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It Takes a Village

Last summer one of my Dale friends looked at me quizzically and asked, “what happens to us if Dion’s health worsens and you need to take care of him?” I thought about it for a moment, not wanting to skirt the question, deny my role or belittle the obvious concern felt, finally responding with “we’ll deal with that if and when the time ever comes. The Dale is so much more than me and I’m confident we’ll get through things together”.

As I sat in the hospital with Dion this week, I thought of that conversation. I also remembered how a visitor to the Drop-In recently asked me what being the Director of The Dale has taught me about trust. The truth is that the last four years have felt like one big trust exercise. I have needed to trust that our vision was right, that giving up our “walls” would prove to be wise and not foolish, that we would have enough resources, that delegating responsibilities to a variety of community volunteers would work.

You know that trust building game where you have to fall back into the arms of your team? Well, the arms of The Dale team are strong. The kitchen is run by an amazing group of volunteers, coordinated by Souad. Souad has stuck with me/us through a lot. She calls me in to help sanitize a sink or taste the food, but rarely am I a cook. It isn’t uncommon for community members to show up before Joanna or me to get things started at the Thrift Store Drop-In. The breakfast on Wednesdays is entirely prepared by two very faithful core volunteers. I could go on.

In the autumn of 2012, Joanna Moon took a giant leap of faith to join me on staff. Since then I have gained a sister-like friend and work partner, one who showed up at the hospital, bought me chocolate, delivered cards filled with the well wishes, prayers and love from our beloved community, prayed with me AND staffed everything this week at The Dale. She did it without question and for that I am so, so grateful. I also don’t take for granted that it was hard work.

Not only did the regular crew carry on as usual, friends also sprang into action to offer additional support. Sanctuary sent some of their staff to help. I’d like to send a big shout-out to Kim, Sam, Beth, Simon and Greg for being present. And thank you to those who wanted to be around even if you couldn’t.

With Dion in the hospital and now at home slowly recovering, I’ve been witness to what I always knew would be the case: The Dale has carried on without me, while simultaneously being with me. I was back at the drop-in today, keenly aware of the truth that it really does take a village.

p.s. The number of family and friends who were also our village this week is large. I’ve focused here on The Dale, though I could write pages about the depth of support we have felt in all spheres of life.  My gratitude runs deep.

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When Stress Gives Way to Thanks

I started last Saturday with getting a massage. Doing this always feels like some amazing luxury that I don’t really deserve, except I know that it helps keep me healthy. Apart from my heart, I tend to carry my stress in my shoulders and neck. 2016 has been pretty heavy thus far and on this particular day we were about to have our annual February Feast, an event that is bigger and sometimes more challenging than anything else we do. Seeing a massage therapist felt in order.

Before heading to Parkdale I stopped at The Gateway to pick up the turkey Second Harvest provided for our feast. We simply don’t have the kitchen capacity to cook as much turkey as we need (150+ people), so my caterer friend Sammy has his crew do it in the kitchen of this Salvation Army shelter. This relieves much of the “feast stress”, so I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me as the meat and a bucket of drippings for gravy were loaded into the car.

When I arrived at the drop-in, Joanna acknowledged that she too was feeling some angst about the night ahead. We went to the storage room and took a few moments to pray, for: enough food to go around, volume issues with the Open Stage portion of the night to be well managed and peace to prevail. We both took a deep breath and went back to helping set things up.

What transpired next was a reminder of why I love being at The Dale. We had more hands than we even needed to set up the room and cook the rest of the meal. The room totally filled up in time for our 6 pm start. Everyone got to eat and while some were concerned that their portion would be too meagre, it wasn’t. A few situations threatened to erupt, but were solved without major incident. The Parkdale Villager (our local paper) surprised us by sending a photographer to document the night. There was music and dancing.

One of my favourite moments was when my daughter Cate got up to share a song. As soon as she started to strum her ukulele and open her mouth, a hush descended upon the room. From my vantage point I could see how everyone stopped and really listened, erupting into encouraging applause at the end. The pride that I feel for Cate was reflected back to me in the eyes of the community. It was beautiful.

Joanna and I high-fived at the end of the night in acknowledgement that we’d been witness to God’s presence and our team at work. I realized the stress I was carrying in the morning slowly dissolved as I took notice of so many good things: the provision of Second Harvest, turkeys being cooked for us, a relaxed kitchen crew, a man being able to eat for the first time in days, a sense of celebration and fun. I’m hoping the memory of this Feast will linger for a long time.

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Will the Circle be Unbroken

I don’t know exactly what was going on, but at the drop-in and while on outreach last Wednesday something seemed to be up. We saw friend after friend struggling hard. There was a certain heaviness that lay upon the shoulders of each person. I went home feeling burdened and sad.

