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Not Just a Pet, A Companion

Not that long ago The Dale began to raise money for our long-time friend Sanchez and his beloved dog, Maggie. Maggie had a growth on her belly that required surgery, except the cost was prohibitive. Joanna launched a Go Fund Me on our behalf, and slowly but surely, the money came in. We felt so excited about being able to come alongside Sanchez and Maggie in this way. Many phone conversations and a couple of appointments in, the way forward became less clear, though we all remained committed to the process.

Today we received the difficult news that Maggie died peacefully in her sleep, while lying in bed. Having not dealt with this kind of thing before, both Joanna and I made calls to see what to do. This culminated with us, along with our dear friend Sam, picking up Maggie to take her to the appropriate place. We first gathered around Sanchez in order to pray: “For God, you love all things that exist- every creature an object of your love. Thank you for Maggie, and for all that she meant to Sanchez. Surround him as he grieves. Thank you for the joy that Maggie brought so many…”. And then, as tenderly as possible, we wrapped Maggie in a blanket and took her away.

It is with the permission of Sanchez that I share this story. Maggie was a very well known and loved dog in the neighbourhood and we know that the news is spreading fast. Wherever Sanchez was, so followed Maggie (and Chica, Maggie’s own pup). Plus, there were so many people that contributed to the GoFundMe. In that regard, we will be reaching out soon.

As Sanchez said today, Maggie was not just his pet, she was his companion. This is a palpable loss. We feel your pain right now my friend. The Dale loves you Sanchez, and we certainly loved Maggie. You are not alone in this.

Maggie & Chica
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My Friend Ronnie

I’m not sure when I met Ronnie, though it was most likely more than a decade ago. I can’t remember a time in Parkdale without his bellowing voice. For a while it seemed he was everywhere: I would roll down my window as I drove past the corner of Dunn and Queen to shout hello, only to see him moments later at the Health Centre, and then again by the Library. I would tease him about how much he got around. With a twinkle in his eye he’d say, “oh, you know me- always around. I’m a fixture.”

Ronnie would routinely come to our Monday Drop-In, always sure to greet us as he entered the room. He loved to chat. I learned a lot about the art of checking-in with people because of Ronnie. No matter what he was going through (and it was often a lot), he would stop, look me in the eye and ask, “how are you, love?” He would then ask about life in general, my family, Cate, and finally, about my heart- in other words, how was I coping? Oftentimes he would chat and listen for so long that others would try to interrupt. His response would always be, “can’t you see I’m not done? I’m talking to my people”. 

Ronnie also taught me about asking for what you need. He was not shy in this regard. He would follow up any request with an acknowledgement that though we may or may not be able to help, it mattered to him that we would always try. Whenever possible, Ronnie would do anything to help us too. We liked to finish conversations by acknowledging the importance of journeying together and taking care of each other. “That’s it, love: we gotta help each other”. 

In 2017 Ronnie’s mobility declined. He would show up to Drop-In using a rickety walker, more often than not with a story about constantly tripping and falling down. It was clear that he needed a mobility scooter, and so in true Ronnie fashion, he asked for us to try and find one. I will never forget the day we actually got what he needed and presented it to him. We were all crying. It didn’t take him long to make it his own, including a sticker on the front that ironically said, NO FUN.

Just this past Sunday the Dale team was walking the neighbourhood. Ronnie was seated in a familiar spot, but obviously not doing very well. We talked, trying to sort out what would be the most helpful for him. As we prepared to keep walking, Ronnie grabbed my mittened hand and pulled it to his face. We stayed like that for a moment, as I rested my free hand on his head. He wanted me to bless him. We both said, “love you”. As Meg and I moved along, I shared about how that interaction was scaring me. Ronnie really didn’t seem okay. 

Yesterday we learned of Ronnie’s death. I am still in disbelief. Wanting the news to be false, we have waited on sharing this until now. Oh, Ronnie. The block will not be the same without you. Thank you for everything: the check-ins, the little gifts, the laughs, the tears. You were the opposite of NO FUN. You lived life hard, and I so hope that you can now enjoy some much-deserved rest. I am very sad that Sunday was our last interaction, and yet you made our parting visit one I will never forget. 

