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From Despair to Respair: Small Moments of Hope

Respair: an archaic English word meaning “fresh hope” or “recovery from despair.” From the Latin respirare—to breathe again. The opposite of despair. A return to optimism or renewed spirit after hardship. It can be used as both a noun and a verb.

I recently heard about the word respair and how there is a resurgence in its use. I find myself clinging to it during what has been a difficult month.

In just one week, The Dale lost three people. While no time of year is good to be without a home, winter presents especially challenging conditions. Folks who live outside are cold and wet. Our outreach times have notably been marked by people expressing their desperation.

I could go on about everything that is happening around the world: mass shootings, violent crimes, war, political unrest, and on and on and on.

And so, how do we turn despair into respair? Is it even possible—or is that too much to hope for?

This week, I challenged myself to look at the world with my senses, a practice I started during my sabbatical earlier this year. I saw gray clouds and two birds flying through them. I smelled a clementine as I peeled it and noticed the spray of its juice in the air. I heard the wind. I touched the icy cold of the snow and noticed the beauty of an individual snowflake. I slowly drank and enjoyed the flavour of a coffee.

I saw a friend who looks healthier than they have in a while.

A donor gave The Dale money to buy a significant amount of food from a grocery store. Tomorrow, a group of volunteers will help create 150 gift bags for us to distribute to our community.

The Dale’s art exhibit opening at Gallery 1313 buzzed with guests. I heard from multiple visitors how inspired they were by the beautiful range of work on the walls.

I had to call a funeral home and found myself talking with someone I have known their whole life and who lives doors away from me—now a funeral director.

While looking for a picture of one of the people who just died, I stumbled upon videos of their baptism at The Dale. He and I are standing in the blow-up pool/baptistry that we bought from Canadian Tire and set up in the driveway of the church. He is beatboxing while I sing, “Every good and perfect gift comes from You, Father of Lights.” The camera pans around the group gathered to witness the baptism, many of whom have since passed. It nearly took my breath away. Since then, whenever I think of it, I smile.

I watched a young girl standing on a sidewalk while it was snowing—her head tilted back, trying to catch flakes on her tongue, looking happy and content.

A friend whose finances are limited handed The Dale an envelope of money, saying, “This is to help make someone’s Christmas brighter.”

I received an apology and a hug (from someone who usually reserves an embrace for once a year).

These are arguably small moments, some of them bittersweet. None of them have fixed the bigger issues. And yet, they have helped me breathe again. Eating a clementine, making art, finding ways to give, receiving an apology, participating in community—these are things of light that penetrate the darkness. They are the good gifts that I sang about on that baptism day, and continue to sing about now.

Respair does not arrive all at once, and it does not erase grief or injustice. It comes quietly, in fragments. These moments do not solve the world’s pain, but they remind me that breath is still possible. And for now, breathing again is enough—for today.

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A New Step in Community Health at The Dale: Introducing Jacquie

The stories are endless. One person has a wound that is just not healing- the struggle to keep the bandage on and clean is nearly impossible while living outside. Another has a foot injury, but they can’t keep off it because they walk everywhere to access food and shelter. Someone else refuses to seek medical care because it triggers past trauma.

These challenges, and so many others, are why The Dale has long dreamt of incorporating a health-care component into our work.

Over the years we have been able to forge a tight connection to Parkdale Queen West Community Health Centre. Our partnership has allowed us to introduce our friends from the community to our friends who are clinicians. In many cases we are able to create a circle of care around an individual. They have also provided space for The Dale to do outreach and run a drop-in.

It was at our Wednesday gathering outside the Health Centre that we first got to know Jacquie Burkhardt. At the time, Jacquie was engaged in nursing studies and had been referred to The Dale. She quickly became a regular participant and, over time, a deeply engaged community member.

More recently, Jacquie indicated a desire to share her ability and gifting as a nurse with The Dale. In the spirit of raising up community members to contribute to programs and outreach, we now have the opportunity to add Jacquie as a Community Nurse. To begin, Jacquie will offer 12-15 hours per week. The role is still taking shape, and we are committed to slowly and thoughtfully walking with Jacquie as we discover all that this can become together.

And now, in Jacquie’s own words:

Each Sunday during our service at The Dale we are invited into a time of offering. During this time we are reminded that God gives each of us gifts and whether they are big or small they are all valuable to God. The basket is at the front and we acknowledge each person’s gifts might look different and some may not fit in the basket. These gifts may be things like a piece of artwork or a call to a friend or helping clean up after drop-in. Then we are invited to share a portion of what God has given with each other in community. I have recently graduated as a registered practical nurse. In the posture of our offering, I am excited to be joining The Dale as a community nurse using the gifts God has given me in service of our community.

