Common Ground: From Coffee to Community

"When will the coffee be ready?" is often the first question you hear at Monday and Wednesday drop-ins at Sanctuary London, a non-profit in London that supports those facing poverty and exclusion. Delicious coffee, roasted locally by Patrick's Beans, brings comfort to the uncomforted, and there is something even better about sharing it across the table from a friend while catching up on one another's life stories, joys, and struggles.

Something to savour, hold in your hands, drink while chatting or playing euchre--coffee is an essential part of the Sanctuary routine for our friends from the streets and downtown community. People come when they need a friend, a meal, music or art programs, or just someone to listen. So many folks who attend Sanctuary come from difficult and even heartbreaking circumstances. Living on the street or near the river, staying in shelters, struggling with poverty, loneliness, mental health, and family breakdown, feeling unwanted and invisible and unloved.

But the rich smell of Patrick's Beans coffee at Sanctuary London signals friendship and company, and a hot cup is often at the heart of relationship. It says 'you are not alone, you belong, we have a space for you at our table.' Drinking great coffee is definitely about excellent quality, unforgettable flavour, and roasting richness. However, more than that, it's a moment where we might feel a bit safer to share our struggles, and a moment in life to dream that everything is ok.

Patrick's Beans, a popular local fair trade and organic coffee company, brings that delicious cup of coffee to Sanctuary's drop-ins and larger Sanctuary community. With both owner Patrick Dunham and Sanctuary London striving to value people and community, these two have developed a unique partnership by sharing something beautiful in common--both want genuinely to care for others and aim for equality at every opportunity. Sanctuary London honours people of all walks of life and especially welcomes and cares for those who are struggling or feeling less than. Patrick Dunham is a passionate coffee roaster who loves building personal relationships and engaging community through his company.

Whenever you come through the door of Sanctuary London, the smell of coffee invites you to feel a little more at home. Started by Darryl Reckman and Gil Clelland in 2011, Sanctuary continually fosters a safe space for relationship, connection, and community. With social poverty as a particularly large cause of struggle in this vulnerable community, a shared cup of coffee can make a huge difference. Whether you're doing art or playing cards, hanging out on couches while someone strums guitar, or preparing food in the kitchen, the coffee pot is on. As Sanctuary pastor Darryl shares,"coffee is often a meeting point between two people, sometimes between old friends, other times with new acquaintances. At Sanctuary we go through a lot of coffee... there's almost always a pot brewing! The smell of coffee reminds us of home. It symbolizes warmth and comfort."

The rich smell of coffee matters to so many Sanctuary folks. In winter, the bite of cold and chill is warmed by coffee. In spring, as grey rain washes down the tall Atrium windows, a hot cup warms the hands and heart. It's no secret that the coffee from Patrick's Beans is delicious, full of flavour, and uniquely created. So many gentler roasts, traditional roasts and fuller roasts made up of many varieties of beans are offered to our Sanctuary friends and also purchased by several supporting families in our community. And now that Patrick has set up his new coffee roaster in his new company workshop, there's no limit to the possibilities.

But it's not just about the excellence of the coffee or the expertise of the roaster. So much more than that, Patrick's Beans is committed to community, and a sense of home and equality, and this matches Sanctuary London's core mission. Cards and coffee, laughter and coffee, conversation and coffee--everything that makes us realize that we have more in common than we think and brings us to the same level. Coffee brings memories of conversations, moments of shared understanding, or meeting for the first time.

The coffee is wonderful to drink, but it's the way it brings people together that holds value beyond anything coffee beans could otherwise offer.

So who is Patrick and what is the story behind Patrick's beans? Patrick sat down with me one Monday morning at La Noisette, one of London's tucked-away coffee shop treasures, where Patrick's Beans coffee was for sale on the shelves and brewing. While we listened to the clink of dishes and smelled the warmth of fresh coffee, Patrick told me he started cooking when he was 15 years old, after being inspired by his family life. He was a Red Seal chef for many years before he got into the coffee business. He was a manager at Fire Roasted for 8-9 years before finally going into business for himself, with a desire for quality and great product in a community he knows so well.

After being without work one summer, his customers kept asking him if he would start roasting again, and soon, a natural direction of entrepreneurship in the London community took over. While he was still enjoying cooking and making great food for neighbourhood functions, as well as canning and freezing at home, coffee brought a new angle to excellent quality and flavour, and a creative way for his sensitive palette to taste the very subtle flavours of roasting. Some of Patrick's original popular blends include Velvet Hammer, Dark & Brewding, Shotgun Romance, and The Safe Choice.

I asked Patrick what he loves about his product. "Coffee," he said, "is an easy, shared experience. Coffee starts conversation with people. Everyone has a memory of family, friends, relationships, that has coffee in it. Everyone has a connection to coffee. Stories start getting shared over a cup of coffee..." I asked Darryl from Sanctuary the same question--what is it about coffee? "I love how coffee brings people together. I love having a warm cup in my hand, and coffee just happens to be the best tasting warm drink."

So what happens when Patrick's Beans and Sanctuary London make a beautiful connection? It means that many folks find common ground. It means caring for our local community in a way that is larger than ourselves, and also caring for our global communities. Patrick's coffee is either fair trade certified, or bought directly from growers all over the world.

