Tag Archives: Hospitality

Sometimes it sneaks up on you…

Families gather...

Families gather…

On Monday of last week, my family attended the end of the year St. Mark’s Pre School family gathering.  Upon arriving at the park, we  set out our blanket and briskly followed our kids to the adjacent playground for a quick swing session.  Minutes passed and the sea of children and families swelled.  Familiar faces all around, as this is our third year of sending at least one of our kids to the pre school.  New faces appeared throughout the evening, depending on the tide. Continue reading

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Practice of Welcoming: A conversation with Bruce Anderson

The genesis of Come In From The Cold came from the yearning to reflect on how we, as people living in a community, can live a practice of welcoming.  Last month, I had the pleasure of meeting a gentlemen by the name of Bruce Anderson, who has made it his life’s work to explore this very idea. Bruce lives in Washington, in a place called Vashon Island, where he is immersed in living a practice of welcoming. I immediately invited him to share some time to chat with me and he graciously accepted.  So I invite you to have a glimpse into our conversation…

Bruce Anderson

Bruce Anderson

Me:  How did you become interested in this practice? Continue reading

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Imagination creates beauty…

A friend, and recent guest blogger, Chris Lee, recently shared this video about a project coordinated by Christina MacLeod.  She organized a group of community members to transform a “dull and lifeless street, into a public place that encourages activity, community and health.”  It is a beautiful piece about a beautiful idea.  Take the time to watch this 6 minute video.  Be well friends!

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Eventually, All Things Merge Into One…

This week we welcome our inaugural Guest Blogger, Sarah Forbes.  Sarah resides in Melbourne, Australia, works with individuals labeled with disability, and is equally curious about the idea of connection and kinship.  Sit back and enjoy her contribution…

 

“Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes and indirect boast”, Jane Austen.

I’ve often found myself living across two worlds, two groups, two ways of thinking about life. I grew up in a home where conflict was common and money was scarce, particularly during my adolescence. I also went to a well-performing private school, thanks to my grandfather’s generosity. I became good at covering up our family’s poverty, trying to fit in with well-off and wealthy students, but remaining in an existence between the two. On weekends I tried to fit into our rural community, and on weekdays with my suburban school friends. At the church our family attended, I was the one asking questions of leaders who didn’t welcome questioning. I’m also a person who is adopted, straddling two families where I am both citizen and guest. Many times growing up I felt like I belonged nowhere which grew my motivation for living in ways that might help others feel more included.

Almost five years ago, my husband, new baby girl and I moved into a neighbourhood known for its poor, troubled, unemployed and disrespected people. The location is beautiful and the price was right. Our home perches on the edge of the Yarra River, which runs from the mountains near our home all the way through Melbourne and into the ocean. On a hot day, after rain, the river smells of eucalyptus, native mint and, like home to me. On a very hot day, people from all over the neighbourhood congregate at the river to occupy the best swimming spots, enjoy a beer and a smoke and catch up with new and old friends. People share their food and their belongings, they check up on one another, they know each other’s business enough to enlist the help of others when someone is sick or broke.

Elizabeth, Val and the Yarra River

Elizabeth, Val and the Yarra River

We have friendships with neighbours who have a variety of labels, particularly ‘bludger’, ‘alcoholic’ and ‘bad news’. Our closest neighbour Mark is dying from asbestosis and is known to some by at least two of those labels. He has lived a life of unrequited love and the worst kinds of loss and violence. Many of our friends and family have questioned our friendship with him, simply because they don’t yet see him for what he offers but rather for the trouble he might make for us. Yet he is the person I would call on when I need gardening advice and the person my children know to go to if Mummy falls off the ladder and Daddy isn’t home. He offers counselling, advice, explains to me how social situations work and he looks after our pets when we are away from home. He sometimes takes my washing in because rain is imminent, and he waters my plants if they look droopy. He reassures us that we’re good enough parents. We worry after him, and he worries after us.

tim and mark at valentine's first birthday party, January 2011

There are many others in our neighbourhood who have suffered unrelenting abuse, who use drugs too often, who are often without food in the house because they trade off the grocery budget for prescriptions or beer or petrol for friend in need. My husband Tim remains their preferred confidant, because they see in him a worldliness that they don’t see in me. Despite all my efforts, people who have experienced desperate suffering typically see through my tough exterior to my naivety about what it is like to be the object or perpetrator of human violence, of what it takes to cooperate with child protective services enough to prove that you deeply love your children, and they protect me from their reality by keeping the worst of the truth from me.

It is sometimes hard to see what I have to offer in the midst of people who understand the world in ways so differently to me. The challenge is to see my talents and skills as useful in their context, and to see in others the same. The greater challenge lies in both offering the space for people who experience deep disadvantage to contribute to my life, and for me to take up that space in the lives of people who might welcome me in when my skills seem useful to them – to offer equal exchange. The deep question for us is: How can we be sure that all people are welcomed, even people who are known for violence, people who sell drugs to children in our neighbourhood, people who might steal from us, even people who might mistreat our children given the chance? The answer comes from figuring it out one day at a time, in concert with people who care enough to ask the same question.

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Sacred Space

Lindakirk

Bloggers unite…

We have mentioned the Toronto Summer Institute a few times on here, perhaps partly because it is where Kirk and I first made a connection and this blog was born. It has had a profound impact on our lives; we would both say it sustains our passion, nourishes our commitment to our work and to our community-building, and has been the birthplace of many important friendships.

Peter, Beth, Kirk and Linda

Peter, Beth, Kirk and Linda

The friendships are the piece that I am interested in today. Continue reading

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Be the yeast…

A while back, I shared with you an open letter to my church community…an invitation to begin  learning about who we are as individuals and as a community of people.  Having been immersed in this practice now for a couple months, I checked back in with people via our newsletter…and as promised, I’m using this space to keep you abreast of how things are going.

Breaking bread together…

As we move forward with our learning conversations, the process of getting to know each other as a means of fostering deep connections, we begin to realize the power that exists within ourselves, and our relationships with one another.  Continue reading

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Rhiannon’s gift…

 

Rhiannon and her two bags…

On our way out the door on Halloween evening for our trick or treating, I spotted what appeared to be an over-zealous Rhiannon carrying two bags.  While I admire her vision, I approached her and said “Sweetheart, you only need one bag.”  She looked up, her big blue eyes looking at me as if to say “Why would you get in the way of what I’m about to do…”  It wasn’t until Jody, her mother, my wife, came up to me and told me what was in one of the bags. Continue reading

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