I have experienced joy and belonging at The Dale. Five years ago, when I first approached Erinn about volunteering, she welcomed me to come to the health centre and “hang out” at Outreach. Since then I have been increasingly connected to the community. Together we have experienced church on Sunday, eating together, drop-in, playing games, Bible study, carolling, camping trips, BBQs, open mic’s, celebrations and memorials. During this time, I have received support, care, and encouragement and have had the opportunity to share in the lives of community members with trust and acceptance. As my nursing skills expanded, I have had the privilege of hearing people’s stories, accompanying people to appointments, sharing health knowledge, and helping to navigate health challenges. Through a process of discernment and attentiveness to God’s leading, I am excited about stepping into this new and evolving role.

After we collect the offering, we pray. These prayers are consistently characterized by gratitude and humility. I am grateful to The Dale team and the community as they have affirmed and encouraged me to share my gifts in this way. I welcome your prayers, encouragement and support as we step more deeply into community together.

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Living Into What’s Next

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.

Now I look forward to living into it.

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Homecoming

I have to admit I felt nervous as I anticipated my first day back in the community after sabbatical. There wasn’t a lack of readiness in me to resume regular life. In fact, I felt eager to reengage. I suppose some of it felt like the ‘going back to school’ jitters I got as a student. I think most of it was that sabbatical was an entirely new experience not just for me, but The Dale- I knew how I journeyed through it but did not know how everyone else did.

Through Dion I learned that one person was convinced I was not going to return. This was rooted in previous experiences of other people going and not coming back. I hoped that my arrival would allow these concerns to melt away, though also understood that when old wounds are triggered, healing and recovery can take time.

When I first saw this person, we had a long embrace, each with a hand on the other’s head. I felt a wash of relief. She went into the building ahead of me. When I later entered, I saw that she had brought balloons (that said happy birthday on them) and colourful plastic leis for some of us to wear around our necks. I sat beside her to say thank you for the decorations, and she looked at me and said, “I can’t believe you came back”.

What followed was an emotional, vulnerable conversation. I explained that being with her and everyone at The Dale is exactly where I want to be, and my intention was always to return. We hugged again.

Later, during our service, she shared with the group her gratitude for Joanna, Meagan and Olivia, a theme that was consistent throughout. Unsurprisingly, the team had done a tremendous job over the last four months (I am so proud of them). And then, with tears, she expressed how happy she was that we were all together again.

I was reduced to a puddle of tears where I was seated.

One community member came over and gently put a number of tissues in my hand, another placed their hand on my back.

In the final week of sabbatical, I had tried to be intentional about what my return to The Dale would look like: what conversations I would need to have, what tasks I needed to catch up on.

But what I couldn’t prepare for was how it would feel.

As I reflect on this past month, the word that stands out most is: homecoming.

I am no longer re-entering. I have entered.

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How a Five-Senses Journal Has Impacted My Sabbatical Experience

I have been writing in what is called a “Five-Senses Journal” since day one of my sabbatical. Each day I write down things that I have seen, tasted, heard, touched, and smelled. Recently a few different people have asked me what -if anything- it is teaching me. 

I am reminded to not take for granted having access to all five senses. 

My life is generally very full, and while I might like to think all of my experiences will remain locked in my memory, they do not. There is something about connecting with my senses and then writing it all down that is improving my recall.

At the beginning of my sabbatical I had a difficult time adjusting to being away from The Dale. The practice of paying attention to my senses helped me name my discomfort, be present to it, and move through it. Though this was hard work, it was also good. I would not change it. 

I can get stuck in my head. Unhealthy thoughts create barriers that prevent me from living in the moment. Noticing the sound of a bird, the texture of a blanket, the smell of a cake baking, the taste of a raspberry warmed in the sun, or the sight of a friend helps me get unstuck. 

I sometimes talk about how expressing gratitude is like exercising a muscle: the more I do it, the easier it becomes. I think exploring life in a sensory way is the same. My journal entries today are longer and easier to write than my earliest ones. 

My creativity has been sparked. I stood for a long time looking at a piece of art that eventually brought me to tears. I left that, and other similar experiences, feeling a new sense of inspiration. 

There are so many difficult things going on in the world. There is plenty to remind me of this. Noticing beauty brings some equilibrium. I want to experience the wonder of the world ‘and’ work for the kind of justice that will allow others to do the same. 

I don’t know for sure, but will hazard a guess that this process has contributed to time not whizzing by during my sabbatical. As I age, my experience of time seems to speed up. I am grateful to have it slow down. 

