Still to this day I am appalled that folks I know voted for Trump. Up to three times! Yes, I even looked up contribution records and some of those people donated to his campaigns as well. You can search these records here.

As a Christian, I’m taught that I shouldn’t judge others. I’ve tried to help others in my life and to be kind. But there is a sickness spreading that is based on hate, fear, and pride. Politicians like Trump, and all of his supporters, have irreparably damaged so many things, and so many people. So here I am, judging those that have enabled and supported this madness, including those that are friends and family.

Easter is about hope. Renewal. Forgiveness. This the hope that Jesus died for our sins and was resurrected. This is for everyone. We are all God’s children, which means we are all brothers and sisters through Him. We ultimately all have different beliefs, with many common shared values like peace and not doing harm to others.

Jesus taught us that there are two great commandments: to love God, and to love your neighbour.

“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.

“This is the first and great commandment.

“And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”

This should be the anchor point that defines a Christian’s individual morals and ethics. Not hate. Not superiority or domination. Not racism or bigotry. Not “grinding the face of the poor”.

Plato, and others, proposed that politics and governments are a reflection of the shared values of the people. Does this mean the citizens of the United States have collectively fallen so far that the actions of their leaders and government agents are acceptable to them?

This brings me to the source of my frustration and fear for our futures. Are citizens of the US, my friends and family included, aware that it is their responsibility to act against and condemn their government? Or are they individually just waiting until it affects them notwithstanding the suffering of others? Were we not all educated by the sacrifices of my grandparent’s generation and the horrors of the last world war?

This won’t be solved by another election. We can’t “unring the bell” and this isn’t just about one bad leader.

I don’t have the answers. I do know that powerful machines are working overtime to bend the minds of the people. Contrary to Plato, Machiavelli taught that politics is simply an amoral power grab. Perhaps it all boils down to that and citizens are the ones putting their own boots on their neck, to win favour and satisfaction of their corrupted overlords.

May God forgive me of my judgemental heart. May He soften the hearts of those who cause war, suffering, death, and chaos. May we love our neighbours.

The provincial motto for Quebec is Je me souviens, which is “I remember” in English. All four of her paternal great-grandparents were from Quebec. Of my wife’s surname, the Audet family, genealogists have traced their history to their arrival in Quebec from France in the seventieth century.

Nicolas Audet was born in Maulais, France, in 1637. His future wife, Magdeleine Després, was from Paris and was born around 1655. Magdeleine came to New France as a Filles du Roi, or one of the King’s Daughters. This was an initiative to help grow and populate New France. Magdeleine was fourteen when she married the thirty-three-year-old Nicolas. This is hard to understand and accept from our current morals and ethics. These were colonizers living on stolen land. Despite all of this, I think we can agree and respect the heroic courage required for young Magdeleine to start this new life in the new world.

The Encyclopedia of Canada, explains:

The Filles du Roi (King’s Daughters) were unmarried women and sometimes widows who were sponsored by the king to immigrate to New France between 1663 and 1673. Because private interests gave priority to bringing over male workers, the French government and religious community attempted to correct the gender imbalance in the colonies. Even though the first women arrived in Canada in the 1630s, only the 800 or so who arrived during the first 11 years of royal government in New France were called Filles du Roi.

Nicolas obtained a grant of three acres of land by Monsignor François de Laval, the first Bishop of Quebec and Lord (Seigneur) of Beaupré. This was in Île d’Orléans and they established a farm, which later grew to seventy-five acres. This island is just northwest of Quebec City and over three centuries later the land is still dotted with farms.

There is an organization that has tracked and shared the history and ancestors of Nicolas and Magdeleine, the Association of the Decendants of Nicolas Audet dit Lapointe. Their database contains over 90,000 descendants of those two brave pioneers. I don’t think they could ever imagine this and the impact they would have in the future.

We all have a rich and interesting family history, though it may oftentimes be hard to uncover. The efforts of our ancestors in early times may seem unimaginable to us. With the current state of the world, I think back to my grandfather’s generation and their fight against fascism. My father-in-law, a descendant of Nicolas and Magdeleine is the second oldest of twelve children. He was born while his father, Joseph Edward Lionel Audet, was in the United States Army fighting in Europe.

