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Support The Dale: Community Care During Uncertain Times

There is no denying that the world is very unsettled right now. There is a lot of anxiety attached to ongoing conflicts, financial upheaval, and political uncertainty. I feel it, and I imagine you do too. You might wonder why, in the midst of it all, The Dale would launch a fundraiser. The reality is, The Dale is entirely dependent on the gifts of others to do what we do. We seek to create spaces of belonging for all, while making intentional room for people who are typically held at the margins.

In community we learn about one another’s needs, and for many of us this includes basic necessities that are simply outside of reach because of poverty, like hygiene products or socks. For some, becoming housed means starting from scratch, including needing a bed. These and other items are highlighted in The Dale’s Community Care Catalogue, giving you some very practical ways to support us. As always, we value support that is not financial too. If you are able to share about us on social media, or participate in one of our gatherings, or pray for us, we would love it!

Though times are uncertain, we continue to find hope at The Dale. We are grateful for so much, including our partnerships in the neighbourhood, the buzz of conversation in our drop-ins, the gatherings that take place outdoors, the ways we are learning to both give and receive in community, and our growing network of supporters. This work takes a village, and we have a wonderful one.

Check out the catalogue here: https://trellis.org/dalecommunitycarecatalogue

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Life, Loss, and Community: Reflections from a Meaningful Retreat

I had a dream the other night. In it I was surrounded by people I have been missing from The Dale since their deaths. We were all together in a room simply hanging out. One woman walked over and said, “I haven’t been able to give you a bear hug in a while”, and then proceeded to enfold me in a long embrace. It all felt both ordinary and extraordinary. I woke with a sense that I had just been given a gift, and I haven’t been able to shake that feeling since. 

In the weeks leading up to my dream, I found myself thinking of my friends a lot. This was especially true during the planning of our first community retreat since 2019. One day I had to pull out a file folder with the sign-up sheets from previous retreats, which took me down a rabbit hole of memories. Though I know exactly who is no longer with us, I felt overwhelmed by the volume of loss and the reality that they would have been some of the first to sign up for our excursion.

I continued to feel the absence of these friends during the school bus ride up north to Camp Crossroads, the settling into cabins, and eating our first meal in the lodge. At one point I lifted my face up to the sky and said, “they would have loved this”. The moment was broken when some of our group came outside to join me in looking up. Together we breathed in the air that smelled of pine and wood smoke, commented on the beauty of the lake, and chatted about the plan for the evening. 

Over the course of the next couple of days, we went on walks, sat on the dock, put together puzzles, played games, ate lots of food, slept, gathered around campfires, took out boats, and talked. Joanna and I jumped in, and very quickly out, of the lake. Meagan’s kindergarten aged daughter Charlotte drew pictures of people as gifts. Some gathered for Morning Prayer. On the last day we sang, shared gratitude, and took communion together. By the end of it people felt closer, some commenting on how they are now more a part of the community. 

The retreat helped me to grieve and to hope. I felt able to name that I was missing people. I also got to be present with an amazing group of people who did sign up and get on that bus. Maybe that’s part of what brought about my dream. Life continuing does not mean forgetting. And remembering does not mean excluding. The table is wide and there is always room for more.

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Cathartic Experience: Processing Grief and Fatigue

It always happens around Day 3 of my vacation. As I sit in solitude and my body begins to rest, the many things that are hard and contribute to my fatigue rise to the surface. This year in particular has been marked by a large amount of loss in a short period of time. While I am always trying to attend to my grief, 2024 has not made it easy to keep up. Even before the death of one person registered in my heart, another person was just as suddenly gone. Reflecting on this while sitting on a dock and staring out at the water, I began to sense the impending wave of emotion. I’ve learned to not resist.

What ensues is a mix of things. I ugly cry. I pray- sometimes wordlessly, and sometimes with so many words that I can’t help but trip over them. I try to breathe through the pain in a mindful way. At some point I can’t keep my eyes open and fall asleep in the sun. This time that nap was accompanied by a dream that one person had faked their death and I happened to spot them in a crowd. Side note: yes, I’ve told my counsellor about this. Overall, the experience lasts more than a day and is both painful and cathartic. 