What a gift it is to Smell, See, Hear, Taste, Touch. What began as a sabbatical practice is quickly turning into something I hope to continue long after it ends. 

Images of sensory experiences during my sabbatical:

Postscript: Writing is an important part of the way I process, and so I will occasionally share about this sabbatical journey here on my blog. My sabbatical includes a commitment to be intentionally off-line about 98% of the time, and so I look forward to interacting more upon my return in September.   

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Searching for Peace Amidst Change: My Sabbatical Journey

I am sitting in the sun as I write. I can hear woodpeckers but cannot seem to spot them. There is a light breeze that brings with it the heavy scent of lilacs. It sounds bucolic, though I am in the middle of the city. I am trying to sort out a wide assortment of feelings from a chair in my backyard, which has included me ugly crying in it. I have just completed week two of my sabbatical. 

These early days of my time off have caused both joy and discomfort. I am grateful for the gift that it is to have this sizeable chunk of time off. I feel supported and encouraged. And, right now I am also out-of-sorts. During my last week we held a funeral for a community member named Barry and learned of the death of another, named Phil. Grief upon grief, which I will attend to, except I’m used to grieving over time in the context of our community. I really miss The Dale. Then my daughter Cate moved out. I am excited for her and deeply proud of this step she has taken. This too is true: I really miss being in close proximity to her. 

As I navigate this time, I realize that I am used to the rhythm of rest that I have held for years. This includes Fridays as my Sabbath and August as vacation. When July rolls around I can feel my body anticipating the cessation of work during the dogdays of summer. But this year? Well, I don’t think my body understands exactly what’s going on. A number of people have suggested that I am likely more tired than I realize, which I can hear. Believe me when I say I know having this time is a privilege and I really want to settle into it and the rest it will provide.  

Part of the challenge right now is holding so many seemingly disparate feelings at the same time. I have to remind myself of what I often say to others: two things can be true at once. I can be grateful and sad. I can know there is wisdom in a decision and still find it uncomfortable. I can want to get out of the way and desire to be in the middle of the action. I can long for connection and solitude. Life is not a straight line.  

My counsellor and I talked about a phrase that I might say to myself when I am tipping toward anxiety about my absence from The Dale. I came up with this, “No matter what you do or don’t do, you are beloved.” I close my eyes and turn my head to the sky to say just that. The busyness in my brain begins to slow and my senses are heightened. I think of Barry and Phil in a way that makes me smile. I consider my love and esteem for The Dale Girls. I know that I will see Cate soon. Dion and I get to spend far more time together and he’s helping me ask good questions about this sabbatical. I am experiencing the care of The Dale community in a different way and know that they are also taking care of one another.  

The sun has moved its position. Occasionally a cloud passes over it and I sit in its shadow. A squirrel is digging in a container that I am about to plant some flowers in. Next week Cate and I will be going on an adventure of a trip. I just turned 50. This time is not moving fast. I imagine this means it has more to teach me about being present to the moment. Week three now begins.  

Postscript: Writing is an important part of the way I process, and so I will occasionally share about this sabbatical journey here on my blog. My sabbatical includes a commitment to be intentionally off-line about 98% of the time, and so I look forward to interacting more upon my return in September.         

Posted on by erinnoxford

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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Partnerships in Action: The Dale’s Path to Connection

Every Thursday since 2020, The Dale has held a breakfast-to-go outside, just south of Queen St West on Cowan Avenue. This means that people form a long line, often long before our start time, to receive a bagged meal. The contents of the paper bag routinely include a piece of fruit, a juice box, a muffin, and an egg sandwich. We have shuffled around our line over the years, finally settling on the area in front of the Masaryk Cowan Community Centre. 

One morning, not long before the winter, a staff person of the Community Centre came walking up to us. I admit that my first thought was, “we are going to be asked to leave this area”. Instead he surprised us with, “would you like to move your breakfast inside our building? It’s hard to see people standing in the cold”. That one question launched the process for The Dale to become a permit holder. On December 10th, 2024 we launched our new indoor breakfast, now on Tuesdays. 

It was a connection through Parkdale Queen West Community Health Centre (PQWCHC) that began our conversation with Toronto Community Housing (TCH) back in 2023. Our deep desire to move our Monday Lunch back indoors had, until then, been unmet. We learned that there was space TCH wanted to animate with programming, and that The Dale had come recommended as a partner. Fast forward to today, The Dale runs not just one, but two drop-ins in the recreation room of 245 Dunn Avenue.