The story goes that Pépére (a French name for grandfather) his son for the first time only when he came home from the war. He walked up to their home to the warm welcome of his wife, Marie Laurette Noelle Beausejour, and met his son. What a joyous reunion that must have been! Their own courage and those of that generation helped save our world from widespread war, fascism, and systematic annihilation. They did this so selflessly and against difficult odds.

These same struggles exist today, in places like Ukraine, Palestine, and Iran. People just want to be free, treated with respect, to live in dignity and peace. The same courage exists today, too.

Instead, we again have creeping fascism. Hateful and corrupt people have loud voices and unreasonable power over others. They crave power, money, and domination. They have big machines of propaganda, influence, and manipulation. The magnify fear to create hate.

What can we do? As a start, we need to resist and eliminate hateful and manipulative voices in our lives, and the lives of those we care for. Too many people forget that their families were once immigrants, or newcomers or outsiders. Or simply different and needing help and acceptance.

Everyone in their soul yearns to be loved, and to love. To me, that is the foundation that everything else rest upon. As a Christian, we believe in the Two Great Commandments: to love God and love your neighbours. Everything hangs on that. We need to help lift each other up and not punch down. We need to look beyond our own selfish interests. We need to stand up for those in need and work together to improve the world.

The time for fence sitting is long past. Do not subscribe to the hateful rhetoric. Stop doomscrolling and inundating yourself with anger and fear. Instead, think about what you can do to change things for the better and get started.

How will our own descendants and future generations view our work and our courage?

Remember the courage of your ancestors.

We remember you, Nicolas, Magdeleine, Lionel Edward, Marie Laurette, and so many others. May we match your courage in making the world a better place.

Note: If you want to get started on genealogy, my church has a free platform that is open to anyone at www.familysearch.org.

Over the years I’ve had recurring dreams that I visited my home in Newfoundland again. I was born there and have been able to trace my family history there back over three hundred years. Not all of these dreams have been pleasant, due to my difficult early years. The main theme though, is that trapped in a place and time that I should not have been. The life I had built since leaving home didn’t exist.

I have also had many pleasant dreams. Being with my family again. Being with my mother, grandfather, and other friends and family that have passed on. Another frequent dream is where I come back and speak in church to the congregation I grew up in, as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In those dream, I profess my testimony of Jesus Christ, my gratitude for the Gospel, and my gratitude for the people there who touched my life over the years.

Tonight, as I write this, I’m sitting at my computer in a hotel in St. John’s 32 years after I left home. This is my first visit since then. I’m hoping to attend church on Sunday and if I had the opportunity to speak, the following is a rough sketch of what I would say.

(To put this into context, in my church we don’t have a paid ministry. Our main Sunday service has members from the congregation speak, generally on topics provided. My experiences doing this as a youth certainly helped me with my public speaking ability.)

The Talk

Brothers and Sisters,

My name is Shane Sullivan and I’m visiting this week from my home in British Columbia. I am joined by my wife of 29 years, Laura, who I first met here. Some of you may remember me, as my family and I were members of this branch. My father was first to join the church after meeting the missionaries playing basketball. My mother and other siblings joined later. I left here 32 years ago to serve a mission. Sadly, this is my first time back to visit as I’ve endured many health issues on top of other very demanding responsibilities.

We did not have many folks leaving to serve missions back then. Notably there was our dear friend, Carol Squires, who I’ve known since a child and who has been like a member of our family. My brother served in the old Canada Montreal mission. Then something weird happened. A young man was called to serve in the California Sacramento mission. The next missionary called was also sent there. Then so was I – in the new Roseville mission that was split from Sacramento. I found it strange that three people were called to the same mission in a short period of time - but trusted that God knew what He was doing in sending me there, out of the hundreds of other places I could have been assigned.

Many missionaries wonder or question why they are sent to a specific area. I do not and let me share why that is. I was born with a life-threatening illness called Marfan Syndrome. Back then many folks would die young from it before they were diagnosed. I was fortunately diagnosed at a young age. I had, and still do, have many health challenges. But my life was saved because I was called to serve in that specific mission. My aorta began to give out shortly after I arrived. I was too sick to return home. The church arranged for me to have surgery at Stanford University by the top surgeon in the world for my condition. The church flew my mom out. My mission president and his wife were there at every step. We stayed with very kind members in the San Francisco area and with another member family from my first area to help my recovered as the father was a doctor. This branch, my mission, and my mom’s ward all fasted and prayed for my recovery.