I say cathartic because I know the stress, the grief and the fatigue cannot simply take up residence in my body. For me, letting these things hibernate means a stiff neck, chest and shoulders. A previous rotator cuff injury makes a re-appearance. My lifelong effort to calm an anxious gut becomes difficult again. Though my demeanor is generally calm (a trait I inherited from my Mom and is not fake), it can sometimes fool me into thinking I am more okay than is true. And so, taking the time to really notice what I am feeling, shaking it awake and giving expression to it has become necessary for my overall health and longevity in my work. 

A mess of things happened on that dock at the beginning of August. But, as we often talk about at The Dale, messy is also beautiful. The sun remained in its place and shone down on me, the birds accompanied my prayers, and the life under the water continued its work. I felt comforted by the truth that the world keeps turning and aware of God’s presence. The smell of sunscreen and someone else’s BBQ evoked memories that made me grin. The releasing of emotion finally gave way to a good kind of tired. And then by the second nightfall I fell into a dreamless and deep slumber.

I am now in the latter part of my holidays. I am slowly feeling more rested. I wish I could write that my yearly Day 3+ experience is some kind of magic bullet that makes everything better. Grief, as I’ve learned, is not something that you “get over” but that you move through. Dismissing it, though it might feel easier in the moment, does not make it go away. I find that when I reflect on the person who is gone and allow myself to really feel the loss, there is mysterious space created for healing. Remembrance is an important act of love. And I’m glad to have been reminded of it. 

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Holistic Wellbeing: The Importance of Sabbath, Mutual Care, and Community

I am frequently asked: how do you take care of yourself? Some people want to specifically know how I manage in the work that I do. Others wonder what it looks like to hold the various aspects of my life in balance. As I think about answering, usually the first thing that comes to mind is, “I have no idea what I’m doing.” The truth is, I am stumbling along, just trying to take the next (hopefully) best step. Upon further reflection, I realize there are a number of values that have been instilled in me by mentors, pastors, friends, and family. In the moments when I am struggling to know what to do, I lean on the wisdom of others.

SABBATH

Marva Dawn says, “A great benefit of Sabbath keeping is that we learn to let God take care of us — not by becoming passive and lazy, but in the freedom of giving up our feeble attempts to be God in our own lives.” Sabbath is fundamental to my wellbeing. I am reminded that I cannot do it all, nor am I required to. And whew, is that ever a relief. I hold Sabbath on Fridays. The outgoing message on my phone alerts people to this. I’m not saying it is easy, or that there aren’t occasionally emergencies or other things that require my attention. I am though convinced it is worth it. It has been in the quietest moments of rest that I find myself reminded love is not earned by doing. I am, WE ARE, simply beloved- though there is oftentimes nothing simple about embracing that truth.

MUTUALITY

At The Dale I am not just doing something for someone else. Instead, the invitation is for us to do something together. We are all made to both give and receive, and we lose a part of ourselves if we are always the giver or always the receiver. I call this mutuality. Holding this posture also invites me to see every person I encounter as unique, noticing that they have their own set of experiences which contribute to the way the world is viewed. In turn, I then have to allow people to see me. As relationship develops, there is opportunity for me to both offer care and receive it. Mutuality can at first feel quite vulnerable. The typical power dynamic suddenly shifts. For me, embracing both sides is life-giving and I think one of the biggest contributors to my longevity in this work.

COMMUNITY

I cannot do this life alone. I need people. I need those who know my strengths and my weaknesses, and who out of love and care call me out on things; who I can share the hard stuff with; who I can laugh with until I’m crying. And I need to be that person for others. I am so grateful to have friends who are all these things to me. I believe that we humans are built for community, which is why isolation (which is different than choosing solitude) is so debilitating and lonely. At The Dale it has been very important to grow a staff team, one where we know one another well and trust that we all have each other’s backs. The Dale as a whole spends a lot of time together, around tables, outside, in various spaces around the neighbourhood. We eat, we make art, we sing, we cry, we pray, we waste time together- all of which serves to nurture community.

COUNSELLING

I am a big fan of therapy. I see a counsellor nearly every other week. I also see people who function as spiritual directors and coaches. This might increase if I am in crisis, but it does not decrease when things are steady. I deeply value the active listening, question-asking, feedback, homework, prayer, and wise counsel of these sages. I have come to better understand myself through their care and been given tools to better manage my life generally. I know it is a privilege to have the resources for this type of support, something I do not take for granted. I think in the absence of counselling, the necessity of community is yet again high-lighted.