As Darryl shares, it was a partnership meant to be, as both were caring for people: "Sanctuary values caring for people. That means caring for the broken and hurting in our own community, but it also means caring for people halfway across the planet. We could easily buy cheap coffee for our drop-in programs, but we know that this could mean coffee bean farmers are not paid fairly for their work. We also hoped to support someone on a small scale who roasted coffee locally. So I began doing research. Eventually I read an article about Patrick and his quest to make the world a better place through his 1% program ... So I gave him a call, and we met up (for coffee) and became fast friends." Patrick affirms the same feeling about Sanctuary London: "Darryl got in touch, talked about meals and fundraising, and I liked Sanctuary because the staff worked really hard to look out for those who have no one to look out for them."

When Patrick brought his coffee to an evening Sanctuary Coffee House, he really enjoyed interacting with the people there, and getting to know them, so that his business and personal relationships overlapped.  He also mentioned that free coffee at the Sanctuary Coffee House was a nice surprise for the folks attending. "Everyone is at the same level at Sanctuary when everyone, no matter who they are, can enjoy a really good cup of coffee." We all have equal value and worth, no matter our daily struggle, and therefore we all deserve a great cup.

Patrick shares similar commonalities with Sanctuary's mission to care for the poor and excluded. He described his summers growing up on his grandparents' farm and how everyone was taken care of: "there was always lots of food. People who were walking by or hungry were always welcomed into the family meals." So Patrick grew up with a compassionate view of sharing our resources: "everyone is worthwhile; a bad situation doesn't mean they aren't valued. Any of us could easily end up in that situation."

The key theme I heard in my conversations with Patrick and Darryl was equality for all: being on common ground, finding the best in one other, and valuing the other even when they are having a hard go of it. In other words, the very meaning found in Patrick's Beans slogan "coffee on the level."

So how do we keep coffee 'on the level' beyond London? Patrick's beans are mixed in talented and experienced ways to make an incredible variety of flavours. They are ethically sourced, and Patrick imports from five different countries--Guatemala being the major source where purchasing their coffee means helping to finance their social and political movements. It helps bring focus to their causes, and also, the quality of coffee from Guatemala is incredible.

As Patrick explained, local purchasing decisions make a huge difference in people's lives globally: "money for impact." It's remarkable, he shares, what a little support from London can do for people in Guatemala. And Patrick's Beans buys directly from farmers so that 100% of money goes to them through the CCDA (Commit Campesino del Altiplano), an organization of highland farmers who advocate for social justice in their communities. Patrick lets them know ahead what his projected order will be and they farm towards that, thereby adding economic stability and sustainability. For example, this year he will purchase 10, 000 lbs of beans from one region of Guatemala farmers.

Also, locally in London, coffee fundraising programs are important to Patrick, and he gives 1% of his total roast volume back into charitable organizations in London. For example, for every pound of coffee sold by Sanctuary London, $5 goes back into their program funds. And Sanctuary is thankful for community partners such as Talbot Street Church who also sell Patrick's coffee on their behalf. Sanctuary London also sells Coffee Gift Baskets which are lovely gifts for birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. Patrick also supports other homelessness, shelter, or community initiatives such as Unity Project and places in Woodstock, Kitchener and Waterloo.

Patrick wants to be a good role model for his children and others, and similarly, Sanctuary is showing many folks in our city how to love the poor and excluded and how to bring the marginalized to the centre--a very inspiring model. Being approachable and accessible, both partners aim for a philosophy that Patrick explains: "We all have a way that we can share... a small group of people can make a big change" and "be part of something bigger than themselves."

If you want to check out this beautiful partnership between Patrick's Beans and Sanctuary London, and learn more about coffee on the level, and support those who have less in so many ways, consider coming out to a Sanctuary London drop-in, or visiting a coffee shop with Patrick's Beans for sale. Contact Patrick to learn more about his love for coffee, or contact Sanctuary to find out more about how you can get involved with their compassionate initiatives, including drop-ins, art programs, community meals, Touch of Home gift baskets, Generous Spaciousness, and their involvement in the new West Lion's Gleaning Food Forest.

As we all know, great friends deserve great coffee; they deserve a place they can call home that feels welcoming and inclusive. And community-building often revolves around coffee. As Darryl from Sanctuary so beautifully states, "what I love most about Patrick and his idea is that he sincerely believes that everyone is equal, whether you make a million dollars a year or live on the streets with no income. We are all equal and we all deserve to have an excellent tasting cup of coffee."

Coffee, when roasted, brewed, enjoyed, and shared comes out of a love for family and friends, and of course, a passion for coffee. So when you find yourself with a free moment in life, come out to Sanctuary and enjoy a fresh cup and some conversation! Or consider purchasing Patrick's Beans coffee from Sanctuary London to contribute to their program funds. Because, after all, common ground is the best kind of ground there is.

