I am in a new stage of life. This became especially apparent to me on my sabbatical, during which I turned 50 and helped my daughter move out and launch her adult life (which for me means living alone due to my husband living in long-term care), all while being away from my job and one of my primary communities.
Let’s just say I felt the transition.
Pivotal during this time was my retreat with a spiritual director. I told her that, in addition to the changes above, I sensed it was time to consider some shifts in my role at The Dale. When I took on the position of Executive Director, my job description was necessarily broad — at the time I was the only staff member, tasked with reimagining the organization. I did everything from fundraising to running programming, reporting to the CRA to doing outreach, bookkeeping tasks to washing dishes. Today, I get to work with a team.
As I considered what this might mean, I kept getting caught up in the obstacles I saw in the way. Most notably, we have to fundraise for everything at The Dale — including our salaries. It’s not as easy as just creating an additional staff position. But that was where my spiritual director stopped me. She challenged me to think about what I really want, as if anything might be possible. Then, with clarity about what I need, the barriers can be directly addressed.
This is what I have discovered: I would like to have more space to vision new things for The Dale, while remaining present to the community. For example, we would like to support people with low-barrier, dignity-based end-of-life care. I would also like to continue my work with Story Day, which includes brokering and nurturing connections amongst people who are motivated to address poverty and injustice. While I’m already engaged in these areas, I know I could be more effective with space to focus — which brings me to this: I’d like to have an administrative assistant.
This idea is in its infancy, and so this isn’t a job posting. Talking about this publicly is a part of me owning this longing — one that I’ve named with both The Dale Board and the staff team. A key piece of the puzzle is finding additional funding. I know that administration is not the most appealing budget line to support, but I can assure you of its necessity for a healthy organization. If this vision resonates with you, I welcome your thoughts, support, or even just encouragement as we explore what’s next.
Just today I told a friend that I continue to experience a spaciousness in my spirit post-sabbatical. I feel grounded. The transition back to routine at The Dale has been very good. There is a Story Day next week that I can’t wait to see unfold. Life at home is feeling far more settled. In the midst of everything, I can still hear that invitation to discover what I need and name it with precision.
Since the first Story Night in the fall of 2022, a lot has been happening. Existing relationships have been deepened while new ones have been formed. We have gathered on multiple occasions as people who are motivated by faith to address poverty and injustice. We come from various contexts and are invited to hold a space centred around storytelling where we can communicate across difference. In our polarized world, choosing to sit in the messy middle together can be all too rare, and so this is proving to be a special experience. Part of the emerging vision is for story gatherings to happen in various places across the country, while a large Story Day will continue to take place in Toronto each fall.
I am excited to share that my friend Jenna Smith, together with her colleagues at Christian Direction, have decided to host a French language Story Night on April 10th. Here, in her own words, is what inspired Jenna to pursue gathering people in Montreal. I can’t wait to be there, cheering her and the group of storytellers on. If this prompts you to consider doing a Story Night in your own place, please reach out to have a chat.
From Jenna:
During the Covid-19 pandemic, I found myself back in front line work, responding to a food security crisis in our downtown neighbourhood. I was also on the board of an emergency shelter for our unhoused neighbours and was called upon on several occasions to deal with dire situations: covid outbreaks, impossible-to-follow-directives from public health and tragically the death of one our members because our building was obligated to close its doors from midnight to 6 am.
On a phone call with a colleague, I told her my body was aching from dragging 20kg bags of rice into our food bank and my mind was frazzled from, well, everything. She empathized. “We’re tired,” she said, “we are all going to need rest at the end of this. And, Jenna, we are all going to need to process what is happening to us, and talk, and grieve.”
I am not sure we, in our communities, in our churches or in society, have implemented my colleague’s vision of collective respite and debrief. Most days, it feels like we ramped up in all the ways I wish we hadn’t: more anxiety, more anger, more pressures for productivity. More homelessness in my city. More pain in my work.