HOME

I love my family and the life we have built together. I count being a partner to Dion and a mother to Cate two of the greatest gifts in my life. Dion and I have seen each other at our best and at our worst. We have weathered a lot of hard stuff, and as one friend recently commented, I still laugh the loudest with him. When I look at Cate it is like my heart is walking around on two legs. With all of this in mind, it has been very important that I not let work consume me. As a family we spend a lot of time together, even in this new stage where Dion lives in Long Term Care and Cate is launching into adulthood. We have developed what some think of as a ridiculous amount of traditions and we stick to them. Dion and Cate participate in the life of The Dale whenever possible. My home life helps to ground me.

I was going to make prayer a section of its own, but I realized that for me, it has to cover everything. At its most basic, prayer is a conversation, and folks, I tend to be in conversation a LOT- sometimes it is calm and peaceful, other times it is choppy and frantic. I ask a lot of questions. I wail. I cheer. I hope. Always I am given strength that is not my own, which reminds me of one of my mother’s favourite Bible verses: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” I suppose I have buried the lead. How do I manage this challenging and beautiful life? Through prayer and by grace. Both of which have directed me to Sabbath, Mutuality, Community, Counselling, and Home.

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Homage to a Van

Years ago, Dion and I purchased a wheelchair accessible van with the financial help of many people. At the time Dion was in a mobility scooter and could ride into the van, transfer into the front seat, and drive using hand controls. Even after a wheelchair became necessary for Dion and he stopped driving, it remained an important form of independence for him. Our family can get around together, including to places beyond the boundaries of Wheel Trans (the accessible arm of public transit in Toronto). Since Dion’s move into Long Term Care it has helped us maximize time together. The van has also been an important part of my work at The Dale. It has served as an office, a storage unit, and a community outreach vehicle. 

Not even two weeks ago the van died. The end came as a surprise. I took it in to have the brakes looked at, only to be told there were much bigger problems that couldn’t be fixed. We got a second opinion which matched the first.

When I told folks at The Dale, I wasn’t sure what the response might be. I get that having a vehicle is a privilege, one that most of our community does not have. People expressed such concern and said they would pray for our family. Once again, I felt cared for and seen. I was also reminded that the vehicle has meant a lot to many people, including those who like Dion, use mobility devices. It has carried people to picnics and restaurants and funerals and waiting rooms and court. Once we had to transport someone’s beloved deceased pet to a clinic. We have rolled down the windows and blared music while travelling on the highway. There are a lot of memories. 

During last Thursday’s Breakfast-to-Go, someone expressed to me their true concern for Dion in all this. They went on to recount some of their favourite experiences of the van. Shortly after, my co-workers Joanna, Meagan and Olivia reported on two exchanges they had with people about the van. One person expressed their true sadness about its demise and how it really deserves a proper burial. Another mentioned how helpful it has been to see it parked in the neighbourhood because it signals that I am around. I wanted to both grin and have a little cry. Who knew a beat-up burgundy Toyota could have such an impact? I’m grateful that we have been able to share it in such a way that people came to count it their own. 

The van got towed away to a scrap yard last week. And so, with very little fanfare, it is now gone. We’re not really sure what is next. There are pros and cons to every solution we are considering, including not having a vehicle. I’m glad that the van, while we had it, was used to its full potential. I hope that whatever comes next will serve our family and extended community just as well. 

The windshield of the van was often decorated with gifts, in this case paper cutouts, by community members of The Dale.

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Gratitude During Bleak Times

The weight of the world is heavy. I say this as I sit in a comfortable chair in my warm home in a country that is not at war, keenly aware of my privilege. I can rest tonight. That will not be true for everyone, including people I know who today will [try] to sleep outside. Despite my personal circumstances, I can feel overwhelmed and helpless. I long to participate in the work of justice, and try, to the best of my ability to support those doing the same. I weep with those who weep.

A long-time friend and core community member of The Dale has been regularly reminding me of the need to speak our gratitude and share our testimonies of hope in the midst of the darkness and bleak times. For her, it does not cancel out the truth of what is difficult. To me, it is a subversive act in a community such as ours, one that is well acquainted with poverty and all too often victimized by established systems.

With this in mind, I have been reflecting on a number of things that have happened at The Dale in recent months. Like:

One day every time a member of the staff team said, “you know who we haven’t seen in a long time?”, we would see that person. It lasted all day and into the evening long.