I was called to serve just where I needed to be in order for my life to be saved. Faithful members of the church stepped in to help when I and my family needed it. If I had not served, I would not be here to speak to you, nor would have had these three decades of life and time with my precious wife, family, and friends.

I am telling you this because I’d like to share something very important to that I’ve learned during this time that I’ve been away. The Gospel of Jesus Christ is simple. He died for all our sins and was resurrected so that we all can live again. This means everyone. All of you here. Your neighbours. Those of other faiths. Everyone – including you.

We have the Two Great Commandments, which Jesus explained to a lawyer who was trying to trip Him up in a discussion on the Law of Moses. This is in Matthew chapter 22:

37 Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.

38 This is the first and great commandment.

39 And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.

40 On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.

My life was saved, in part, because of the love of people who knew me and those who didn’t. They knew that loving God meant loving and helping others.

Everything in our teachings, lessons, prayers, scriptures, and temples point us to Him and those simple commandments.

I’ve met too many folks over the course of my life that think that some how they are not worthy of God’s love and forgiveness. “Oh I believe in Jesus Christ, but I’m this exception. I can’t pray until I’m a better person. I can’t go to church until I’m a better person.” This is not true. God loves you. God loves you. Please let that sit with you. Remember it and keep it with you, because it’s true.

I was asked to speak in church before I left for my missionary service. I was given the subject of these verses in Doctrine and Covenants section 18:

10 Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God;

11 For, behold, the Lord your Redeemer suffered death in the flesh; wherefore he suffered the pain of all men, that all men might repent and come unto him.

12 And he hath risen again from the dead, that he might bring all men unto him, on conditions of repentance.

13 And how great is his joy in the soul that repenteth!

14 Wherefore, you are called to cry repentance unto this people.

15 And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!

Please remember that. We all need to hear the good news of God’s love for them. God needs you to be His angels in helping others, like all those folks who helped me and my family when I was dying and so many times since.

We can change the world and see miracles happen if we love God and our neighbours. Sometimes all it requires are kind words to a scared young man like I was, coming back to church after years of being away. The folks in this congregation here did that for me – people like George Simmonds, Jim Burton, some very special missionaries, and many others. Their actions – their love changed my world and literally helped save my life.

I love God. I love that I will have the chance to live again, without pain, and to be reunited with family and friends. As I said, Jesus died for all our sins – including mine and yours. Forgiveness and spiritual healing is there for all of us. We are all worthy of it. I have tried to live my life with gratitude for that and to have kindness for others.

Thank you for being here today and thank you for all that you do help and uplift others.

I humble offer these words in the name of our Saviour, Jessus Christ. Amen.

Epilogue

I was able to attend church. I was reunited with some old friends and the memories of friends long gone. It was wonderful to share that time together, along with many new folks, and share our common faith.

I wasn’t able to speak in church, of course, since the speakers were all previously arranged. The first speaker, who I believe was a new Canadian, gave a wonderful talk. He spoke of the two great commandment and how the gospel of Jesus Christ is simple and for us all, just as I intended to do. This really touched my me, as I felt as though God knew my heart and acknowledged it. The Gospel of Jesus Christ carries on, if we participate or not. But it’s better if we do and to be there for each other

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I saw this Samsonite briefcase for sale and it is nearly identical to the one my father had when he started out his career selling life Insurance for Standard Life back home in St. John’s, NL. He worked there for many years, before retiring to go on disability when his health started to decline along with his life in general.

.My dad’s career was in sales. He could be very charismatic and convincing. He could also be manipulative and evil, but I think he was generally ethical in his Life Insurance sales years. Before that he worked all sorts of sales jobs, including door to door sales of Catholic memorabilia, furniture sales at the now defunct Woolco department stores, and many more. He once got a special bonus for selling Toshiba televisions, which earned him and mom a trip to Tokyo. That’s a story for another time, as it had a special impact on my life.

Businessmen back then tended to carry briefcases. It was a status thing and Samsonite was a good brand for durable luggage. I’m sure this cost a pretty penny for him, but in sales having a good “image” is said to be important. I’m sure his pride played a part as well. Later on, he ended up buying Samsonite luggage and I think he specifically wanted that back in my parent’s divorce proceedings. It’s funny how you think something is “luxury” or “posh” when in reality the scale of luxury has no limits. Nowadays you too often see people carrying $10,000 handbags down the street, as they walk by unhoused folks clinging to life.