For more information on this partnership or either of these individual partners, please find more information at their websites or on Facebook:

www.sanctuarylondon.ca

www.patricksbeans.com

Extraordinary in the Ordinary

Mary Oliver, a well-loved poet, talks about paying attention and noticing what's in front of you, of being fully aware, of staying in the present moment and writing poems about where you feel awe and wonder at the world. Her poem "The Swan" helped me see a swan with more wonder and curiosity and gratitude than ever before: "Did you see it, drifting, all night on the black river? Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air, an armful of white blossoms? And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds--a white cross streaming across the sky... "

A few years ago, I began to feel awe and wonder regularly, finding myself intrigued by more beautiful connections in nature than I had ever realized before. I remember once standing in a park in Fredericton in the winter for a long time, staring and staring at this one tree: I was mesmerized by the dark silhouetted tree at dusk covered in a thin layer of frosty snow and ice, and it's incredible shape and shine, like an art sculpture hand-crafted as a gift to the world (and to me). While Mary Oliver's swan was streaming across the sky, this white tree was streaming upwards, reaching like a swan's long slender neck for the blue-black winter night, peaceful and silent in its own blanket of softly falling snow. 

This week, in a whole different season, I walked and sat outside in my backyard, and felt that incredible wonder again. The magnificence of our world in springtime. Every bird, every flower, every seed and hosta I've planted, every dollop of sunshine touching the earth, the wind refreshing my face, my cat meowing to go outside, the sound of 'shhh-ing' traffic on wet roads from evening rain, the red shells of buds landing all over our yard, the clouds moving silently across blue, the shimmering leaves dancing on the oak, the pink blossoms and sky--all of this is extraordinary. 

Birds with ruffled feathers as if they've just had a bath, cat with her yellow eyes bright and wide watching birds, the seeds breaking open beneath the soil as they prepare to grow new shoots. Our world is alive. All of this is a miracle. 

When I stop to notice it, and realize I am witnessing a miracle, and that all that seems ordinary is actually extraordinary, then I stop feeling so tired and I feel more contented and aware of the joy and magic of the moment. There is good being offered to us all the time. I am learning to look for it with new eyes, new ears, new touch. 

The earth loves us. The trees with their tiny birthing buds, the flowers offering us their pastels, the gardens offering us peas, peppers, tomatoes and basil, the birds offering their trills, and whirrrs, and chickadee-dee-dees. A symphony in a small umbrella tree in our backyard. And oh the ruckus and chatter they make when a raven comes to our feeder.

Gifts are everywhere.

Present moment, gratitude, and being in awe of everything extraordinary. That's where I'm going to keep focusing in this season. It's not so much that everything I'm seeing is new. It's more that every day I'm seeing new for the first time. And it's learning that when my life and what weighs me down feels too real, that the reality of nature's care for us is there for the healing--an escape from daily life, but also a gentler return to daily life. 

This season I commit to letting nature care for me. Will you join me?

Listening to What Matters

I have been reading again this charming and deep-felt book by Emma Hooper: Etta and Otto and Russell and James. A book that makes me want to get up from my chair, put down my laptop, grab my backpack and a few clothes and beloved things, and start my walk east towards the ocean. To be that free is something this book gives me permission to dream about. Most of us would say "I could never..." I often say it to myself: I should not, I could not... " but Etta bravely does. She gets up one day and listens to how her heart encourages and inspires her, and so she leaves her long-time husband Otto a note on their breakfast table, and off she goes on her journey towards a beautiful body of water:

"Otto, I've gone. I've never seen the water, so I've gone there. Don't worry, I've left you the truck. I can walk. I will try to remember to come back. Yours (always), Etta."

Etta makes us think about what is stopping us from doing the things we dream of, the things we need for healing and making sense of our lives. And along the way of Etta's story, we learn that part of the answer is learning to listen differently. For Etta, she learns to listen differently to what is both inside and outside of herself.

This book reminds me of my own attempts to listen differently. Over the years I've been learning to listen, but sometimes I can be a slow learner. How to notice that which seems so subtle, even unnoticeable? The world, the city, nature is teaching me. When I was a child, the call of a killdeer was one of my teachers. A mama killdeer near her nest of babies, in the long row of tall pines that lined our driveway to our old stone farmhouse. I wandered along the orange sun-glowing pine needles matted under my feet, and followed her as she called killdeer--killdeer--killdeer and pretended her wing was broken. I listened and followed her down the path as nature would instinctively have me do. Her babies were safe as she led me away from the nest.

I remember, years later in Fredericton, the beginning of my own journey, listening to the sharp sound of ice breaking in the Saint John River. The call of the deeper winter river with its watery dark secrets and moments of death moving into the breaking-open of ice and the crack-crack of my heart with each large white ice-raft floating away from another. Breaking open to make room for new life in spring and being astonished by the poems that found me there. The wind so strong and sure that my pink-stone earring was lost somewhere along the walking bridge with its huge truss design built of steel and the night overhead howling songs from the stars. Other years, the sound of wind jostling branches of the blue spruce outside my window--the tree that was planted when I was 8 years old, that grew up with me, until it was left behind, and I kept moving forward. Forward to the East Coast and Atlantic Ocean, just like Etta. Something called me--I didn't know what--the sea, the creative heart in me, the whales I longed to see and hear perhaps, the salty wind saying come, come--and I left my job and life to move there.