We have an email thread going with nearly every person involved in the support of a community member- I’m talking social workers, family doctor, home and community care support workers, and The Dale. In what is a very challenging situation, actually being able to coordinate and communicate in this way is helpful. It’s not perfect, but it makes a difference.

It’s been a transition for the community to go from having a meal-to-go on Mondays, to having a drop-in where we can eat around tables again. Even the best change can be challenging to settle into, but it’s happening! People are getting involved, which is exactly what our core principle of inviting people into full participation is about. Some set up or take down tables, others re-fill the coffee, more and more are spending time throughout the morning chatting and building relationship. There is real effort toward protecting the peace of the space together.

One evening a group of us wandered around the neighbourhood on what we call outreach. Twice we found ourselves gathered in a circle to pray. Both times we imagined that it looked like something we had orchestrated or maybe even forced. Neither time was that the case. Instead, we were invited to gather, to listen, to share tears, to pray and notably, to be prayed for.

I find that when I stretch the gratitude muscle it helps me catch my breath. It also fans my desire to keep up the work of seeking justice and peace-making, because I want for everyone to have a list of things that are good in their lives. As my friend often says, “I am so grateful, and I want that for everyone too”.

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Take a Deep Breath

I have been out of sorts for a few days. The anniversary of the death of my dad, along with a variety of other challenging things has got me feeling more low than usual. I don’t like the feeling. I also don’t like the idea of pretending like it isn’t real. Life can be hard. 

There was space today to go for a walk with The Dale team. We stepped out into the sunshine and began to walk toward Queen Street. Almost immediately we saw someone who we haven’t seen in a while. They were headed somewhere so we simply waved. Moments later we were greeted by a friend. I had something they needed tucked in my van, so we swung back to get it. He said it felt like Christmas and gave me a hug. 

Outside the Dollarama we stopped to chat with someone. This person asked us how we were and noticed my hesitation to say “good”. He began to speak words of encouragement to all of us. At one point he looked directly at me and said, “I don’t know what’s up, but I want you to know you can expect good things coming your way.” Those words and all the others he shared caused me to well up. Near the end of our exchange, another community member tapped me on the shoulder with surprising and encouraging news of his own to share. As we walked away, I let out a long sigh and a few more tears. 

Near the LCBO a person smiled and referred to us as “The Breakfast Club”. More aware of the bracingly cold wind, we decided to cross over to the sunny side of the street where we immediately saw more people. A woman I have known for years gave us her sweet smile with a quiet greeting. Eventually we stopped at Capital Espresso to say hello and ended up with gifted coffees and a meaningful chat. As we left, we were greeted by someone who defaults to calling all of us “Maria”. As we departed, he said the first few lines of the Lord’s Prayer, waved farewell and shouted “OPA”. 

Now I’m back in our office, still sipping on the gifted coffee. Beside me is a container of Momo’s (Tibetan dumplings), handmade by a couple who we share space with. They had extra and all of us are going home with some. As I type I am trying to assess how I now feel. The hard stuff has not been erased. And yet it feels a little softer, as though tenderly held by the warmth, generosity and gratitude offered by such a variety of people. Joanna just sent a picture to the team that says, TAKE A DEEP BREATH THERE IS HOPE IN THE AIR. And so that is what I am doing. Taking a very deep breath of the hope in the air.

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Layers of Complexity and Beauty

During the month of December there were a number of moments which caused me to pause and give thanks. These are just a handful of them. Gifts given and received, from every angle. 

I admittedly can struggle with some low-grade anxiety as we near the fiscal year-end at The Dale. This has lessened over the years, though has never entirely gone away. I think it is a mix of remembering when we had so little and wondering, as we grow, if we will have what is needed. Tossed in is a sense of awe at how people support this community and a desire to trust for our daily bread. This year, aware that we were behind, I felt the all too familiar pit in my stomach. Then, surprise after surprise came and by December 31st, we had…enough. 

One Sunday he showed up at the referral of a friend who has long been connected to The Dale. We spoke at length about his hunt for housing while living outside. I wasn’t sure that he would stick around for the service, but he did. During the passing of the peace he shook my hand and said, “I feel warm in a way that I did not expect”. At the end, as he gathered his belongings, he stuck a small stack of coins in my hand for The Dale. “It’s not much, but it is what I have to give”. I told him it was a LOT. 