Ronald Paul Gallant 1964 – 2022

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A Decade of The Dale

This year marks ten years of The Dale. A decade. I can hardly believe it.

Rooted in a history much longer, The Dale grew up and out of what was Parkdale Neighbourhood Church (PNC), formerly Parkdale Baptist Church. Many people contributed to that chapter of life in Parkdale, and it is to be honoured. Similarly, I want to honour this most recent chapter and the journey it has and continues to be. We are excitedly planning ways to celebrate this milestone over 2022.

In 2012 we faced a decision: close or reimagine ourselves. At the time, I was invited into the role of Executive Director and Pastor. I felt a deep sense of call to say yes, though I was admittedly terrified. As the sole staff member, I was tasked with coming up with a plan. I believed the way to formulate a way forward first required listening. I met with community members. I had coffee with people doing neighbourhood work. I knocked on the doors of organizations, businesses, and churches both in Parkdale and around the city. I walked the area incessantly. It was out of all these interactions and a LOT of prayer that a plan to re-boot was birthed.

I recently re-read, through tears, my proposal to the Board. Here is a taste of it:

Informed by the community, I propose:

That PNC close all operations, excluding the Monday Drop-In and Street Outreach. We do not want this community to feel abandoned. The Drop-In is our single largest program. We can seek out a location, i.e. Epiphany and St. Mark or Bonar Presbyterian that might allow us to use space for free, one day a week. In addition to this, we can develop teams of people to be present on the street.

That we pare down our expenses to food for Mondays, a negotiated salary (that I will fundraise) for myself and a fund to allow me to take potential supporters and community members out for coffee, etc. While an office in the neighbourhood would be helpful, I can envision working on my laptop in the Parkdale library and from home. I will commit to remaining very visible in the neighbourhood. I will also commit to develop a fundraising model.

That my time be primarily used to create a working group of current community members to revision and strategize for the future, including a possible name change and rebranding (i.e. logo, website, etc.); to get ourselves organized administratively, including incorporation and further development of the Board; to meet with potential funders; to research possible partnerships with other organizations and encourage our current partners to stay the course with us; to seek out a new space in the neighbourhood; and to effectively communicate with our current network of supporters (financial and otherwise) through personal visits and newsletters. 

That we plan for this process to take up to a year. However, we can establish “markers” that we will need to meet at certain intervals throughout the year. If it becomes evident that this process is not working, we can re-evaluate and begin the process of closing down. 

I truly believe this is an opportunity to build upon the exciting work that has long existed at PNC. We have deep roots. We have a beautiful, resilient community. We have endured much. We can rise up. Consider these words from an Advent reading that I have repeatedly returned to:

“Think of the seed. We commit it to the darkness. And a new plant emerges thanks to what O’Donohue calls ‘the ancient symmetry of growth: root further into darkness and rise towards the sun. A life that wishes to honour its own possibility has to learn too how to integrate the suffering of dark and bleak times into a dignity of presence. Letting go of old forms of life, a tree practices hospitality towards new forms. It balances perennial energies of winter and spring within its own living bark. The tree can reach towards the light, endure wind, rain and storm, precisely because it is rooted.”

Whew! And now here we are! I can confidently say that the last ten years have been evidence to me of God’s grace and provision. This work is built on that, along with the participation of so many people. To the Board who took a chance and dared to dream, to the staff team who heard the call to come, to every partner, volunteer, and supporter who said yes, to the core community who showed us how to shed our walls and be church around the neighbourhood, to my family who understood my fear and supported me to still take the risk: thank you. Together we have witnessed a phoenix rising out of the ashes. As soon as we can, let’s have a party.

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Find a Quiet Place and Rest

Jesus was arguably a busy person, one who travelled a lot, healed people, and taught on hillsides and in places like boats and temples. What I also know about Jesus is that he believed in rest. He modelled how to recognize and tend to fatigue. He not only craved solitude but created time for it. I suspect he valued a good nap.

As the crowds gathered around Jesus and the disciples at the Sea of Galilee, he said, “Let’s go off by ourselves to a quiet place and rest awhile”. It might seem a surprising directive given that people were pressing in with many needs and deep longing for connection. However, Jesus’ love and wisdom knew that space for recuperation after a very busy time was necessary. 

