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Stilled Waters: The Long Journey Home

Sometimes words fail me. This week has been significant, and I want to tell you about it, but I am all verklempt (overcome with emotion). 

We were walking along “the block” as it gets referred to in Parkdale on outreach. There are a few key spots on the strip, including outside the library, beside the Pizza Pizza, in the bus shelter, and in front of the liquor store. As we crossed at Dunn and Queen, we spotted a long-time friend, one whose health we have been concerned about and felt relieved to see. He and I have known one another since 2007. Initially we would primarily connect outdoors, then we would sit together at The Dale’s Monday Drop-In and share a meal. Our friendship formed quickly and has deepened with time and through many shared experiences. We have seen one another through a lot, navigated grief, and sung “Bridge Over Troubled Waters” together more times than I can count. 

On this day he had an urgent request: find his family, people he had not seen in close to a decade and worried he had pushed away. I immediately said yes, explaining that I could not promise I would be successful, but that I would do my best. Armed with a few names I began to investigate, a process that led me to a Native Friendship Centre in the area my friend is from. I sent messages in every form I could, praying that it might help. Within hours I had a stream of messages from various family members, all eager for a reunion. I nearly ran to find him, communicate how loved he is and help facilitate the re-connection. Today he was picked up by his nephew to visit home. 

A second story: He and I first met along the block too. I remember it clearly: we were introduced by the big globe beside the library. Since then we have journeyed together through a lot. Along the way he took to heart The Dale’s invitation to full participation and became pivotal to our breakfast program at the Health Centre, and more recently at all of our meals-to-go. He, just like my other friend, loves to sing “Bridge Over Troubled Waters”, referring to it as number 41 (the spot it lives in The Dale’s Songbook). It is no small thing that on Tuesday we got to help him move into an apartment of his own, a long-time dream that is finally a reality, his quiet excitement both palpable and contagious.

Things don’t always work out like this. Sometimes reunions aren’t possible. The road to housing can be impossibly long. But this week miracles happened. This week the troubled waters were stilled. 

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When the Mundane is Momentous

I have talked (with permission) about our relationship before and the way it began outside the Community Centre at the corner of Cowan and Queen back when The Dale was still known as PNC. He was immediately menacing and demanded I give him a pair of tokens. At the time, PNC was in financial crisis and I didn’t have tokens, nor did I have the money to buy any. I tried to explain why I could not help, but none of it mattered. To Michael* I was a person he expected to have been able to meet his immediate need. Through tears I tried to explain our situation. Through anger he tried to explain his. Our parting that day was not pretty. 

Michael slowly began to show up at our Drop-In programming. His big personality and even bigger voice would fill any room. He claimed to hate our food, routinely told us our coffee sucked, and almost always became threatening. Rather than leaving at our request, he would plant his feet firmly down and say, “I am not going ANYWHERE”. Michael was accustomed to being restricted from drop-in centres and seemed intent on testing us to see what we might do. 

One day he decided to scream that I was terrible at what I do. We ended up standing, nose to nose, in an alley-like driveway at the side of one of our Drop-In buildings. I rarely raise my voice, but on this day not only did I raise it, I matched his profanity with my own. It was not one of my prouder moments. I felt something in me snap and became determined, at least in my mind, to not let him get away with the way he was treating me and multiple other people that day. Amazingly, there is a grace that transcends, and that screaming match became our turning point. 

One day this year Michael came looking for me before our Sunday service. He was clearly agitated and feeling vulnerable. I learned that he was about to lose his storage unit, the place that held everything he owned. Many of our people who are homeless rely on such spaces to keep their precious things safe, though for many the cost becomes prohibitive. We decided that I would try to negotiate with the owners a little bit of extra time to come up with a plan. Amazingly it worked.

Coming up with a solution that would fit Michael’s needs was not easy. I got very anxious as the time to clear out the old unit drew close. Pete, Joanna and I all arrived to help on move day, really not knowing what to expect. Would Michael be there? Would we get everything out in time? Would this nurture our relationship? Or, would it take us a few steps back, proving to be too vulnerable and difficult?

He was there. And we managed to move everything out and into a new storage space. To most onlookers it would have looked like mundane work, to me it felt momentous. In fact, I felt like the Holy Spirit was present throughout the day. As we parted, Michael embraced each of us (a first), and told me he loved me. When Joanna and I sat in the van afterwards, I couldn’t help but weep.

Both Michael and I have needed to discover who the other was. For many valid reasons, Michael distrusted people. For many valid reasons, I felt threatened by Michael. Building a relationship and trust was going to take time. We have developed a way to talk with one another. He makes me laugh. I make him roll his eyes. Things do still go sideways, but with less regularity. If either of us had bolted though, we wouldn’t be where we are now. And where we are now? Well, it is something I am deeply thankful for.

*For privacy sake, not his real name.

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The Importance of Space

The Dale has no walls of its own, unless you count the tiny post office box we rent. This does not mean we place a low value on buildings. Quite the contrary. We rely on the hospitality of buildings throughout Parkdale and even one outside of its borders to host our gatherings and do administrative work. We also understand that connecting well with our community means being outside, noticing people in coffee shops, and visiting those who are bound to home or hospital. We are nomads with a schedule.

The challenge in this is creating spaces that. though they are not our own, feel like The Dale. Seemingly little things help: using our own plates, mugs and cutlery on Mondays; placing the Scrabble board on the table at the Thrift Store; setting the communion table with our stole, a candle holder donated by a community member, a brass plate for the bread, and our cups. People notice if these items are missing.

These material contents (however few and important they might be), are not what primarily what make our spaces home-like. I think the transition to calling something home happens when we start to think of a space as “ours”. The Dale is its people. However chaotic or calm our spaces might be, we try to inhabit them in a way that fosters a sense of peace, safety, and respect.

Making the decision to give notice and spill into the street in 2012 was never made lightly. I recall how important it was for the community to grieve the loss of our space, especially considering that many people had no other place to call home. What it gave rise to is the recognition that we are not limited to our walls.

Now we gently live in the tension of needing buildings and being without one of our own. This has been our reality for nearly six years. As we face a new year, I want to acknowledge the importance of space, express gratitude for all of our building partners and the neighbourhood of Parkdale and honour our community members who make The Dale (whatever space we might be in) feel like home.