At Story Day in October 2024 I found a space and a people who were embodying what I knew to be true for those of us in caregiving work. A movement of people working to eradicate poverty and injustice according to the person of Jesus and acknowledging, through story, all the joy, all the pain and anger and all the complicated hope that comes with this calling. I texted my colleagues, “this is the best Work and Faith event I have ever been to. These people all work a little like us. And they slug through, in faith.”
Our team in Montreal humbly accepted the invitation to run our own French language, Story Night; as we reflect on lamentation and hope, maybe we also will celebrate the slugging through, in faith.
Depuis la première soirée de contes à l’automne 2022, beaucoup de choses se sont passées. Les relations existantes se sont approfondies tandis que de nouvelles se sont formées. Nous nous sommes réunis à plusieurs reprises en tant que personnes motivées par la foi pour lutter contre la pauvreté et l’injustice. Nous venons de divers horizons et sommes invités à créer un espace centré sur le récit où nous pouvons communiquer au-delà de nos différences. Dans notre monde polarisé, il est trop rare de choisir de s’asseoir ensemble dans le désordre du milieu, et cela s’avère donc être une expérience particulière. Une partie de la vision émergente consiste à organiser des rassemblements Story dans divers endroits du pays, tandis qu’une grande journée Story continuera à avoir lieu à Toronto chaque automne.
Je suis ravie de vous annoncer que mon amie Jenna Smith, en collaboration avec ses collègues de Christian Direction, a décidé d’organiser une soirée Story en français le 10 avril. Voici, dans ses propres mots, ce qui a inspiré Jenna à rassembler des gens à Montréal. J’ai hâte d’être là pour l’encourager, elle et le groupe de conteurs. Si cela vous incite à envisager d’organiser une soirée Story chez vous, n’hésitez pas à me contacter pour en discuter.
De Jenna :
Pendant la pandémie de Covid-19, je me suis retrouvée en première ligne pour répondre à une crise de sécurité alimentaire dans notre quartier du centre-ville. Je siégeais également au conseil d’administration d’un refuge d’urgence pour nos voisins sans abri et j’ai été appelée à plusieurs reprises pour faire face à des situations désastreuses : des épidémies de Covid, des directives de santé publique impossibles à suivre et, tragiquement, le décès d’un de nos membres parce que notre bâtiment a été contraint de fermer ses portes de minuit à 6 heures du matin.
Lors d’un appel téléphonique avec une collègue, je lui ai dit que mon corps me faisait mal à force de traîner des sacs de riz de 20 kg jusqu’à notre banque alimentaire et que mon esprit était épuisé par, eh bien, tout. Elle a fait preuve d’empathie. « Nous sommes fatigués », a-t-elle dit, « nous allons tous avoir besoin de repos à la fin de tout ça. Et, Jenna, nous allons tous avoir besoin de digérer ce qui nous arrive, de parler et de faire notre deuil. »
Je ne suis pas sûre que nous, dans nos communautés, nos églises ou la société, ayons mis en œuvre la vision de mon collègue d’un répit et d’un débriefing collectifs. La plupart du temps, j’ai l’impression que nous avons intensifié les choses d’une manière que je regrette : plus d’anxiété, plus de colère, plus de pression pour la productivité. Plus de sans-abris dans ma ville. Plus de souffrance dans mon travail.
Lors de la Journée de la narration en octobre 2024, j’ai trouvé un espace et des personnes qui incarnaient ce que je savais être vrai pour ceux d’entre nous qui travaillent dans le domaine de l’aide sociale. Un mouvement de personnes qui travaillent à éradiquer la pauvreté et l’injustice selon la personne de Jésus et qui reconnaissent, à travers l’histoire, toute la joie, toute la douleur et la colère et tout l’espoir compliqué qui accompagne cet appel. J’ai envoyé un texto à mes collègues : « C’est le meilleur événement Work and Faith auquel j’ai jamais participé. Ces personnes travaillent toutes un peu comme nous. Et elles se débattent, dans la foi. »
Notre équipe de Montréal a humblement accepté l’invitation à organiser notre propre soirée Story Night en français ; alors que nous réfléchissons sur la lamentation et l’espoir, peut-être célébrerons-nous aussi le fait de se débattre, dans la foi.