I remember in first grade we had career day and you supposed to dress up in what you wanted to be when you grew up. A kid brought in a briefcase as he wanted to be a “business man”. Another kid wore overalls and said he wanted to be a farmer. That got him a bit of grief from the other kids as it was unusual given we didn’t have a lot of farms back there. Fisherman were well represented, of course. As for me, I wanted to be an “army man”. Before career day, my dad’s brother Uncle Bill stopped by and let me borrow his helmet from his time in Korea, with the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry. No briefcase for me, that year!

Back in the 2000s I did have a manager who worked for me who started to bring in a briefcase to work. He is from Romania and like here, having a briefcase denoted you were a white collar business man and it represented a certain type of status. It was also really handy for carrying stuff and more formal than a backpack. Nowadays you’d more likely see a leather satchel or something made from “technical fabric”.

My dad loved his briefcase and took great care of it, up until tragedy struck. We only had one car growing up and my mom would drop my dad off at work before bringing some of us to school. At the time my father worked at what is now known as the Fortis building on Water Street. I still remember the phone number of his office and that it was on the nineth floor. The building itself is by the harbour and stands out in almost every photo of St. John’s that you see. Back in the day it was more white than gray, though.

My dad got out of the car, and instead of crossing in front of the car as usual, he crossed behind us. My mom quickly backed up and hit him. His precious briefcase took much of the impact and a bottom corner got caved in (or as we’d say, it was stoved in).

Like other times, my mom knew when to make her getaway in order to avoid conflict. She pretended not to notice the impact, and quickly drove off with my dad yelling from the road. Later that day, when confronted, mom claimed innocence to the encounter, in which my dad elevated to the level of a murderous assassination attempt. Mom had a way of winding him up and getting little bits of petty revenge, so I’m not so sure this was indeed an accident on her part.

His precious briefcase eventually had to be retired due to the damage, and was replaced by a standard looking cheap black fake leather one I think he picked up from Sears.

The problem with pride is that life can quickly humble you when you’re not expecting it. My dad used to say, never boast about having extra money around the car or it’ll break just to keep you humble. I guess it’s the same with briefcases.

I still remember when Pope John Paul II visited Newfoundland back in the 1980s. The city worked hard to clean up the route he would take they drove through the city to the spot where he would speak to the people. My brother Kevin was in the Canadian Forces Militia back then, which you’d call the Reserves now. He had a job to help with security and stood with an unloaded rifle (maybe an FN?) the whole time. He had ammo in his pouches, just in case it was needed. He said he never saw the Pope, as he was always facing the crowd. He said there was no trouble, except for the local kids mouthing off at him and throwing rocks.

My mother was born into the Anglican faith, and my father’s family was Catholic. When I was a child, they converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (or the LDS Church). Before this, I was baptized Catholic as a baby at St. Patrick’s church in St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador. My God Parents for this was my Uncle Wayne and Aunt Jeanine. That church, like many others, is being sold off to help pay compensation for the victim’s of abuse at the hands of the Catholic church.

My mom stayed true to her Christian LDS beliefs. My father, however, drifted away around the time my mother kicked him out. We weren’t very close, so I’m not sure where he landed in the end. Hopefully he has it figured out by now.

Growing up in Newfoundland and Labrador, most everyone was either Catholic or one of the Protestant religions. Our society was incredibly homogenous, but that has fortunately evolved over the years. Our public schools were all religious-based, with the two main school boards being the Catholic one and the “Amalgamated” one that was the Protestant churches lumped together and for anyone else not served by their own faith’s schools.

I attended Protestant schools, but my older siblings started with the public Catholic schools. The Catholic schools tended to have epic names like “Mary Queen of the World” and “Holy Heart of Mary”, with the buildings filled with Catholic iconography and traditions. The Protestant schools did not have this and were much like any other public school you would see now, including bland names like that of my elementary school, “Newtown Elementary”.

Religion class was one of the standard subjects growing up and each school would have a religious leader assigned to it on rotation. These ministers would host religious-themed school assemblies on various holidays and celebrations. As an LDS kid, I did not always fit in, but I enjoyed religion class and learning about other religions. We said the Lord’s prayer before class started, and everyone got a Gideon’s New Testament Bible in sixth grade.

This school experience was all very mild and was a stark contrast with the horrific brutality that was happening nearby at Catholic residential schools and even the regular beatings my father received at my age at his school. Non-Christians, a tiny minority, were often mistreated and openly bullied at my school.