All of this listening was part of my journey. And as I write this story, it's the almost inaudible sound of hundreds of tiny red bud shells falling all wet and shiny in the wind like confetti onto our backyard garden and patio table. It's the hot snap of thunder, kettle boiling for tea, soft whoosh of a candle lighting, sound of seeds cracking open under the soil. The clinking of dishes downstairs on the kitchen table and then I realize that while home can be the ocean, it's also right here in this very present moment. For Otto, home is their kitchen table, the sound of Etta's voice in her letters as he opens the envelopes with love and her words fall on the table. As he listens for her differently than he ever has before. For sounds of her. For sounds of life. We all have a kitchen table.

Musicians would call these sounds music. Meditation experts would call this mindfulness. The poet Mary Oliver would call it 'paying attention' to the world: “Instructions for living a life.  Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”

Etta pays attention. She allows herself to be astonished into a 3,232 kilometre walk from rural Saskatchewan eastwards to the sea. She learns to listen differently and she follows where the sounds of the present moment call her, and where the sounds of her past and memories propel her:

"Etta in the new openness that surrounded the schoolhouse and teacher's cottage, learned to listen differently. As the months passed, her ears learned to distinguish shapes, patterns, life, in the big silence of this place. Smaller sounds, broader sounds. Insects calling against or with the wind, the conversations the wooden walls of her room had with the sun, the tread of boots on gravel miles away. And, of course, the calls of children and their dogs across the fields as they made their way toward her, toward the school. The brushing of the grain away from their bodies as they passed through" (p. 99).

Later it would be Etta brushing the grain away from her body as she passed through fields, starting her journey towards the ocean. She listens intently to shapes and sounds and voices and memories. But mostly, it is about the sound of choices that she makes, that Otto makes, that Russell makes. It is the sound of words from her wild coyote friend James. Is he real? Does it matter? Etta learns to listen differently--James is a wonderful example of that.

What is journey made of, I wonder? What does Emma Hooper teach us? Perhaps journey is simply the sound of walking towards the sound of something we have never heard before. Towards the direction of an ocean. Towards the unexpected voice of a coyote. Towards regret, and then towards new choices. Perhaps it's about listening differently to our hearts. Perhaps it's the courage Etta listens to, before she gets up and goes. In this story, it seems that journey is about not being alone in the world. Think of the title: Etta and Otto and Russell and James. The journey is in the 'and' between names. This connection that comes... from listening to others and the self and the world differently. The journey that comes from noticing what matters. From having the courage to pay attention, be astonished, tell about it.

'Maple & Ruby': Falling Into Something Natural

Ruby: an imagined name for a daughter and then a name for a new creative business, which started here in London, Ontario. Maple, a beautiful name from a children's book about a sweet girl involved in nature and play. Together these names have shaped an up-and-coming business started last year by Krista Rathwell: Maple & Ruby, a natural, creative, and life-giving journey.

If you love kids' clothing, organic locally-made cottons, and love the colours and fashions of this talented sewing artist, then these clothes are for you. Krista, creator and owner, shared with me that as a mom of an active baby and toddler, she makes her clothing to suit her girls' experiences in areas of playability, comfort, chemical-free fabric, attractiveness, and ease in putting on and taking off. She has a "baby and toddler who play a lot and play hard, and need durable and comfortable and fun clothes. At a time when Canada has few organic cotton fabric stores and distributors, Krista explains that more of a trend is growing, and she is finding some favourite places to buy her fabrics.

Earlier this month, I sat down with Krista over tea, and talked with her about the creative shape her new business was taking. We were in a coffee shop on a rainy Sunday night after her children were in bed--a quieter time when she would normally be at home sewing. As we chatted, I wanted to know everything about how she first began sewing, how her business was born, how she becomes inspired, and how her daughters, family, and new business weave together into a colourful life.

My first question: how did you learn to sew? Krista shares that it was from her mother. "My mom tried to teach me on a piece of paper. I was not very good at it, but she persisted." By the time Krista was a teenager she had basic sewing machine skills, and then after some years off, she really picked up sewing again when she was pregnant with her first daughter, Lena. Baby clothes, bibs, and other items until, "when Daphne came, I really fell in love with sewing. I felt like every day was a similar routine, so being able to create something meant I was accomplishing something new."

So where does her creative inspiration come from? Krista's answer is 'fabric first!" Once she has the fabric, then the pattern or images follows; she describes herself as "loving the dreaming stage." She shares that "after Daphne was born, I started reading about organic fabrics and how important it is for babies, because of their skin sensitivities, and then I found there were not very many options for organic cotton fabrics in Canada." Now she gets all of her fabrics online, and finds herself excited to find a trend shifting towards people sewing more again.

"Life changed after my first baby was born," Krista shares. The last four years have been "a bit of a blur with two daughters, but I loved the design aspect of sewing and found so many beautiful fabrics out there that I just wanted to buy them all." She laughs. "Sometimes I see fabric and have an idea and vision as soon as I see it, for what I want to make." Other inspiration comes from groups on Facebook, online stores, and an online sewing community where she is accompanied, learns, and can ask questions and exchange creative ideas.

Krista's clothing sewing business began quite naturally after the birth of her two beautiful daughters. She started sewing more when she was pregnant with her first daughter, and then even more when her second daughter was born. Bibs, baby clothes, then little dresses and comfortable play clothes. As someone who had been an artsy student--studying English Literature and playing flute and piano--creating a new clothing line wasn't far from her creative dreaming: "I love doing colour blocking... and choosing fabrics, trim, ribbons, and other ways to dress up something simplistic and classic.