It started with a conversation in Seattle. I had been told I should “really meet Jenna Smith from Montreal” and we were at the same conference. We grabbed some time together to chat about my wonderings around starting a fresh expression of StreetLevel, the Canadian network of front-line workers that had been an important part of my story when it was active. Jenna mentioned Daria Nardozza, the person building a Domestic Network within Kentro, a connecting point for Canadian Christian relief and development organizations and professionals. She suggested we meet.
Jenna, Daria and I went on to connect via a zoom call. We introduced ourselves and learned about each other’s work. We noticed a shared desire to organize and bring people together. The time went too fast, so we determined to meet again. Not long after, Daria invited me to join her Advisory Team. I invited her to attend Story Day: Hospitality, an event inspired by StreetLevel. We both said yes.
Daria flew to Toronto from Montreal to attend Story Day last fall. We then spent the evening around a table with a variety of friends. She slept over at my house. The next morning she and Carl Amouzou (another friend who travelled to Toronto for Story Day) joined us at The Dale, the community organization and church I work at, for our breakfast to go and some impromptu aerobics led by a community member. I always find spending concentrated time with others helps to deepen relationship, and this was exactly that kind of experience.
It has been a year since the inception of Kentro’s Domestic Network. During that time, many people have helped in the process of discerning how to draw charities and churches together. Meanwhile, I have continued to collaboratively work with a number of people to animate gatherings for those engaged in addressing poverty and injustice in the spirit of StreetLevel. What I love is how these things overlap and hold space for the other.
While at a recent Kentro Forum, I shared about what Jane Jacobs refers to as the “weaving of an urban fabric”. One definition of weaving is, “the act of making something by combining different parts”. I believe there is a lot of weaving going on right now. People from a variety of contexts are seeking connection. The shape of the fabric is still emerging, which is both scary and exciting. I think that what will ensure a tight weave is our relationships. It can all start with a conversation, just like the one Jenna and I had that day in Seattle.
I can hardly believe that we are about to end a year and launch a new one. As I reflect on 2023, four topics stood out as ones that consistently challenged me.
THE MESSY MIDDLE
In this increasingly polarized world, there are very few spaces where people can dialogue across difference. This can quickly lead to the de-humanization of the ‘other’. Though it can be uncomfortable, I want to spend time in the messy middle. I want to co-create opportunities for us to learn from one another, to understand what informs our choices, and to develop empathy for the challenges and trauma experienced by others. I believe this helps to remind me/us of our common humanity. I also hope that this can lead to increased advocacy and support for the people and places that desperately need it.
CHANGE IS HARD AND GOOD
I have been reminded in 2023 that change, even the best kind, is hard. For example, after years of doing The Dale’s Monday lunch as a meal-to-go, we got a space to move back indoors and re-launch our drop-in. For some members of the community this was a return to something they knew well, except in a very different location; for others it was a first, knowing The Dale only through the pandemic; for the staff team it was both exhilarating and exhausting, a dramatic shift from our well-established routine of the last 3.5 years. What became clear very quickly was that we couldn’t just replicate what was in the past, not because we changed our values or vision, but because this was a new time and a new place. Change for us required being gentle with ourselves, and the community. We are still settling in, each week feeling better and better. Change, though hard, is also very good.
NO ONE CAN DO EVERYTHING
This is a lesson I have been learning my whole life. There were days in my teens and early twenties when I tried to do too much because I thought it was required, not just to be “successful”, but to be loved. I have learned along the way (through struggle, crisis, therapy and my faith) that I am beloved not because of what I do, but simply because of who I am: a child of God. It’s not always easy, especially when there are so many things to do and battles to fight. The Dale team will attest to the fact that I talk a lot about choosing what we can do, and then working really hard to do it well. One of the greatest gifts has also been discovering the gift of partnership and community: when we rely on and support the gifts of one another, so much more happens.