For many people, despite all this, religion was oftentimes more of a cultural thing and not something to be actively practiced. The church was there for you when you were born, got married, and when you died. You were Catholic out of tradition, and there was a background of tension between the Catholics and the Protestants. Once, in my first-grade class, a rusty bolt smashed through the window, and my teacher quickly cursed out and blamed the kids from the nearby Holy Cross school. In some communities, the Orangemen did their annual march, and Irish musicians came for concerts to raise money for the IRA.

Meanwhile, at home in my family, the various religious traditions were blended and integrated into our daily lives. We celebrated Shrove Tuesday, also known as Pancake Tuesday, each year. My mom would make her very heavy pancakes, which were more like toutons or fry bread. Mom would boil coins in water to clean them and put them into the pancakes, which was the tradition for that day. We’d eat these pancakes with molasses or jam as we could not afford expensive maple syrup. Pancake Tuesday was always appreciated, and we would get excited as the day approached.

My great-grandmother, Dorcus Diack, was an active Salvation Army member, another religion we greatly respected. Nowadays, few people realize it is a church and only think of it as a charitable organization. That is a good thing and something more religions should strive to emulate. Dorcus could be strict in her beliefs, and this filtered down into our family. An example of this was that we could not have playing cards in the house, as card games were said to lead to idleness and gambling. “Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop”, which is from the Bible and was the justification for this.

For all these religious influences, one that has endured the test of time for us was seeking the help of the Catholic Saint Anthony. St. Anthony was a 13th-century Franciscan friar from Portugal and is known as the patron saint of lost or stolen things. Whenever we could not find something, my mom would quickly ask us if we prayed to St. Anthony for help. To this day, we all do this and have passed this on to the next generation. After my mom passed away, I started wearing a small St. Anthony medal alongside my medical information necklace. It helps me remember my dear mom, and I touch it when I have lost something, including the loss I feel from her passing.

I was taught early on that religious beliefs are meant to lift you up and encourage you to help those around you. This continues to be my litmus test for many things - uplifting messages are worth my time and attention. Adopting the positivity from other religions or beliefs is another way to do this.

One of the former leaders of my church, Gordon Hinckley said, “To anybody who is not of this Church, I say we recognize all of the virtues and the good that you have. Bring it with you and see if we might add to it.”

With all that in mind, I continue to be a Christian LDS believer who is a little Catholic, Anglican, Hindu, Buddhist, and someone who appreciates the examples of the beliefs of my dear friends and others.

I’ve created this podcast to share my stories and those of my family. I’ve never done anything like this, but I love to try new things so here I go!

We have our election coming up and I thought about should share my thoughts on that, and how my family and ancestors helped us to get interested in elections and politics.

Before that, let’s talk about how it’s been reinforced lately that citizenship requires active participation. A common and insidious thread going around is that your vote doesn’t matter. That all the politicians are the same. This message is wrong and it’s being spread by bad actors who want to suppress the vote for their own benefit.

Think about the things we take for granted in this country: health care, the right to vote for woman and First Nations people, the rule of law, the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. This all happened because the citizens were engaged and made it happen. My grandparent’s generation fought and died to protect our freedom from fascism in World War Two. The brave folks in Ukraine, and in other places, are fighting for the lives and freedom right now.

In our BC election, we had some incredibly close races. One nearby example was for the Surrey-Guildford riding. The NDP candidate won by only 28 votes. I’ll say it again: every vote matters, and we need to encourage everyone we know to vote and to get informed.

If we look at what’s happening the United States, we can see that someone with a slim margin of victory (in the popular vote at least) can utterly destroy the international reputation of a country within weeks of taking office.

I was fortunate that my mother encouraged us to be informed about elections and politics at an early age. We’d watch CBC’s “The National” together most nights, we’d talk about current events and have election parties each time. She really made it a big deal and her enthusiasm spread to her kids and now onto the next generation. I was talking to my Uncle Wayne the other day, and he told me again that it was their parents who did this, too, and started the example.

I will be voting for my local Liberal MP, Parm Bains because he has done a good job for our community. He has posted some stats, including tens of thousands of responses to inquiries from constituents, thousands of interventions, and over $600m in federal investments in our area. My previous Liberal MP knocked on my door, I shared a concern and emailed him the details. He made it happen.

