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An Unexpected Reminder: The Faith of a Stranger

Someone came into our Thrift Store Drop-In today and asked to speak to me about “religious stuff”. I had no idea what to expect or what turns such a conversation might take. Looking into folded hands he said, “do you remember when Jesus told the man to pick up his mat and walk?”

Yes, I surely do. In it, Jesus heals the man who has been a paralytic. It is a story that I think of often: when I visit my mom who has lived in hospital for more than a decade, when I hold the hands of friends at The Dale who are struggling, when I consider the toll Multiple Sclerosis is taking on my husband.

He continued, “I want even a portion of that for my friend who can hardly walk and is too skinny and has no money.”

I could feel a lump rise up in my throat as he emphatically talked about the desire for healing. Over the last number of weeks I have thought of little else. The deepest part of me has been consumed with wondering why healing seems so far away. Honestly, it might even be the reason why I’ve been so quiet here.

Our talk was relatively short and finished with, “will you pray for him? We have to keep believing” before he excused himself to go and buy some food for the ailing friend. I was struck and encouraged by his faith. This stranger, probably unwittingly, reminded me that where there is faith, there is hope.

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The Mash-Up of Life

For a whole host of reasons these last few weeks have been challenging. We are experiencing what I can only describe as a wave of illness and death in our community. People are worried, mad and sad. Some, in an effort to numb the pain, are being self-destructive. It is difficult.

After a particularly troubling pastoral visit to the hospital, I found myself at a loss for what to say, do or even think. The awareness that there was nothing I could do to fix anything was palpable. Just that morning I had been in a church surrounded by people singing about God’s grace being enough. I confess that it was hard for me to sing the happy tune. My longing for grace was real, but welling up from a deep, deep place, one marked with despair. I desperately wanted God to show up.

Since then I have been aware that God is indeed showing up. For months we have been praying that one person’s estranged family would take time to visit. They finally did. A friend who has long desired to contribute financially to The Dale (though they already give in many other ways) proudly handed me three dollars in change, everything that was in their pocket. On a Wednesday when I had to be at the hospital leaving Joanna at the drop-in, a community member showed up with breakfast food they had already prepared for everyone. The nurses and doctors caring for our loved ones are kind and compassionate.

I am coming to understand that hard times always intermingle with good times. Our lives are a mash-up of good and bad, challenging and easy, grief and celebration, sorrow and joy. The most brutal things can also expose the most beauty. I still don’t understand the last few weeks. I do see though that grace is weaving its way through it.

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Though I Walk Through the Valley

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”

These were the words spoken by a beloved Parkdale friend as we sat side-by-side on his hospital bed this week, both of our eyes dripping with tears.

These were the words I thought on my way to a funeral of another friend.

These were the words I recited again as I was told about and went to visit yet another Parkdale friend who is in critical condition.

I will never get used to the feeling of death drawing near or of its actual arrival. Though it sometimes takes time to sink in, the eventual reality of it is stark and FULL. What I long for is death to be put to death.

Granted, living in this broken world leaves some people eager for the relief that death will provide. Too many people seem to have the odds stacked against them from the very beginning. On Sunday our service was tangibly marked with the lament of people’s pain. A regular cry was, “Hell is here. I’m living it. Where is hope?” To say my heart was heavy is a blatant understatement.

Dwelling in the valley with my friends deepens my longing for the resurrection of life. I desperately want people who know primarily darkness at the hands of others and/or their own, to see life marked with light. I want the same for me, for all of us.

Through a veil of tears I finish the 23rd Psalm: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 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 runs over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Goodness and mercy, please come.

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The Perspective of Another: A Reflection from Danielle Stinson

Occasionally we enjoy the opportunity of hosting a student at The Dale. This year we were joined by Danielle Stinson, a woman working on her Bachelor of Social Work through the University of Victoria. Danielle was required to do a placement and chose us for it, a choice we were happy she made. It is hard to believe that Danielle’s placement has already come to an end. Danielle, thank you for your presence at The Dale, for sharing your inquisitive mind, your deep compassion and obvious heart for people. We will miss you.

Critical reflection is an important part of learning, and so we decided that Danielle would write a blog about her experience that I would share here. This is a generous piece.

This has been a difficult post to sit down and write. I think I was avoiding having to actually recognize that I have to leave soon and won’t be around as often or for a while at least. But here it is! 

From my first week back in January when I started at The Dale, I felt welcomed to share in my brokenness and my true self. I have a hard time fitting in with traditional church settings without causing a stir, but The Dale has been a place of refuge and comfort that has welcomed my opinion. There is a ‘genuineness’ to this place that is so attractive, beautiful, and honest. I’ve been caught off guard by the generosity and thoughtfulness of so many people in one place!