I asked Krista how her sewing fits into her life as a mom of two beautiful girls four years and under. First, she has an outlet for relaxation and re-energizing: "Sewing is my way to wind down, and is good for reducing tension. When the days are long, especially in the winter, after the kids are in bed, I have a chance to focus my mind on something entirely different. Otherwise evenings can tend to aimlessly drift away."

As a mom, Krista finds she is offering her girls a sense of creative choice for their clothing, and hopes she is a positive role model as an entrepreneur. They see Krista designing and making new things. They see her having something she loves in addition to parenting. And Krista shares that the girls love the fabric most, particularly ones with animals such as swans, bears, foxes, tigers, dinosaurs, and unicorns. My oldest daughter "requests certain patterns by herself and is part of my dreaming stage... She loves to hide in the clothing racks when we go shopping for fabric, loves the button wall, and tries to convince me to buy pink, purple, gold, sparkle, and more." And they are learning to shape their own creative styles and find confidence in  their own fashion sense for what they want to wear.

Recently Krista and her family took a leap of faith and made a bold step to move their life and her business to Owen Sound. This has required trust, and she is looking forward to getting settled in, living closer to extended family, and working on the colour palette for her Spring/Summer line.

Creativity is key for Krista, and as many of us have experienced in our own lives, she names some of the personal benefits of making children's clothing. As she is in the busyness of unpacking and settling into Owen Sound, and as she continues to be a mom and wife, Krista shares that creating clothing has shaped something beautiful in her.

While she loves her days, she also looks forward through the day to sewing and enjoys having her sewing machine on her dining room table in the midst of family space and shared activity. Coming out of years of such intense family focus where so much energy was involved in birthing and raising her girls, Krista shares that "sewing and creating is life-giving," and that she is definitely a "lover of the dreaming stage." Most of all, "it has felt very natural to fall into sewing at this time" and has been part of Krista and her husband's overall dream for their lives.

She also aims for clothes that spark the imagination: "childhood is a time for dreaming and imagining... and part of kids' play and their world of discovery is their love for the freedom to choose." Children know what they love in clothing, and they enjoy being part of the process." For Krista, it's been a very satisfying time: "we have been dreaming about our move, and the sewing has just fallen naturally into place. It's a really nice balance for myself and my family." Sewing and creating nurtures and gives life at a time when their baby stage is passing and childhood years are coming.

Most of all, in concluding out interview, she shares: "I love it most because I love the idea of seeing children wearing products that I have created. It's awesome to see them on my own girls, but especially exciting to see other children loving them. This makes me so happy!" A beautiful win-win situation for Maple and Ruby.

Check out Krista's beautiful kids' clothing products, 12M to 5T, all handmade in Canada from organic cotton fabrics, in the links below!

How can you find out more about Maple & Ruby?

Facebook at Maple & Ruby

Instagram at mapleandruby

Etsy at https://www.etsy.com/ca/shop/MapleAndRuby?ref=ss_profile

Weather Or Not, They Go

They say the first game of darts was imagined during the rain. A group of archers gathered indoors in a pub while waiting out the rain, and started aiming their short arrows at a point on the wall.

Someone told me once I am a pluviophile: a lover of rain; someone who finds peace of mind during rain. Last Sunday morning, this felt about right. I woke up to the comforting rain, being lulled in my sleep. Pretty sure I heard it before I ever woke up... I was somewhere between dreamland and awake, listening to the tussling of water on the windows and roof.  I had gone to bed the night before with the rhythm of rain pelting and sliding down my window. The wind against the house rattled the wires and the leaves chattered the hours away. Then, all day, it rained, it rained, it rained.

Through my bedroom window, I watched the rain fall onto the street, and cars splash up water, and I was reminded of a poem I have loved for years, by matt robinson from his book A Ruckus of Awkward Stacking: a poem gathered together inside snow, rain, sadness, mourning, and remembering, and one that I have read many times over the years. Referencing the deep loss through death of a mother to cancer, here are a few of the unforgettable last lines of the poem: "I've come to realize / people die weather / or not; whether or / not it's rain, sun, or / snow, they go. they go."

There is something about rain and how it makes room for sadness like nothing else can. If anyone has seen Four Weddings And A Funeral, you will remember the scene of the funeral, the solemn reverent sadness in losing their beloved friend, and the rain falling as they bring the body and say goodbye, the grass wearing the tears of the mourners. The eulogy includes the famous poem, Funeral Blues, spoken into a narrow and wide space of grief, by W. H. Auden:

"The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good."

The thing is, the poem talks about packing up, dismantling, pouring away, and sweeping up, but rain comes when it wants and it goes when it wants. With it, sadness that accompanies us or days of depression, or making space for tears at funerals. There is also something about rain that celebrates, washes away and brings about the new: wedding couple under an umbrella, a quiet rainy morning of writing, misty rain at the ocean, city rain bringing people together in a dry bus shelter or restaurant lobby; rain watering the earth so new seeds can sprout and grow. 