SABBATH IS A GIFT
To some the notion of Sabbath (in order words, intentional rest) feels either like a punishment to self or to others. If I stop, then I won’t get through my to-do list. Or, if I stop it will potentially come at a cost to the person who relies on me. Or, if I stop [fill in the blank]. Stopping can be scary- at least it has been for me. After years of practicing Sabbath, I have discovered that all of the things that made me worry about it have not been the issue. Stopping actually enables me to get through the to-do lists. Developing a plan for the people who rely on me has meant we both learn to rely on a broader community, and we both learn of our capabilities. So, what is the issue? It goes back to that basic fear that I have to earn love by doing. Sabbath reminds me that I am no one’s saviour and that life carries on without me, both humbling and freeing truths.
On the cusp of a new year, I am challenged by these words of Henri Nouwen, “Did I offer peace today? Did I bring a smile to someone’s face? Did I say words of healing? Did I let go of my anger and resentment? Did I forgive? Did I love?’ These are the real questions. I must trust that the little bit of love that I sow now will be many fruits, here in this world and the life to come.” As I consider these questions, I also hope for more opportunity to sit in the messy middle with people who want to do the same (let’s get another Story Day happening friends!), to navigate change with gentleness and persistence, to work hard at the things I can do and remember that we can do more together than on our own, and to rest. May we all be strengthened with hope for peace this coming year.
It was close to the beginning of this year when conversations about having a gathering similar to last fall’s Story Night started. For those who don’t know, Story Night was developed in response to feedback from people who had previously been involved in Street Level, a network of poverty front-line workers. It became clear that people wanted to gather, and how it was important to broaden the scope of who might attend- there are so many people who are working toward justice, just not as their paid vocation. It felt right that Story Night was about naming our collective grief and in doing so, being reminded that we are not alone. It now felt like time for something that might encourage and equip us to keep going. I couldn’t shake the idea that hospitality might be the theme.
Story Day: Hospitality took place last Wednesday. On the evening before, I kept thinking about how surreal it felt that the day was finally here. Now it feels surreal that it is over. It has been months of planning and connecting with people around tables and on zoom. The emails have been many about venues and food and all the nitty gritty details. It really has been all a labour of love.
My own processing of the event is just starting to happen so it almost seems strange to be writing about it, though I imagine this might help me dislodge my thoughts. My therapist was helpful the other day when she asked, “what are some of your takeaways?”
We need each other. We need to connect. An event like Story Day is a wonderful vehicle to gather people, and the hope is that the connection will move beyond a single day. I have been so encouraged to hear how many people have already made plans to meet since last Wednesday.
It has been good to sit with the framework that Jason McKinney offered at the beginning of the day: Hospitality/Conviviality/Sacramentality- a threshold practice, an interior practice, a spiritual practice. A word of welcome to the stranger initiates the journey from strangeness to companionship; bread broken and shared with intention and gratitude consecrates that journey and all that comes after it.
Similarly, it has been helpful to think about what Carl Amouzou described as the move from Benevolent community to Beloved community, We are invited to become a PART of community, and not simply administrators of it. As evidenced throughout the sharing of stories, reciprocity is a foundational part of hospitality. We all need to both give and receive.
Both Story Night and Day have been an invitation to collectively sit in the messy middle of diverse ideas and experiences. I want more of it. In our increasingly polarized world, I long for opportunities where we can hold space for one another across difference. It isn’t easy, but as my friend Heather Beamish recently said, it is also where the juicy stuff happens.
Wednesday was a special day, one woven together with music, art, stories, reflections, food, and conversation. The feedback so far is saying the same. It seems there is a growing momentum to this movement, one that is for us to co-create together. Here’s to more connecting, more gathering, more mutual care, more collective grappling with ideas, more diversity, and as one friend put it, more joy as resistance.
ERINN OXFORD 