Thank you for the birthday cake and for those in the community who shared art and music on Wednesday mornings and during the rest of the week, it brings life to this place. Being a part of Tuesday night prayer was special to me and I learnt so much from those who share stories and that question and investigating scripture together. Chopping vegetables on Mondays has been deeply therapeutic and helped prepare me for the week. I’m also grateful to Erinn and Joanna for their commitment to being present and praying together for the community and for each other, it has been an honour to join you.

One of the (many) things I have learnt from this community has been the importance and freedom of interdependence. We contribute in different ways and we need each other equally. There is a kindness and a peace to this community that is marked by love for one another and a commitment to live as Christ did.

Moving is both exciting and frustrating. I’m looking forward to meeting new people but I really can’t see how it can be better than this, experiencing life together and being in community.

Praying and thinking of you lovely bunch,

Danielle

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Reawakened to the Resurrection

“I think I need to draw a picture about why Easter makes me sad”. Though she said it quietly, I heard it clearly. I probed a little and realized that her story is grievously not unique. Easter, like Christmas, reminds those who are displaced or estranged from the ones they love, how alone they really are.

I sometimes find the Easter season particularly challenging to navigate at The Dale because of this. Lent, the period of preparation for Easter tends to be solemn and is often when people “give things up”- not uncommonly things like coffee and chocolate. But how do you suggest giving something like that up when surrounded by people just looking for their next meal? Please hear me: I am not suggesting letting something go isn’t a good idea (in the past I too have given up chocolate). When done as intended: to direct our attention back to God, it is an incredible and good tool. I’m just acknowledging that this is one of the ways it gets complicated.

God of course moves despite what bogs me down. I shouldn’t be surprised.

We gathered with two other communities on Maundy Thursday (the day before Good Friday) to commemorate the last supper of Christ and wash one another’s feet or hands. We started the evening with a potluck that a large number of Dale folks contributed to, whether it was a huge vat of pasta or a box of Digestive Cookies from the dollar store. The evening felt set apart and holy.

On Easter Sunday we spoke of the resurrection of Jesus and what difference it makes in our lives. So many people shared of their gratitude to simply be alive. We talked about looking up at the sky and being struck by how BIG it is. People challenged one another to see the gifts that God has put in their lives, even when by the world’s standards those gifts seem meagre. I shared my sorrow over certain situations in my life and how while I’d love for them to be different, I also recognize God being present in them. We spoke and sang about the hope that we now have because of Easter.

We are slowly and carefully being transformed. One of us used to refuse even shaking another’s hand during our weekly ‘passing of the peace’, today hugs are given. One of us used to spend every day alone in a small rooming house apartment, today every moment possible is spent with a community. One of us continues to struggle with paranoia but considers it safe with The Dale. One of us drew a picture of Easter with such sadness, but is replacing it with a picture of hope. We are being reawakened to the resurrection.

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Celebrating The Dale’s Own ‘Force of Nature’

It was almost six years ago that I was introduced to the one who I now affectionately describe as a “force of nature”- Souad Sharabani. At the time we needed someone to help direct the kitchen at our Monday Drop-In and Souad was willing. Since then she has transformed the way we cook, convinced our community to “eat their vegetables” and become a very good friend.

Souad was born in the Middle East, has lived and travelled all over the world and now speaks five languages. When Souad is not at The Dale she is an independent radio-documentary producer who explores politics and social/cultural trends, a blogger and more recently a published cook book author (check out Scents of Memory). Souad adores her family and shares pictures and stories of them whenever she can. Her cooking is largely influenced by her travels, rich in flavour and extremely healthy. In fact, her food is so full of herbs and spices that we have dramatically cut down on everyone’s salt intake in the drop-in because the food just doesn’t need it.

When things got bleak at PNC (now The Dale) Souad remained present. I remember dreaming together about how to make things work beyond our impending homelessness. We found an alternate location for the Monday meal and Souad adjusted to cooking in a much smaller space, one where we learned to use glorified hot plates to prepare food for more people than we ever had to in our former industrial kitchen. The group of community volunteers has become a real team under Souad’s leadership. She quietly and consistently works to show them her appreciation, constantly recognizing that it is collectively their kitchen.

Souad has always been straight up with me, something I appreciate. I know when she is mad, concerned or pleased. She has endlessly listened to me. We have enjoyed homemade bread and tea at her kitchen table, walks with her beloved dogs and many a coffee with LOTS of milk.

When Souad isn’t in the kitchen, we all miss hearing her call us either ‘Angels’ or ‘Munchkins’, her colourful language and the way she dances to Motown blaring on the stereo. When Souad is in a room you can’t help but notice her dynamic presence. Six years in, we are incredibly grateful for that presence. Souad, thank you for everything: your fierce loyalty to The Dale, your friendship, your food and all the love that you show through it. Here’s to many more years.