I remember as a child camping in a tent trailer. We were at Emily Park. The rain was pouring down... I'm maybe 7 or 8 years old. My mom and dad and brother and me are all sitting inside the tent trailer listening to tin rain on the roof. We are playing Go Fish. I am colouring inside my colouring books, mostly with bright red, and my brother is reading the Hardy Boys. Outside, we hear the odd voice or bark, but otherwise everything is quiet and cozy. The rain feels safe. The rain comes when it wants and goes when it wants. I cannot control anything.

Also, early morning canoe trips with rain falling softly on the water, on our cheeks, on our life jackets. And chasing the bottle-blue umbrella across the beach into the shallow water after a gusty stormy wind took it from the back patio of our cottage. My dad out in the garden during the beginning of a rain storm. My windows covered in sliding-down rain. The sounds of cars and their wheels pulling through rain, the hiss-iss-iss. The heaviness of clouds pregnant with rain. Horses in rain, their noses turned upwards to the fresh wet air of the bright green field.

The rain washes away. The rain takes with it remnants of memory. 

Footprints, fingerprints, moments of mud, chalk words and hearts on the pavement. The rain in some places bringing so much loss. Rain reminds us of what is gone, lost, washed away. It mimics the inevitable release and letting go.

That smell after rain, called petrichor. Through the window screen in the morning from the red-blanket chair. That lingering smell of woods, dirt, wet grass, gardens, moss, damp forest walks.

When I walk in rain, I remember that I am so much smaller than everything. I remember that rain, in the end, always seeps into soil and disappears. I remember how much I long for the rain coming in those moments when the wind picks up, and leaves stir, and you know the rain is coming before you see it. You know it by smell and by your skin, you know it by the sound it has made every year of your life.

Spring Came Early Tonight

Sometimes you cannot guess how your evening will go, especially when you live in a community house. For our Monday family meal, we made pizzas together for dinner, then afterwards planted parsley, chives, and sweet basil into small pots to grow from seed on our kitchen windowsill. The feeling of earth on my fingers while planting seeds almost smaller than the eye could see, into little holes of earth, and covering them safely with some damp loose soil, felt invigorating and healing, and made me wish for Spring even more. I didn't know how much I needed the healing of that one small moment. The sense of new things growing and the anticipation of seeds sprouting under the soil were welcome images after a long winter. We then sat in the warm glow of candles, drinking tea, and settling in for the evening with a show and some snacks.

Around 8 pm, there was a soft rap on the door. And then another. I was worried it was a friend looking for my company, and to be honest, after a very long and busy week, I needed a mental and social break, and wanted some quiet and rest, so I asked my housemates to answer the door. Just this once, I didn't want to be available. Just this once, I didn't have the energy to care for someone else. I wanted to hide away and not be found.

It was Sharon at the door. A woman we know from drop-ins at Sanctuary, one who chatters so much you can't help but smile, who tells stories from her life with brutal and beautiful honesty, and who has such a large heart for others. Even when she feels lost and lonely and the ill effects of a tough world on the streets, she still manages to make you feel like you are the most special person in her life, and that her stories are for you, and you only.

Sharon is homeless, goes to the shelter every night at 9 pm to get a bed, and never knows where she will spend her days, or how she will stay dry and safe, and not be hungry. As she told me tonight, she has a "very tough life, but can't complain" because she was just happy and grateful that she has a warm bed each night.

Tonight Sharon came into the living room with an urgent energy and sat down on a kitchen chair, shoes still on, jacket still done up, bag of clothes in her hands clutched to her chest. I offered her tea, but she said no. She talked quickly, telling us it was raining, that she was on the street from 7:30 am until 9 pm--a very long and hard day. She was headed back to the shelter hoping to get a bed, but it was raining, and she had left her brand-new coat that she got today from Sanctuary London with a friend, as it was so special to her that she was worried it would get lost or wrecked. Therefore, she asked me, "would you give me a ride over to the shelter tonight, so I won't get wet in the rain?"

Suddenly, looking into her big eyes with their twinkle of love and her worry about walking in the dark rain so she could get a bed, all of my tiredness went away. My hope to be alone and rest, and not socialize with whomever was at the door, was gone in an instant. All I wanted was to be with her. "Of course, Sharon, I will drive you. Of course."

When we arrived at the shelter in the wet, dark, empty parking lot, Sharon was the best host in the world, welcoming me to her space and treating our time together like she was honouring the Queen with a tour of her very own home. The tricky part was that the shelter was locked until 9 pm, so instead she walked me around the outside of the whole building, looking into the various windows with me, and from her imagination and memory, told me about every activity, every space, every nook and cranny, so that I could see it and feel it right along with her. She didn't live there, but for tonight it was her home, and she had trusted me and invited me in. While we waited together for the doors to open, she shared her heart, gave me a big hug, and loved me through her words, telling me how very blessed I would be for caring for her.

The blessing was all mine, I told Sharon. All mine. God was indeed loving me through her.

And between the lovely dinner, the planting of herb seeds, the soft rain, the candlelight, and then the beautiful love and welcome that I received from Sharon even in the midst of a rainy day where her biggest hope was a warm bed for a few hours, I knew that my heart had been replanted; new seeds were sprouting, and Sharon reminded me that the watering would come when I least expected it.

I had spent the evening thinking about how I was waiting for Spring. Sharon showed me that Spring was already here.