I'm also confident in Mark Carney as our PM. His resume/experience is very impressive, and he is the adult in the room we need right now. He was the head of the Bank of Canada during the 2008 financial crisis and is the only non-Briton appointed to head the Bank of England. He was born in the NWT and grew up in Alberta. He went to Harvard and Oxford. He worked for Goldman Sachs for 13 years. He also worked in our Ministry of Finance as a public servant.

The Liberal Party is our center-left party here. They have maintained that position while the Conservative Party has moved further to the right. The Conservative Party has little in common with the Progressive Conservative Party of the past. Pierre Poilievre has adopted Trump-style populism and division. He is not the person we need to represent us, especially internationally.

Despite what the Conservatives say, Canada is not broken. We're more unified than we've been in ages.

Here are some things to help you decide. You can look up the voting history of your MP or anyone else. Note the Conservatives have voted against things like $10/day daycare, the Canadian Dental Benefit, the start of Pharmacare which covers things like diabetes medications, and many other things that have improved the lives of Canadians. The Liberals have also raised defense spending significantly, from below 1% of GDP under the Conservatives to 1.3%+ now with real plans for more investments.

Pierre Poilievre has been a politician since 2004 when he was elected at age 25. In all that time, he has only sponsored one bill that received royal assent and that was in 2014! He’s only put up seven bills in total. He has not really accomplished anything other than getting a huge pension paid for by us, spewing nonsense, and sewing division.

You can check his record, or for any other MP, on the Parliament website.

You can also see how you align with the various platforms using the CBC Vote Compass app.

Remember, this country is what we make of it. We need to consider what’s best for the country as a whole and not just ourselves. Think of the most vulnerable members of our society and what they need. Let’s work together and keep making it better for everyone. Jack Layton, former leader of the NDP, wrote this before he passed away:

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I have been fortunate to have many wonderful, intelligent, capable, and courageous women in my life, including in my career. I’ve also witnessed woman targeted unfairly, excluded from interviews and decisions, and many instances of wage disparity.

I remember early in my career, my manager quit, and we had an opening. It came down to two candidates - a man and a woman. The director came down from Toronto for the final interviews and I was included in them.

The woman candidate was far superior, in every way. When we met together after the interviews, the director immediately ruled her out. He said, “we know she wouldn't fit into our culture" and gave us a knowing look. I challenged him and he confirmed it was because she was a woman and that she wouldn't fit in because our department was almost entirely men.

Afterwards I went to HR to tell them what happened. I got the feeling that HR themselves were too afraid to do anything because we were newly acquired, and many people were losing their jobs. The local representatives of the new company had a very intimidating and bullying approach. Fortunately, the Paris HQ figured this out and cleaned house. Ironically, the man mentioned above was fired by an incredibly capable woman.

This is what DEI means. It means we should consider every candidate based on their merits and not exclude anyone because they don't look like us, aren't our gender, or not from our same backgrounds. If someone spews nonsense about DEI and uses it as a weapon, please consider that they may have failed one of simplest ethical and intelligence tests. This hateful nonsense continues to make me angry.

Let me get back to celebrating International Women’s Day with some more positive thoughts.

Years ago, my colleague Sara started a tradition of celebrating International Women’s Day in the office. I volunteered to speak at the first one and chose to talk about someone who I met years before, that did her part in saving my life and many others. This person was Cheryll Gasner, and I met her at the Stanford Medical Center in California after having my open-heart surgery to repair my aortic aneurysm which saved my life.

Cheryll worked as a Nurse Practitioner at Stanford in the Marfan Syndrome clinic. She came to talk to me, and she was the first person I met who also had Marfan Syndrome. Cheryll told me her story and background. Her dad died tragically of Marfan when she was young. His death was completely devastating on its own, but on top of that Cheryll found out that she and her sister also had the disease. Not long later, Cheryll’s sister would tragically die from Marfan related issues as well.

Cheryll decided she was a fighter and did everything the doctors told her to limit any harm to her body. She vowed that she would dedicate her life to helping others affected by Marfan Syndrome.

Cheryll went to school to become a nurse practitioner and helped start the National Marfan Foundation. That’s how I was first introduced to her – via the newsletters and documents my mother signed up for from the Marfan Foundation. Cheryll wrote documentation for parents, patients, and medical professionals. She worked in research, wrote scholarly articles, and travelled the country and world to help people. Marfan was a rarely diagnosed disease and Cheryll’s work helped change that.