As I reflected that evening, it occurred to me that many of my interactions ended with my hand being grabbed and usually held against a forehead. I would just stand there peering at the person on front of me, struck by their tears and clear longing for healing and hope, feeling like all I could do was hold on. One person said, “please just hold my hand and sing ‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken’ before you go”. A few others gathered and agreed. For the next few minutes I sang, struck by the poignant lyrics that seemed to bring to life the inward prayer of many that day.

All I could do last Wednesday was offer my hand and a weepy rendition of a hymn from 1907. The song has been rolling around my head ever since.

I was standing by my window
On one cold and cloudy day
When I saw that hearse come rolling
For to carry my mother away

Will the circle be unbroken
By and by, Lord, by and by
There’s a better home a-waiting
In the sky, Lord, in the sky

I said to that undertaker
Undertaker please drive slow
For this lady you are carrying
Lord, I hate to see her go

Oh, I followed close behind her
Tried to hold up and be brave
But I could not hide my sorrow
When they laid her in the grave

I went back home, my home was lonesome
Missed my mother, she was gone
All of my brothers, sisters crying
What a home so sad and lone

We sang the songs of childhood
Hymns of faith that made us strong
Ones that mother taught us
Hear the angels sing along

Will the circle be unbroken
By and by, Lord, by and by
There’s a better home a-waiting
In the sky, Lord, in the sky

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Learning Each Other’s Names

I am glad so many people have learned that the young boy who drowned trying to escape Syria was named Aylan Kurdi. Names are important.

I think about the value of being known by name nearly every day. It matters to me when someone remembers my name and even more when they learn how to spell it. Erinn with two n’s is rare. When someone comes to The Dale the first thing we try to do is learn their name. One of my friends Michael talks about how he knew The Dale was a safe space away from the street when we took him by surprise and called him by name.

We all have an innate need to be known. Being known goes deeper than simply remembering one’s name though. We might be able to identify a celebrity by name, but know nothing about them as a person. This is where it gets messy. Authentic relationships are built when we are willing to reveal ourselves. Underneath our exteriors (whatever that exterior might look like) are complex emotions, failures and longings that we fear will be too much for anyone else to handle. That which we want most can also be the most terrifying.

This fear can flow into the way we take care of one another. Though we were designed to live in community we often don’t. Or we do, just in homogenous groups that we design to feel comfortable and very safe. We are called though to feed those who are hungry, clothe those who are naked, visit those who are sick and imprisoned and show hospitality to those in need. Remember too that each of us will take turns being the one who requires help.

I am convinced that if people consistently opened their doors to people like Aylan or my friend Michael, our world would look very different. A radical shift in our culture is necessary for this to happen. Maybe the start is learning one another’s names.

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Cowboy

I knew Robert Wilson as Cowboy. I met Cowboy outside of the library at the corner of Queen Street West and Cowan Avenue, where he was hanging out with a crew of people I knew from The Dale drop-in. He finished that first conversation with a certain hand gesture: one where he would wiggle his fingers and bring his arm back to signify that things were “groovy”. From that time on we used it to greet one another hello, though our goodbye would inevitably include a hug.

I learned quickly that Cowboy lived life hard. He was an admitted alcoholic who I got used to seeing inebriated. Drunk or sober, Cowboy could articulate that he was numbing difficult things and wanted to be able to stop. It was not uncommon for him to attend our little Sunday afternoon church service where he would pray aloud for healing. In some of his worst moments he would sit atop the small flight of stairs into the space away from the service, close enough to be safe, far enough to be entrenched in his own thoughts.

Cowboy became a good friend. He would always say, “girl, how ARE you today?” I knew he really wanted to know and would call me out if I didn’t give an honest answer. When I needed to share hard things he would look at me with compassion, nod his head and say, “in the end, in the end, in the end…things will be okay”. Coming from Cowboy, this sentiment was the opposite of trite. I knew that he understood the challenge of life and was pointing to our future hope.

The last time I had a conversation with Cowboy was near the beginning of June after a little memorial service we did for a community member’s father, a man none of us had met. It was a beautiful time, full of love and support for the bereaved. I sang ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ at the request of Cowboy. Afterwards he sang a couple of lines to me, unashamed of the tears that accompanied them. He spoke of how much he loved his friends and family, gave me a hug and left.

That night (I will spare the details of how) Cowboy ended up in hospital, unconscious and on full life support. Upon hearing the news the following day, I went to the hospital and met the family that surrounded him. Over the course of the next month and a half Cowboy was well cared for until his body couldn’t do it anymore. It is hard to believe he is gone.

I think about Cowboy a lot. I miss him. The Dale misses him, as do so many people in Parkdale. My prayer is that in the end, in the end, things have been made right for him. I live in hope that our goodbye is actually a groovy ‘see you later’, finger wiggling and all.

Toronto Star notice: Robert “Cowboy” Wilson Obituary

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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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