Stories of Hope and Home (2)

Scrolling through my blog feed, I realised it was a long time since I wrote anything here about Stories of Hope and Home... which is some what surprising, given that it has very quickly expanded to fill much of my time and even more of my head-space.

The last post on the subject was written way back in September, before it really even existed. Five months later, it is in a very different place.

Much has happened, and it has been (and I am sure will continue to be) a truly amazing privilege to help this fledgling project take flight. Somehow, though, it seems pretty hard to put into words, which is ironic, given it is a project entirely based around doing exactly that. It surely shouldn't be so difficult to tell the story of telling stories? And yet, somehow, there is no simple, coherent narrative to capture all that this project has very quickly become. Perhaps though, that is one of the many things we are learning together: that stories are not simple and ordered and complete. They are made up of seemingly throw-away comments which tell deep truths, and of tattered scraps of paper which reveal something of ourselves.

The Stories of Hope and Home group started meeting at the beginning of October. Since then, 30 different individuals have engaged with the project, from eighteen different nationalities. Men and women, of different ages, different cultures, different religions, different languages ... who have built a truly beautiful, supportive community which cradles both laughter and tears. The numbers only tell a tiny part of a story which is woven out of so many other stories being brought together and held in this space.

And for me, in the midst of it all, to be entrusted with so many snippets of so many stories feels like an immense privilege but also a significant responsibility. Back in the autumn, I asked one of the participants for permission to share a part of their story. She replied "you don't have to ask, because my story is also your story now" That, which encapsulated in words much of what I feel I have been given by those I am working with, felt like such an act of trust and such a very precious gift.

The other part of the project, to create opportunities for the project participants to share their stories with children and young people in schools also already feels like it is bearing fruit. A rough calculation suggests we have spoken to almost 300 school students, plus their staff, since we got started. But again, the numbers tell only a tiny snippet of the story. The real story lies in watching young people's faces change as they listen, in hearing them respond, in sensing their engagement; and in listening to conversations between participants about their own reflections on what and why they are sharing their stories with these young people.

There are still, for me, questions and challenges around this part of the project that whir around my brain. I really believe in the power and possibility of this: my own life has been significantly enriched and transformed by my own encounters with these stories and these people; I want to be part of offering something of that experience to others. I have also seen the value for individual participants of having space to share their stories, and having those stories really heard. But none of that has fully assuaged my nagging doubts and questions around the ethics of this work, and I am continuing to reflect on how to ensure I am respecting the integrity of those who are participating in the project and ensuring I do not abuse the trust they are placing in me. I hope I am getting the balance right. I hope I will be forgiven for the occasions I inevitably get it wrong.

Saying goodbye

On the 31st December 2019 I was walking along the spectacular coast path of northern Cornwall. It was also, officially, my last day at St Chad's Sanctuary.

In reality, my last 'proper' work day was ten days earlier when I had helped welcome seventy children, and their parents, to a Christmas party: complete with Santa, pass the parcel, and a scratch nativity play; to a room filled with noise and mess and laughter and joy.

Last Sunday I gathered together with some of the many, many friends I have worked alongside there, to mark the end of an era.

You cannot possibly have either known me personally over the last few years, or have followed this blog, without understanding that this place has been hugely important to me. It is where I met many of those I am privileged to now call my friends. It has played a significant part in Birmingham becoming a place I call home.

Deciding that the time was right to part company was, therefore, never going to be easy. There were, predictably, tears. There was a period of angst and uncertainty. But, in the end, for all the sadness, I am at peace that I have made the right decision. Of course there are many things, and people, and activities, that I miss. I'm sure there will be for many weeks (months, years ...) to come.

But there is much I will not miss ... because while I am saying goodbye to St Chad's Sanctuary, I am not going to be saying goodbye to much of what it has given me. There are many, many friends, who, I hope and trust will still be part of my life. The passion it has given me for campaigning about asylum issues and caring about those caught up in the struggle has not diminished. The desire to build supportive, inclusive community which offers safe space to hold both the beauty and challenge of life has not changed. All of that I will take with me, into the new projects I am trying to build and more importantly, I hope, into my approach to the kind of life I am trying to live. And tea. I will continue to drink countless cups of tea.

I will always carry a deep gratitude for St Chad's Sanctuary and all it has given me. In the past six and a half years I have learned a huge amount and grown much. I have discerned and deepened a sense of vocation, discovering and refining where my gifts and enthusiasms lie. Until recently, St Chad's Sanctuary was the right place to fulfill that vocation. Now, new adventures call. My head is already fast filling up with new ideas and possibilities; my diary is already fast filling up with new activities and commitments; and my heart is already overflowing with the love and energy to continue.

The farewells have been said, but the work is only just beginning.

*            *            *

I somehow feel I can't write a blogpost entitled 'saying goodbye' without at least a passing reference to the fact that there was that other significant farewell last week too: the one from an institution which, for all its deep flaws, (and however much I would like us to still be in the EU I'm not going to start pretending it was / is perfect), at least partly tried to stand for a sense that we are better together. 

So I will mourn the small inconveniences it will cause me, but more importantly I will mourn for the attitude of insularity it portrays and the insidious injustices that will cause to many much more vulnerable than myself. But while it is ok to make space to mourn, now is not the time to curl up in a ball and weep... now is the time to stand up and be counted.

The farewells have been said, but the work is only just beginning!