will be asking about how she is. Knowing all of this makes the challenge much easier. It reminds me that struggling with balancing things is important, to take it all one step at a time and that bowls of oatmeal can teach very fine lessons.

I have been reflecting a lot on how PNC has weathered what has been an incredibly challenging year and a bit.  It has been so hard AND so deeply good. We are still here because countless organizations and individuals (you know who you are, though I intend to say this to you each directly) have come alongside and reminded us that we are not alone.  We have been offered space to run our programs, food to create the meals, money to make sure the bills we do have get paid, prayer support and the gift of people’s presence. We have come a long way together.

God has seen fit to create a new work in Parkdale, one with a deeply rooted history and now taking on new forms. I have witnessed God’s peace going deeper than the pain. I have seen with my own eyes the multiplying of “loaves and fishes” when it seemed certain there would not be enough. We have a testimony to tell.

I’m not sure that these words can truly convey my gratitude. I am thankful from every part of my being. That is not an overstatement, it’s simply the truth.

The journey is not over. In many ways it has just begun. Keep with us.

There will be more stories to share.

For a couple of years my family and I have been sharing dinner with a group of people every Wednesday night. We all affectionately refer to it as the Great Dinner Shuffle, or GDS. Each week you are either a host or a guest. If you are hosting, you prepare the meal. If you are a guest, you simply show up and eat. Key to this is that the host not feel like a “show” is necessary. If what you are up for making is grilled cheese or warming up canned soup, fantastic. If your bathroom is messy, that’s okay. One of the fundamental hopes of GDS is to create an enlarged sense of family, one that feels comfortable.

A paraphrased story that I love to tell is how walking away from our house one night, a little guy asked his dad, “is Cate our cousin”?

“No, she’s not”.

“But she is someone special to us”.

Aha! This little guy gets it. By being intentional about spending time with one another our kids have more cousins and yes, more parents; our adults feel less alone. Community is being formed.

One of my GDS friends just told me that her toddler daughter was pretending to talk on the phone with someone. When asked who she was talking to she said, “Erinn of course”. I have to admit that my heart grew another size. My hope and prayer is that when this wee one is old enough to call me for real, she will feel safe to; that I will get to watch her grow and change and learn; that I can be engaged in her life. That is what I hope Cate will experience with her additional parents too.

It’s amazing that this is growing out of something as seemingly simple as sharing meals together. Breaking bread is a beautiful thing.

The story of Timothy Bosma is stuck in my heart.

I didn’t know him. I did however grow up amongst the Dutch (though my last name was Grant- far from Dutch!) and experienced the very tight-knit community they share first hand. I also know people who knew Tim. I suppose this made me feel a little connected, though I am sure I would have felt this tragedy regardless.

I watched the footage of Tim’s widow speaking at the funeral. Her acknowledgement that people are suggesting Tim had some prior connection to the murderer(s) or that he made a stupid mistake getting into the truck was, in my opinion, brave. She went on to say that such comments are born out of fear: fear that if this could happen to a “regular” guy, doing a “regular” thing  it could happen to anyone.

I agree with her.

The truth is, horrible things happen. Every day. Much of the time these things happen far enough away that we can, for better or worse, remain detached. Sometimes though they happen in our neighbourhood, or on our street, or in our very own homes. It is during these times that we come alive to the challenge and frailty of life. Grief knocks on our door and makes itself comfortable, making us completely uncomfortable in the process. When tragedies happen to me I become much more attuned to the weeping and gnashing of teeth in those places that previously felt so far away.

I don’t know why this happened to Tim. I don’t know what could have happened in the life of whoever did this that made such an act possible. What I do know is the amazing beauty evident in the way the Bosma family and their community have responded to this. They have modeled compassion, gratitude, faith and togetherness. In the midst of the unthinkable they have clung to one another and the God who promises so much more than this messed up world.

Sharlene Bosma has described herself as “broken”. May she, may we all, be one day made complete.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

-from Psalm 23

I was lying on my bed this morning looking out the window at the amazingly huge old maple tree across the street. Looking at this tree is nothing new. New this morning though was me noticing the sky beyond it. I’m always staring at the leaves, trying to catch a glimpse of the colour and clouds of the sky through them. It’s actually easy to see the sky by just moving my chin up a little higher.