As someone who can easily get very busy, I am drawn to Jesus and his desire to withdraw. I know he experienced hunger, grief and weariness. And though he is God, none of those things made him ‘less than’. As humans it is important to discover that doing is good, but not at the cost of being. Our value cannot only be found in our work. 

In the first book of the Bible we learn that God rested after the work of creation and asked us to do the same. Sabbath (meaning rest) is a gift. But how often do I forget about it or resist it? As we complete a very busy season at The Dale, I find myself ready to sink into the gift of rest. I recently heard someone refer to the rhythms and borders of life. I like that. We need to live into the tension that exists in all things.

The baby born on Christmas is the Jesus who, throughout the entirety of his life, modelled how to honour work and rest. He challenged his disciples to retreat, even when all they wanted to do was enthusiastically keep working. And in doing so, he was protecting them- from exhaustion, from the public eye, from thinking it was all up to them. 

The longest night of the year was this week. I know for many the nights have felt long and dark for much, if not all, of this year. As I sat in the darkness of the Solstice, my wonder grew at how the light begins to lengthen just before Christmas. The light is about to burst forth, penetrating the darkness and we don’t have to do anything to make it happen, nor can we stop it. We are invited to just sit in the glow. May it fill us up for our continued work.

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Spirits in the Sky

I will never forget the wise counsel of a grief counsellor I once went to: “the loss of someone you love is not something you get over; it is something you move through.” Having faced a lot of loss, I can attest to this being true. How could I ever “get over” my mom or dad? Or the people I have loved over the 20+ years of doing the work that I do? The various griefs that I hold do not look the same now as when they first occurred. And yet, I can be sideswiped by a familiar scent or a look-alike I notice walking ahead of me. Oftentimes this happens when I least expect it, though the feeling is now very familiar. I call it a wave of grief. I try, whenever possible, to ride it when it hits. I find that when I do, I can take a deep breath after it slows and continue the work of putting one foot in front of the other.

One important piece of this grief puzzle is what typically comes right after death occurs: the funeral/memorial. Covid has impeded this. For us at The Dale, services have been largely prohibited. We were able to help with and participate in a service held outdoors near the beginning of the pandemic, but very little has been possible since. We did get creative and put together grief support bags for the community, an activity that was meaningful and still not a true replacement for a gathering.

At the beginning of November, The Dale was able to move its Sunday service indoors. Though there are many lovely things about meeting outdoors, it has nice to been in a cozy space. It also means that we can do something for our TOO MANY friends who have died since March 2020. Just as we began a conversation about what to do, a long-time Parkdalian and musician named Heinz, approached me during one of our mealtimes. He put to words exactly what we’d been thinking: we need a time to honour our fallen comrades, one that is also a celebration. Heinz suggested we call it “Spirits in the Sky”.

Spirits in the Sky is going to happen on Wednesday, December 15th from 1 – 4 pm at 201 Cowan Avenue, in the sanctuary of Epiphany and St Mark. The space will be full of pictures, light, music, and opportunity to write down memories. There will be room to sit and reflect. Kleenex will be provided. It will be a drop-in (25 people can be in the sanctuary at a time), and there will be refreshments outdoors. We hope that this might be a step, however small it might seem, toward moving through the mountain of grief. Come. Grieve. Remember. Celebrate.

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Present to What Is

I have been reading a book that has challenged me to consider how to be very present to what is, or “consent” to be where I am. I will admit that the last few months have not been the easiest of times to venture into such a practice. It is a season of big transition: Dion living in Long Term Care, Cate leaving the nest, me discovering how to live alone. Then there is the general fatigue of Covid and the specific burden it is at The Dale: on both the staff team and the community. Add to all of this multiple deaths and limited ways to corporately grieve, systemic injustice, the list goes on. I even started to notice stress coming out in arguably small, but noticeable ways, including a sty in my eye and a kneecap that was moving around in ways it should not.

I am discovering that these less than ideal conditions (and let’s be honest, are they ever ideal?) are a very good reason to slow down and really notice what is going on both internally and externally. For example, what am I feeling? What do I need? What things might be necessary to root out of my heart? What are my hands busy doing- is it good or not? Together with my counsellor, I have been addressing these and many other questions.