We have always had to be creative when it comes to preparing our Christmas meals. There are many components and limited kitchen capacity. This year we had a revelatory experience. Blythwood Road Baptist Church funded the meal. A group of three chefs volunteered to do the grocery shopping and all the cooking, while people from Christ Church St. James came to package everything up. This all freed the staff team to be working through other items on our to-do lists. It was a beautiful example of partnership and provision. 

We embraced while standing on the sidewalk during our meal-to-go. She had just candidly told me about all the reasons why Christmas is hard. As tears ran down her face and welled up in my own, we held each other in silence. Then another person, who also finds the season brutal, suggested that we sing. And so, we did. “A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices”. 

A friend who I’ve known for as long as I’ve been in Parkdale made me this: 

A woman desperate to give her grandchildren presents asked if we could help with toys. We had just given away what we had but offered to keep our eyes open for options. A friend connected to a children’s space in Parkdale reached out to ask, “do you have anyone who needs toys? We have more than we needed”. The grandmother and I walked over to take a look and ended up leaving with age-appropriate goodies. She then pulled out a piece of paper and slowly read a note that someone had translated on her behalf, as English is not her first language. It was her gift to me. 

Experiences like this are not a rarity at The Dale. I cherish being a part of a community where the complexity of life is not ignored, and beauty is found in its layers. I cannot help but reflect on this as I consider heading into a new year. 

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More Than Just Our Challenges

We chatted briefly one Saturday morning. She was sitting on her walker across the street, looking intently at the meal-to-go we were doing uncharacteristically on the weekend. We had met before on a few occasions but didn’t yet know one another’s names. As we conversed, I learned a little about her life and some of the hardships she faces. “I am more than just my challenges. I really want to do something. I would like to volunteer”. 

Today Maria (I have permission to use her name and tell this story) came to participate at our Breakfast. For a long time, our friend/core community member Ash was the one to hand out the meals, freeing the staff team to connect with people and stand in and with the line. Since Ash’s death, we have longed for someone to assume his role. He so embodied it, that to this day we say, “who wants to Ash today?” Well, on this morning the role went to Maria. 

At The Dale, we talk a lot about how important it is to both give and receive. We invite people into full participation of the community and celebrate that we have a shared responsibility for it. Too often people are robbed of the opportunity to give by being kept on the receiving end of charity. Everyone though has gifts to offer. 

While the line was still active, I went over to Maria to see how she was doing. Her response? “Today I feel like a real person. I love this”. Her whole demeanor softened as she greeted people and handed over brown paper bags of breakfast sandwiches, muffins, juice boxes and fruit. Many people she knew by name, having lived in the neighbourhood for many years. I asked her if I could take her picture, to which she said an emphatic, “yes, please!”

As the breakfast rush slowed, another person encouraged us to close our eyes and soak in the morning sunshine. With our heads back we collectively noticed how good it felt to pause and feel the warmth. Maria watched and reminded us that looking up at the moon and the stars, “is just as beautiful as looking at the sun”. I thought of that as the moon made its appearance tonight. As I again tilted my head back, what came immediately to mind was Maria’s contented face. May we all know, as she does, that we are more than just our challenges. 

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Steve J

I don’t know when it changed, but at some point, it became a bit of a game. For a long time, Steve could not remember my name. We would see each other regularly, him in one of his usual spots, almost always sitting or leaning directly on the sidewalk. He would greet Joanna, Meagan and Olivia, and then look at me and say, “what’s your name again?” For a while I would get him to try and guess. A few times he called me Erinn. And then began the running joke. Steve would look at me with a glint in his eye and ask my name. I would say, “you know it!” and then he would start laughing. I loved to hear him giggle.

I’m not going to share the kinds of things that Steve experienced in his life, but I know he would be okay with me saying that he had more than a hard go. I have a strong memory of sitting with him and Joanna on a Queen Street West stoop one afternoon. He was generous with the way he shared. We talked about the importance of all people being treated as people, and how that’s what he wanted.

Steve died this week. I can’t imagine the corner of Queen and Dowling without him. I know that his friends, many of whom were constant companions, will be feeling his absence deeply. When I close my eyes, I can picture Steve on a happy day: he is lit up because a group of his people have gathered with drums and food. Some people are dancing in Jingle dresses. For a moment I can see young Steve, revelling in the feast.

Rest to you Steve. Chi Miigwetch.