It occurred to me that this illustrates how I’m feeling these days. I am moving around a little more freely and with some clarity of vision. This instead of being bogged down by other people’s expectations of me, instead of worrying about everything that may or may not happen (be it good or bad), instead of staring at the all the things perceivably “in the way”. I’m not saying I have it all together. I do worry; I make mistakes; I get tired; I weep over broken things. What’s different is the new freedom I feel to just be transparently present in each moment. A number of people, including my own mother, have told me that lately I look relaxed and “lighter”. I didn’t think my deep-down internal worries actually manifested themselves on my exterior. I was wrong.

Maybe ironically it is by being in the moment that I can better take in the whole picture. Take for instance PNC: there are so many things/tasks I need to do on a daily basis, it would be easy to get lost in them and entirely forget about the whole point of why I am there. When I remember to drink in each moment I am gripped by the beauty of the community and the promise of our future together. I become better equipped to envision where we are headed and share the story of the journey.

A new work is being done in my heart. It’s like God has broken me open. He’s parting the trees so that I can also see the sky.

I am trying to get back into the swing of things. It’s, well, a little slow going- mostly due to my internal clock being askew. We went on a faraway trip that was beautiful, inspiring and in every sense worth the jet lag. This trip was only possible because of an invitation Dion received to speak. We had a stop-over in Paris, stayed with friends in Hungary and got put-up in a flat at a Salvation Army shelter in Prague. It was a wonderful way to travel. At various moments along the way I “interviewed” Cate. We would lie on a bed, pull out the voice recorder conveniently located in my phone and she would talk. Here are some snippets.

“Cate, How was Paris?”

“It was awesome. The Eiffel Tower was…AHHHH. It was huge and at night it was so sparkly. I loved going up and seeing the view. I also liked the food, the Arc De Triomph, the double-decker bus and the Louvre.

The Mona Lisa was really beautiful and all the artifacts from like the year 520. I like that different people from a very long time ago used the stuff and it is stuff that I might never find or use now.”

“What about Hungary and Prague?”

“I loved the weather. All the food was interesting. They use a lot of paprika. I won’t forget the old buildings that actually have gun shot holes in them from the times of warfare and the Roman Coliseum from when Jesus was around. I also learned about Communism. It wasn’t very long ago that it happened. I heard that some people are still learning how to trust their neighbours. I also learned a lot about people who are Roma. Andrew and Darlene [our hosts] taught us all about Hungarian history. Our interpreter friend Szabolcs told us that ‘Szia’ (See ya) can mean hello and goodbye in Hungarian. He also was very kind and gave me many treats.

I love all the castles.

The only thing I didn’t like: the mosquitoes. Oh, and the way my ears feel when the plane is landing.

I learned that in Hungary they have Name Days. It is almost as important as your birthday. Someone might give you a gift on the day. My name here in Hungary is Cottie, short for Cotelyn.”

“Could you give me your Top List of things on this trip? In no particular order.”

1. The Hungarian BBQ.

2. The weather.

3. How you can walk on the streets.

4. The sunsets. The sunset in Balaton was AHHH, just like the Eiffel Tower.

5. The different light switches and plugs.

6. The flowers and trees. Nature.

7. The handmade things in shops.

8. The Eiffel Tower, the Prague Castle and Budapest lit up at night.

9. The hot pools (which are very hot).

10. The food (which is very meaty).

Nothing like hearing about a trip through the eyes of a ten-year old. I hope that she never forgets it. And I’m glad that she some of her top items are things she can experience no matter what part of the world she is in.

Thankfully there are sunsets that are AHHH everywhere.

I have been rather silent here since departing on a fantastic journey over the ocean. I am currently in Hungary: mostly Budapest, but right now in a town called Balatonfoldvar. This trip has got me mulling over many things, not least of which, Communism.

On a trip to Cuba many years ago, the bus driver taking us to Havana pointed to a large statue of Jesus and announced, “now there’s the first Communist”. Sad that the communists who followed didn’t understand what Jesus was actually talking about. Under the Communist regime, people fled countries such as Hungary in order to find the freedom to worship, to own enough to survive and to escape the imminent danger of being killed. I spoke to a man this morning through an interpreter who explained that his parents were Salvation Army Officers before the war until their work was “closed” by the government. Though a classless, moneyless, stateless social order was the goal, it never worked.