Seeing her at my bedside in the hospital was like seeing a superhero in real life. I will always be grateful for her and for every other strong and capable woman in my life and career.

We live not too far distant from a time where woman had no real rights in this country. In my mother’s lifetime and not woman had a right to vote. It wasn’t until 1960 that all women in Canada gained that right, when my mother was 18 years old. In my lifetime, the Canadian Human Rights Act of 1977 was passed, forbidding discrimination on the basis of sex and ensuring equal pay for work of equal value for women. Almost fifty years later woman are still paid unfairly and discriminated against in the workplace. In many parts of the world, the situation for women is far more dire.

We can’t forget the progress that has been made or let ourselves backslide to previous unfair and unjust times. We need to be active participants in our societies to do everything we can make things fair, equitable, and just. Please speak up and act when you see this type of discrimination and please be grateful and appreciate all the wonderful women in your life.

I was at the grocery store yesterday with Laura to get a few things. I’m in a lot of pain. I had to bail and wait in the car, which is a common thing, and my dear Laura would finish shopping. Sweat is pouring off me and my cane is barely holding me up.

At the front of the store there’s a tiny Starbucks. On my to-do list is to pick up gift cards. I walked up and purchased ten. Each one must be activated, and it takes time.

An older gentleman gets behind me. He’s too close. I can hear him huff and puff. He speaks up, a bit too loud, and asks with exasperation: “how many more are there?”.

I turned around and gave him a quick look in the eye. “My sister is quite ill in the hospital and I’m getting gift cards for the staff to thank them for how well they’re taking care of her. Don’t worry, there’s only three left to do.” I didn’t mean to be sanctimonious, but I was just so tired.

I thanked the worker and went to the car. I’m feeling discouraged as it’s been a tough day. One if too many recently. But I look up and see a rainbow in the sky and I remind myself there is beauty all around and that I have much to be thankful for.

Many of these appointments were in the evenings. My dad, like me, had poor vision. He had dislocated lenses as a child, but unlike me they removed them when he was a teenager. This meant he had no natural lenses and therefore wore these huge lenses in his glasses. To me, he looked like a cross between Kermit the Frog and an explorer looking through binoculars. He was able to somehow get his driver’s license but didn’t totally feel safe driving at night and instead my mom would drive him around and wait in the car while he did his sales calls.

One very cold winter evening, I tagged along for one of these appointments. It was out of town in a nearby little community back where I grew up in Newfoundland. I loaded into the backseat of our old Ford station wagon, which had no readily available seat belts as was the custom back then, and we headed out.

I had recently gotten glasses and given my memories of the car and where we lived, I would place my age around four to six years old. Although I had glasses, my vision back then was still poor compared to normal vision. Only my left eye had enough vision to read but despite that it was a far improvement from what I had had before. I remember just after starting to wear my glasses, I was sitting in the back seat of that same car and looking through the window.  I saw the moon and asked my mother for confirmation, as I had never seen it before. As an adult, my mother later told me upon answering my question she quietly wept in the front seat. Having a sick kid wasn’t easy and could be heart breaking at times.

Getting back to the night of that fateful insurance appointment, we waited in the cold for a very long time. Having discovered the moon and a handful of stars and planets, my bored mind began to consider things. Here I was, just a little kid in a car on a cold and clear winter night. In all the world I was just a tiny insignificant thing. I would live and die mostly unnoticed and make no real impact on the vastness of our planet. But our planet itself was only tiny compared to the Sun and other planets I had read about in my books at school and at home. As I weighted this in my mind, something deep inside me started to emerge. It was an overwhelming fear and it started to grow. I then considered the Milky Way which I was also aware of and how tiny the Earth was in comparison to that. Then, if the universe was so very big, did it have an end?

It was at that point that my inner fear and terror completely burst from within. I remember crying and being very upset. My mother couldn’t figure out what was wrong, and I could not adequately explain it as I was struggling to even breathe. My Dad shortly thereafter arrived back to the car to the utter chaos I was causing. I remember that I felt like I was about to die, and before that my little brain was going to explode. Eventually, of course, I must have cried myself to sleep and awoke as my father carried me into the house to bed.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I was an odd little kid with many thoughts that should not have burdened someone so young. I later learned that my experience was somewhat of a panic attack and that I wasn’t in the process of dying. It wasn’t my first one, it surely won’t be my last. Even now, all these years later, if I sit and think about the vastness of the universe, I get a little uneasy.