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Working to Rest: Resisting An Attempt to Control

I am working hard to have a day that resembles rest this week. Doesn’t that sound wrong?

For the last few years I have intentionally taken a Sabbath at the end of the week instead of on Sunday, a day that is too much a whirl of activity to be considered restful. On my day off I find myself anxiously thinking about all the things I need to do, especially at The Dale. I worry about fundraising. I think of all the e-mails I should be writing. I craft a newsletter in my head because surely that will alleviate my concern about the budget. I plot meetings and what times they might work.

Oh, the irony and agony.

The crazy thing is that I know I need to rest and nothing is going to immediately change or get fixed if I do it right now. No newsletter is going to be written, laid out, printed and sent out in a single day; we are in a new year and the way our eventual year-end looks will not be decided in an afternoon; the meetings don’t need to be set until next week. Worrying, as I repeatedly tell myself, will not help.

I finally settle into our big arm-chair with a cup of coffee in my hand, close my eyes and pray. I remember a quote from author Marva Dawn, “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.”

My own feeble attempt to be in control rapidly unravels. Fortunately as it does, I finally find rest.

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From Hopeless to Beloved

Last Wednesday Joanna and I were washing the dirty dishes from The Dale’s breakfast/art drop-in. Someone new to both of us wandered up to the door, peered in and began to talk. I wish I could have captured what he said on a recorder of some kind, it was that beautiful. This is a pale re-telling but here goes…

This is a beautiful place. I want to be a part of the beauty.

I have been homeless, I have been hopeless and now I want to be beloved.

I want to help. I want to do dishes.

I want to live life differently.

I feel ready.

I want to say that God is here. I can feel Him. I can see Him.

I just wanted you to both know this. Thank you. God bless.

Then he was gone.

I turned to Joanna. We both dissolved into tears. Somehow the tears turned into laughter and we just felt overwhelmingly grateful for the unexpected gift. It had been a tough start to the week and so we sat in the moment and then…tenderly finished the dishes.

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Standing in the Gap

Beauty can rise up out of the ashes.

If you read my last post you will know that I have been in the middle of a very difficult situation. While I won’t explain the details of it here, I can share some of the expressions of care and love that have poured out of it.

Bare cupboards have been filled.

Out of some people’s relative nothing, a sweet assortment of thoughtful gifts have been procured for the hurting one. One giver had less than $48 in the bank for the entire month, but wanted to participate by giving a treasured something from their belongings.

A Dale friend who knows the same kind of pain being currently experienced said, “Everyone needs someone who KNOWS what this feels like. I want this person to know they are not alone. I will write them a letter telling them so and offer to listen”.

I can’t walk down Queen Street West with out people stopping me to ask how things are and offer to pray.

This has been an opportunity for The Dale, along with our supportive extended community, to stand in the gap that exists when the limitations of “the system” are exposed. It’s a special thing when a group of people who know the gaps all too well can work to eliminate the cracks, rather than simply reside in them.

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The Sting and Hope of Criticism

I got challenged recently and it stung.

It was December 15th, the day of our Christmas meal at The Dale. The room was buzzing with activity, including food preparation and carolling. The spiced chicken was being prepared off-site, since the kitchen we use is limited in its capacity to host that much meat. A Toronto Star reporter had come to, as she put it, “observe”. As I stood at the side of the room I remember distinctly thinking, “this is so GOOD” and having a wash of gratitude pour over me.

My thoughts were interrupted by someone I know, but admittedly not well. I will not describe the person, except to explain the gist of what I heard them say: “You have not been successful at building community here”. I was stunned. In fact, at first I thought I’d misunderstood, only to discover that I was wrong.

I’ve worked closely with people for many years, long enough to know that criticism will most certainly come. Fortunately, I deal with it much better now than when I was twenty. I also know that The Dale cannot be all things to all people. This incident surprised me, maybe because it was in the midst of a day that was marked with joy. I found myself stirred up and sad.

Since that day I have tried to uncover more of what is at the root of the sentiment I heard. It is complicated and probably less about The Dale than originally suggested. It still causes me pause, which I think is, though I wish it came in a less painful way, a good thing. At the beginning of this new year, I find myself waiting and listening for God to illuminate our next steps as a community. As we consider casting The Dale vision further, we must keep asking ourselves “what is it that we’re doing? And why?”

We desire to embrace people and to allow ourselves to be embraced by them. This takes time. I’m hopeful that for those who feel on the outside of what it happening, something will shift and they will come on in.