We are now in the time of Advent, a word that means “a coming into place, view, or being; arrival”. For Christians, this is a period of preparation before Christmas and the arrival of Jesus. This year I am especially aware of how God is right in the place where I find myself: in the middle of the pain, the loneliness, the grief, and the stress. There is not an absence of God in the hardest of things. While I don’t always understand this, I do know it to be my experience.

By noticing and not ignoring the big things going on in and around me, I am re-discovering the joy found in being fully invested in a conversation with a person, cooking something, doing dishes, choosing a Christmas tree with Dion and Cate, creating home, making music, advocating, and remembering. It’s as though being present to where I am helps me experience the sacredness of living, in all of its complexity. It helps me to do what I can and know what I cannot. It propels me to rest. It rejuvenates my work.

None of this is easy. I have cried buckets of tears. Some days I am exhausted and would be content to hide under the covers. The transition that we face as a family is settling, but still strange and hard. The effects of the pandemic, injustice and grief are real. And yet. And yet, there is a coming into view, a sense that light is penetrating the darkness. I am (we are) being asked to walk this road and fortunately, when I pay attention to the terrain, I am confident that I am (we are) not alone.

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The Dynamic Exchange of Gift Giving

There was a time when my love language was most heavily weighted toward gifts. Not extravagant things wrapped with a big bow, but a bouquet of wildflowers picked along a walk, or a note. Over the years, I have explored the beauty of each language, learning to express love and care in a variety of ways (to varying degrees of success). Recently I have been reminded by members of The Dale community of how special it can be to receive a gift given with heart. 

Olivia and I were walking along Queen Street West one Wednesday afternoon. The plan was to meet up with Joanna and Meagan who had picked up the van and were already getting things set-up for our outreach time. We ran into “Danny”, who always greets us with a little dance and a quiet smile. On this day he emphatically said, “I want to buy you both coffee”. He was not to be deterred by the long line of people waiting outside Tim Hortons, “I WANT to buy you a coffee because today I can and because we take care of each other”. Even the person behind the register seemed moved at Danny asking us each what we wanted, paying with change, and buying nothing for himself. He patted me on the arm, said a brief goodbye, and was gone as quickly as he had first appeared. 

She is someone we are very slowly getting to know. We mostly see her at our meals-to-go on Mondays and Thursdays. Last Thursday we weren’t sure who we would see given the heavy rain, but there she was. She walked right up to me and without a word handed me a bag of Jalebi, a South East Asian/Middle Eastern sweet that is served at festivals, weddings and family gatherings. Jalebi is a pile of bright orange sugary “squiggles”. I felt so grateful that she would make and gift us a treat that is so important to her. 

I have known “Jenna” for more than twenty years. Throughout our friendship she has taught me so much about gratitude, humility, and honesty. Though she would meekly disagree, there is a river of wisdom running through her. What many would consider mundane things, she counts as blessings. One day she carefully placed a gift wrapped in a piece of Kleenex in the palm of my hand. “I made this bracelet for you. I found these beads- do you see how they shine? Smile when you see them sparkle in the sun”. 

One of the lessons I have learned at The Dale is that it is as important for me to be comfortable in the position of receiver, as it is to be of giver. Sometimes this can be difficult: I might have worried that Danny didn’t really have the money to spare, or that I was depriving someone else of Jalebi or a beaded bracelet. But refusing would have robbed my friends of the opportunity to give, and I would have missed out on something beautiful.  In these three instances I was given very tangible items through which I experienced the attention and empathy of each gift-giver. To me these gifts are invaluable, as are the people who gave them. I am so grateful to be in a community where there is opportunity to experience the dynamic exchange that is both giving and receiving.

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The Gift of Enough

Whenever we plan an event at The Dale, there is admittedly a little nervous energy that accompanies it. That is how I felt as we launched our week-long on-line Community Registry, an opportunity to purchase much needed items for our people. Part of the anxiety was feeling a little out of practice- we didn’t do a fundraiser last year, a choice that felt right given the pandemic and the outpouring of support we were receiving. Another part was that doing anything like this requires that you put yourself and the place that you love out there, which can feel…vulnerable.