PQWCHC has been a long-time and beloved partner of The Dale. Each week they allow us to park our outreach vehicle alongside their green space where we set up an outdoor drop-in and provide food and supplies. We also use one of their rooms for our art drop-in every Thursday. Over the years they have entrusted us to come alongside programming of their own, including spaces where we are asked to offer grief care. We are excited to collaborate with them on an upcoming Valentine’s Party for the community. 

Just today Joanna and I met with staff from Parkdale Activity Recreation Centre (PARC). Together we shared about what each organization is currently up to, and any visions we have for the future. We are excited about ongoing engagement with each other. It was a real encouragement, and a reminder that we are in each other’s corner.

I often talk about how important partnership is at The Dale. When others ask me how we have cultivated these connections I say that it begins with practicing presence. Our nomadic routine requires that we spend a lot of time walking through the neighbourhood. We also have kept a consistent schedule of events every week, which has increased our visibility. The way we do things is easily observable, a trait that also keeps us accountable to living out our core values. It is not lost on me how valuable a thing it is to be a trusted faith community, something that I believe is evidenced in the partnerships I have shared about here. 

I have many more stories about these and other partners. Our work is supported and enhanced by so many places and people, and we get to offer the same back. I love the mutuality of these relationships and that we each have an important role to play in them. I am grateful for our network and the regular reminder that we can’t do it all, and we certainly can’t do it alone. 

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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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Embracing Hurt and Healing: A Soul-Searching Weekend

I recently had an overwhelming week at The Dale. Without getting into details, let’s just say I felt emotionally and spiritually spent. While it is not uncommon for my life to feel like a lot, I don’t often feel so downtrodden. Without even the words to describe what was going on in me, the discomfort of it all ballooned.

Before all of this happened, Cate asked if I would be willing to drive her, Matthew, and Declan up to the camp that they all attended and worked at for many summers. Though the three of them are not working there anymore (it’s a new stage of life!), they wanted to visit. I said yes. By the time our trip rolled around, I was especially tender. I didn’t know what I needed but was worried being surrounded by a lot of people at camp was not it. However, the trip went ahead as planned.

Whenever I drive north on Highway 400, I get pangs of nostalgia. My mom grew up in Sudbury, and my grandparent’s cottage was in Killarney. The red rock of the Canadian Shield, the swaying birch trees, and the water all bring me a degree of peace. A lot of the landmarks along the drive have changed, but not all of them- enough remain that bring up old memories.

When we arrived at the camp, I greeted people, found the cabin I would share with Cate, and explained that I would be going into Parry Sound for much of the day. As I drove along the gravel road, surrounded by forest, the lump that had been lodged in my heart for the majority of the week began to dislodge. I still didn’t have any words, just groans and tears. It was all its own kind of prayer.

I eventually got to the beach in town where I laid out a towel, sat and watched the waves, the sailboats, and the handful of children building sandcastles. One little person got into a game of tag with a seagull. I soaked in the sun, read a book in fits and starts, and eventually jumped in the water. As I floated around and stared at the clouds, I felt reminded of how the world keeps moving and growing, even when my own little piece of the world feels stalled and upside-down. I cried some more.

Over the course of the day I ate some food, watched pontoon planes land on the bay, and slowly walked around the docks. Eventually I decided it was time to head back to camp. The groans and tears that accompanied my drive into town, joined me again on that same gravel road. It felt both exhausting and cathartic. I wiped my face and rejoined the group in the late afternoon by settling into a couch in the lodge. From that vantage point I saw Cate working away as though she was still staff. I took a moment to admire the ease with which she was interacting with everyone. I listened to Declan play the keyboard and sing, something I loved doing when he was my housemate for a year. Matthew came to check on me with his characteristic concern and smile. I began to feel more grounded.

We only stayed at camp overnight and into the next day. Cate and I reunited with Dion and shared a good meal. As I reflect now, I think I needed the nostalgia of the highway, the connection to the landscape, the company of Cate and her crew, the alone time, and dinner with my family to find the words to describe my state.

It turns out I had experienced a deep level of hurt during my overwhelming week, and I wasn’t sure that I was allowed to feel it. Over the years, I have gathered up a lot of tools to manage the kind of work that I do. I have a high tolerance for and can help de-escalate heated situations. I feel equipped to practice active listening, which includes hearing about many traumatic things. I know God gives me strength that is not my own. And, I can only hold so much. In a sense, denying my hurt diminished my humanity.

As I write this, the fog I have been in is lifting and the hurt is dissipating. I am realizing that just as I need to ride the wave of grief when it hits, I need to address pain. When I do, the noise is calmed enough that I can again hear God’s voice, reminding me of where I have been called and that I am loved. Without even realizing it, I started to hear those truths whispered as I cried amongst the trees.