At The Table

I live near the city's downtown, where many of our socially vulnerable and street-involved friends live. Some I know through community involvement and work, others through community house living, and others through my church which focuses primarily on loving the poor and excluded.

Some are homeless, some are struggling with isolation, others with depression, addiction, stress, anxiety, loneliness, hopelessness, and more. Some I see passing my porch steps asking me for bus tickets or help with food. Some are without home entirely, and others have physical shelter but nothing that feels like a home.

In listening to many of the stories shares, I have learned a bit about what it might feel like to stay in a shelter. I've been told that home does not really feel like home when your bag of belongings is stored in a secure locker and you can't get it without staff retrieving it for you. That home doesn't feel like home when your shoes sit alone under the metal-framed bed, you have to ask permission to come and go after curfew hours, and you share your bedroom with 5-6 men or women you've never met before, a dorm room where it's hard to find a quiet hour in the night. Where once you head out the door in the morning, you are on your own for the day, wandering the city, until you can go back that night to see if you can check in for another bed.

Sounds quite different than the lives many of us know. And yet, in the midst of having very different experiences of what it means to go 'home' at night to our bed, what do we all have in common? As human beings, we seek togetherness and we love being at the 'table' together; we desire to be in the centre of family, friendship,  community, and a sense of acceptance, safety, and love.

I began writing this story on a winter's night when the street outside our church was bitterly cold and covered in white snow from the ground up to the sky. Swirling and windy, it was not a night to spend outside. The image of wandering the streets that night made me think of cold, loneliness, isolation, hunger. Differently, sitting around a dining room table sharing food and conversation with friends conjures up feelings of of hope, support, friendship, warmth, companionship, love. Sharing life together. How does one translate into the other? How do we create relationships that bring those in places of isolation and hopelessness into being 'at the table' together?

Imagine a table that spans the length of your dining room, the whole main floor of your house, the whole street outside your front door, the entire city, province, country, world, and every person you know and long to know is sitting there, together. There is room for everyone. Food for everyone. Conversation for everyone. No one left out. No one forgotten. No one ridiculed, begrudged, pushed away, or excluded.

Invitation to the table means "you matter to me." The table says "we want to know you" and "thanks for being here." The table says "you belong with us."

A beautiful dream. I believe that at the core of humanity is this very depth of love. We only need to find a way to pour out that kind of beautiful invitation. How will you bridge the gap between your table and the downtown winter streets, or any other places where loneliness resides? How will you make a sense of home reality for those who have never known it? Who will you invite to your table today?

Knitting Love!

Community is beautiful. I've seen it with my own eyes.

We began in January at the Byron Library. Our three piles of colourful patterns of knitted squares have grown to about 4 feet. Knit stitch, seed stitch, moss stitch, basket weave, colour blocking--all so beautiful. We began with an idea to start some knitted squares and leave them in a basket for our patrons to add rows whenever they visited the Library and felt inspired. The Library is a cozy place to knit in the winter months, and our needles, squares, and yarn have been journeying with patrons into corners of the library--by the fireplace, in the leather chairs, in the children's area while their children play with trains. When the baskets are empty, it means knitting is happening all around us.

We invited our community to add rows while they were visiting us, but also to drop off any completed squares they knitted or crocheted at home. We hoped we could stitch enough squares together to make a few blankets for those in the downtown London who were on the streets, in shelters, and in other vulnerable situations--those who were trying to get warm and safe. Or someone whose world would be made a little brighter in receiving a homemade gift.

And so it was born: our Byron Blankets project. 

From there emerges the story of a beautiful community... every day or two, we find our baskets filled with all kinds of colours and patterns of knitted squares that little elves in the wee hours of the day have completed or dropped off without anyone noticing. Other patrons donate yarn. Knit Stitch generously offered a bag of yarn as soon as they heard about Byron Blankets. Community, I'm learning, is like a hen with her wings over her eggs; out of that caring flows communal creativity.

For many people, knitting, crocheting, sewing, pottery, woodworking, and other creative acts allows space to think, be introverted, have an energy outlet, and find ways to relax more deeply. The rhythm of knitting can be contemplative, meditative, and calming. For some, it's about creating something new and beautiful for a hurting world. Mental health and brain health advocates call textile crafting the 'new yoga'.

For others, knitting is a social act: creating together with fellow friends and knitters, building a more connected community, and caring for social causes and justice. For us, it's Byron Blankets. For Central Library, it's Knitters Helping Knitters. At Sherwood, they knit for the Red Scarf Project.

A community who creates together can make positive change and transformation happen. That same community creating together often feels less alone in our neighbourhood, our city, our world.

And so, bound together by yarn, we move forward with hope.

Smelling the Flowers!

The Scottish gardens and the flowers made it hard not to stop every two minutes and smell them. You can be quite a long time on a walk at that rate. They are colourful, cheerful, and as "scottish" as you would picture them to be. The garden that touched me the most was the Queen Mother's Memorial Garden in Edinburgh, which is part of the Botanical Gardens. There was a labrynth made of little hedges in the shapes of E's. Walking in the quiet of this garden was a very spiritual time for me, as I felt a real sense of being accompanied and a divine feeling of love. Mostly I was reminded of God's beauty everywhere, as I encountered all kinds of flowers in the many places I visited, despite the fact that it was end of October and early November. What I would call summer beauty still greeted me: in the Scottish gardens in Glasgow, in the Edinburgh and Glasgow Botanical Gardens, in front of tenements or flats and Scottish homes, in Skye by the harbour village of Portree and the open valley space of Glen Coe, and outside the restaurant where we had the amazing fish! I wish I could tell you the names of these beauties--more investigation for another time!