Fundraising is not easy, and yet it is also something I cannot imagine giving up. It teaches (sometimes forces) me to step out in faith, to rely on God and others, and to use every bit well. When The Dale was crawling out of crisis years ago, I would fervently pray, “give us this day our daily bread”. Each day was an act of trust that there would be enough. Enough never meant a bag of riches, it was having the $2 to buy some milk for the drop-in coffee, or the exact amount needed to pay a bill, or a surprise donation of food that could be transformed into a meal for over one hundred people. This past week reminded me of how grateful I am for all the people who have given, sometimes out of their own relative little, to make sure The Dale has enough.

For me, the Community Registry was an opportunity to show this same kind of care to others. We loved the idea of creating an event with multiple benefactors: a donation to The Dale = a purchase from a restaurant = a meal for a community member. Having been an organization acquainted with living on the edge, we recognized the challenge faced by so many local businesses because of Covid. Also, we wanted to share about the needs of our community, as identified by them and not assumption.

Now that the event is closed and the final bits of administration are underway, my initial apprehension has subsided and been replaced with deep gratitude. I am thankful for every person who shared about the Registry, who covered it and The Dale with prayer and good thoughts, and who made a purchase. I was regularly shocked at the reach this all had, oftentimes seeing social media posts made by people many degrees of separation away. As a team we can’t wait to place large orders with our restaurant partners, gather the purchased items, and distribute everything to our friends.

Just yesterday I was chatting with a community member who desperately needs a mattress. It was amazing to be able to say, “when can we deliver one?”. With a grin, he said, “I was just telling someone about you girls. I said, they are small, but somehow things come together and happen.” To which I laughed, explaining the group effort (which includes him) that is The Dale. Every supporter is a part of the beautiful tapestry of people that helps make things happen. You are each a gift.

Postscript: for those wondering, the Community Registry raised $11,105. Taking into account donations made to the Registry, but not on-line, we are up to $12,265!

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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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A Win-Win-Win: How a Community Registry Can Impact A Neighbourhood

Every Thursday we pop by the walk-up take-out window of Capital Espresso, a local coffee shop that for years has provided The Dale with their very tasty day-old muffins. We chat a bit, pick up whatever they have to donate, and oftentimes leave with a free drip coffee in our hands. Our relationship has deepened over time, slowly learning one another’s names and one another’s schedules. Before Covid we would rejoice if we could grab a table to de-brief after a drop-in. During Covid, we like to look in the window as we pass by on outreach, waving to our friends. Not too long ago we had money to purchase a large order of freshly baked muffins to give out at our meal-to-go, an opportunity to give back after being shown such generosity over the years. It felt like everyone was winning: The Dale felt so happy to offer support, our community got a treat, and Capital Espresso’s baker got to rise early to make a sizeable order for the first time in months due to the pandemic.

That experience sparked an idea. What if we could do this again? What if we could purchase food from a larger variety of restaurants in the neighbourhood in order to keep feeding our community who is well acquainted with food insecurity, while supporting businesses so run down by Covid? The Dale has always believed that something beautiful happens when sharing food: conversations happen, relationships form, and a unique sense of community is developed. While we grieve that we can’t sit around tables as we would like right now, we celebrate that food keeps us connected throughout each week.

I am very excited to share that from June 21st to 27th The Dale will be launching an on-line registry, a place for you to discover what our needs are right now and support us in meeting them. In addition to items like socks and sleeping bags, we will be highlighting a variety of Parkdale restaurants, all of whom have agreed to be a part of this project. You might be in a position to make a donation that will cover 50 meals from Ali’s Roti, or one gift card for Momos from Loga’s Corner, or 25 breakfast burritos from Rustic Cosmo, or muffins from Capital Espresso. Imagine the impact on both our direct community and neighbourhood partners!

One of the core values of The Dale is “full participation”. We believe that everyone has something important to give and receive, and that we can each flourish when supported to bring our full selves to the community. We think the same is true for our broader network of support. Your role in this Registry might be to tell someone else about it, or to buy an item, or to cover our efforts in prayer and good thoughts. You might be inspired to order from a restaurant local to yourself, which we would love to hear about. We are grateful for whatever way you are able to show up.

Please do save the dates!