As our hosts led us through Budapest earlier this week, they somewhat lamented the arrival of Starbucks. They spoke of how major revolutions began over a small cup of espresso, chased by a glass of sparkling water in the small kávé shops. It’s harder to have important conversations when you order a large cup of coffee to go. While there are many statues of Lenin and Stalin (though now housed in “Memento Park”), there are more of poets and others who participated in major social change.

My mind went to the many coffee shops along the Queen Street West strip in Parkdale. What would it look like to participate in revolution from the PNC office on the street? I long to learn how to really share all that has been given to me in abundance with those who have less. I want to grasp all that is given to me out of apparent poverty. I hope that in the process the lines between classes, if not eradicated, will be entirely blurred.

I look forward to the time when Jesus will truly make us all the same. In the meantime, I desire to be changed, to be revolutionized. Maybe it could even happen in the little coffee shop at the corner of Queen and Dunn.

Today approximately 45 high school students from Milton joined us at PNC. We split them into groups and rotated them through three experiences: walking the neighbourhood with Joanna, participating in the drop-in with me and listening to the story of a man named Steve Grant.

I was thrilled that Steve got to share what living on the streets had been like and how his life is now, living in an intentional community house. I count it such a privilege to have been a part of his journey and to call him my friend. He is a teammate to Joanna and I. Steve helped break down barriers today. Those students understand a bit better that becoming homeless can happen to anyone, that none of us are immune.

Some of the students confessed that at first they felt as though they might be intruding. Interesting that by the end of the day this feeling evaporated. I was so heartened (though not at all surprised) to hear that our community truly hosted them. PNC folks wanted to make sure that the students didn’t “leave hungry”. People who are so used to wondering where the next meal might come from showed selflessness when passing the potatoes.

I’ve written before about hoping to shift around traditional power dynamics. Today was a beautiful example of that. Today the people who some would refer to as PNC’s “guests” became the hosts.

I love it.

I’ve said this before and I will say it again: I often wonder when people are going to figure out that I have no idea what I’m doing.

Sometimes this thought creeps in to my heart when I’ve had a terrible week. Sometimes it comes when things are going surprisingly well. In truth, I think it resides in me on some level all the time. I’m on a steep learning curve.

PNC, especially over the past year, has been one wild decision after another. No money? Okay then, we’ll get rid of our building. No food for the drop-in? We’ll call Second Harvest. No place to put our stuff? We’ll get rid of it. On and on it goes.

Here’s the amazing part: we’re still here. And we’re not just surviving, we’re thriving. Not thriving in the ways some might expect: we are still the church without our own walls with very few belongings. I still take a load of files and a little laptop to any number of my offices (read: coffee shops) along the Queen Street West strip. Joanna and I had our staff meeting on a park bench last week. However, our Monday drop-in is ever-growing; our friends at the Salvation Army Thrift Shop are making the Coffee Corner LARGER because our people are packing it out; we’ve started an art drop-in at the Health Centre; our plot in the Community Garden is secure; we have a committed team out on the streets every Wednesday night; our worship service is developing and we’re even about to change our name. And those are the things that are fairly easy to describe. Some of the best stuff is happening in the little moments stolen with our friends: the conversations around a table, the accompanying someone to court, the sitting on a curb and hearing a person’s life story, the holding of someone’s hand as they make the decision to get clean.

While these things are going so well, I still have frequent moments of wondering how the next bit of money is going to come or how I’m possibly going to find new supporters. I was reminded this week that what we need often comes in very unexpected ways. A country club called The Boulevard Club decided to raise funds for us through their annual tennis “Calcutta”. Who knew that could happen? Just today a pastor told me his church is prepared to support us in any way they can, this a full year after hearing my impassioned plea for PNC and our need for help at a conference. I am constantly reminded that while I need to do everything I can for this place, I also need to just get out-of-the-way and let it happen. God’s timeline is not necessarily mine.

So I fumble along, fully aware that at any moment I could fall flat on my face. Which is okay, because this was never really about me to begin with. I’m just a piece of the puzzle that is PNC. I’m confident too that when I land on the ground, one of my friends will be there offering me a hand, maybe gently teasing me about the fall and telling me to “get on with it…this place is about us and that us includes you”.

I speak from experience.