3 Day Highland Tour and New Friends from Hong Kong

Ben Nevis right there!

One of my favourite memories was my 3-day-bus tour of the Highlands in Scotland. An amazing experience of so many beautiful spots in Scotland. We started out having lunch in Inverness and then Clava Cairns, continuing to Cairngorm National Park and then Culloden Battlefield, at sunset, where the golden sun in the gathering of trees and stone walls, and in the long green fields, was magnificent. Later in the evening, at dusk and as the light was getting dim, we made it to Loch Ness (did I see Nellie?) and Urquhart Castle, and then Fort Augustus, where we stayed for the first night, at a lovely B&B. The next morning we headed on towards Eilean Donan Castle (my favourite part of the trip), Sligachan, and Skye! Once on Skye, we stopped for lunch in Portree, a colourful autumn-world harbour town, where my Hong Kong friends got lots of pictures of the orange and red trees. Glen Coe mountains came next, with bagpipes playing a beautfiul Amazing Grace in our bus, and a moment of tremendous emotion in me as I looked in awe at the magnificent mountain range. Inverlochy Castle, a castle in ruins, was wonderful to explore, and it's walls and openings became the spot for a fun photo session for all. For the first week of November, we had beautiful sunshine, and no snow in the mountains--we were lucky indeed. There were many other places we visited, too many to count, but my camera captured it all, as did my heart.

Freedom!

Great new friends.

What made the tour so special and unforgettable, were the people on the tour with me. From the moment I arrived at the tour bus stop, I was joined by a group of 7-8 people from Hong Kong, who were all travelling together. This group quickly befriended me and treated me like I was part of them. We had an amazing time together, exploring the Highlands, singing songs on the bus from our countries (yes a little like camp)... plus many, many photos taken of ourselves, each other, and all of us together. Tourists we were, from beginning to end. It is always a little strange and nostalgic to be with new friends on a short travel journey--you bond quickly and feel like family and friends within hours because you are seeking and experiencing very similar things--both places and emotions. There is a heightened closeness, and at the same time, you know it won't last; I am always keenly aware of meeting special people along the path. Some would say angels.

Best travelling companions ever!

I loved our first evening eating together after checking into our B & B at the close of Day 1. We were warm and cozy in a nearby pub, and one of the Hong Kong travellers suggested we play a game of 'who do you think is...' See, they had known each other for years, some of them their whole lives, but to me, and two married American Professors also in our group, they still looked quite a bit alike, and hard to tell apart. They knew this and had fun with it. They asked us to guess... who do you think are sisters? Who do you think are social workers? Who do you think are a couple? Who do you think went to high school together? The game went on and on. We were wrong most of the time, and there was much laughter and squealing with joy and mischief, and by the end of the game we knew each other quite a bit better and the bonding had begun. I will never forget this group of travellers on the journey with me...their warm hearts and bright spirits. They also loved my camera, and wanted to use it to take pictures of me. Travelling photos were very important to them, and at every bus stop, they jumped off, immediately snapping shots, especially of all the fall colours. You can imagine I felt quite at home.

 

Here are a couple of photos of the lovely B&B we stayed in the first night. Cozy, warm, and inviting. Too bad it was only one night... could have easily stayed longer in this lovely place.

I almost ordered a second plate.

One of my beloved moments on the tour was the very fresh fish and chips at a tiny, tucked away restaurant pub--best I've ever had. Well, I've actually only had fish and chips in Ireland and Scotland, so not much to compare it too. Dreamily delicious!

Something I am struck by in Scotland wherever I go: the warm golden sun. The sun here seems to have a different quality than back home. It's softer, warmer, easy on the eyes, the heart, the spirit, the camera. Perhaps it's a geographical quality, or maybe only my imagination. But the late afternoon sun along the roads, pathways, stone walls, and trees is breathtaking, and makes you feel like you're in a magical place, far away from home. I can feel it's warmth healing something inside of me. I will never forget the Scotland sun.

A magical place.

Another morning of beautiful bright warm sun was Eilean Donan Castle. Possibly my favourite spot on the tour, other than the Glen Coe mountains. It was early morning, the water like glass, with a slight mist, and the sun over the water was bright and welcoming... a dream come true. The castle was lit in rays, and we could see Sky in the distance. A spiritual moment for me, as I took in the incredible beauty of our world. A private tour was beginning in the castle, and my group had to call me several times before I could leave this scene behind. I will think of that morning often, as the 'perfect morning' in Scotland--a symbol of joy and peace.

Eilean Donan Castle glowing in the morning light.

Unbelievable beauty.

And more pictures of friendship during my travels...

Hong Kong Friends!

Lovely professor from Princeton, on the tour with us.

Couple on the tour with us, both professors.

Photos were a big part of the trip!

The colourful harbour village of Portree.

Beautiful place, beautiful people. I miss them.