Panic attacks are real and can be very frightening. The good news is that they are now well understood and there is lots of help available. For me, there are many things that help, and the most important one is being able to know the signs of when one is approaching. Sometimes that’s not possible, but when it is I can start to calm myself by meditating, distracting my mind, and other tools I’ve learned. Exposure therapy can also be incredibly helpful if panic attacks are triggered by places and things.

My experience also reminds me that many of the day-to-day things we worry about aren’t important. I try to remember that to not be an insignificant speck of dust in comparison to the vastness of our planet and of the universe, I need to think beyond myself. I have had the privilege of knowing people that have changed their part of the world for the better. These have included doctors and other medical professionals, family members, and people I’ve met. I am where I am today because of all the help and kindness that those people have given me. Even now, my friends and family help sustain me as I struggle with my health and day to day life.

Lately, it feels as though there are vast resources being utilized to make us angry and to divide us against each other. Populism and its rhetoric can be very insidious. People I have known for decades now spew hate and anger online. Yes, we live in a vast world and a vast universe, but it’s a world we must share. None of us are making it out of here alive and that means we need to work together to our mutual benefit.

I know that we can make a difference in the world, and it starts by being kind to others. That can just be comforting a small child and carrying them off to bed, after a cold night of dread.

PS: Thank you to my friend EB, for reminding me of this memory by sending me a fun video explaining the scale of our planet versus the universe.

PPS: Yes, he really did sell Pope clocks, among other things.

This is not the type of thing I normally write or share. It’s based on a dream I had recently that was incredibly vivid and meaningful. I have read that in our dreams our minds try to solve problems that we carry with us. I think this is one of those cases where a dream has deeply affected me.

Our life consists of many choices. I have strived to do the right thing as often as I can and yet I have made many mistakes. When faced with important decisions I try to think things through, pray, and then trust in what I decide. My decision to leave home and serve my mission changed the course of my life for the better in so many ways. The most obvious impact is that I didn’t die of an aortic dissection, as that would have surely happened if I never left home.

I struggle with past traumas and mistakes, but intellectually I know it is pointless to look backwards and wish things were different. Instead, I try to look forwards and learn from my mistakes and try to live a better life. I’m not at the point of “non, je ne regrette rien” but instead I am trying to work to limit any future regrets.

I had a dream the other night and it came in two parts.

The first dream showed me an alternate life based on the choice I didn't make.

I didn't leave home, and my life wasn't saved.

Instead, I was there on a sunny day in spring.

We were at church. I started to cough so I stepped outside.

At the steps I could see happy friends heading in as my world started closing in.

I cough again and blood painted the concrete steps.

I fell to my knees as my body weakened.

A rush of panic hit those nearby.

I gasped, get my mother, she's inside.

I coughed again and fell to the ground.

I couldn't keep the blood down.

My mother rushed out with fear in her eyes.

She said I couldn't do this. We agreed that she'd keep me alive until it was her time to go.

No parent should outlive their child, as she told me many times before.

I'm sorry mom, I plead, as more blood comes, and things go dark.

My last moments were of her, her love fighting for me as her world shattered.

It was then that the scene changed. It was my time as it is now.

I watched her die. She said it was coming but had rallied and this was a terrible surprise.

Then forward at home, sometime later. She comes through the door.

Mom, how are you here? I saw you die.

Shane, I died but I am not dead.

I'm here for you again, just as I said.

My mother would have CDs of hymns in the car, and she would play them when she was stressed or otherwise needed to be uplifted. Before CDs it was tapes and before that it was just singing to herself.  She showed me how listening to uplifting spiritual music can help in difficult times. This hymn from church was one of those that I heard in our little rusted out car when we were struggling, all those years ago.

Where can I turn for peace?
Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole?
When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,
I draw myself apart,
Searching my soul?

Where, when my aching grows,
Where, when I languish,
Where, in my need to know, where can I run?
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One.

He answers privately,
Reaches my reaching
In my Gethsemane, Saviour and Friend.
Gentle the peace he finds for my beseeching.
Constant he is and kind,
Love without end.

I was reminded of this song today as my wife and I sat on the porch and meditated. Things have been difficult, across several dimensions, and I’m struggling to find peace in my mind. I have equipped myself with all my usual tools, including:

• Spending more time with my family, especially with my dear wife.

• Helping others, such as preparing meals for my disabled sister.

• Spending time outdoors, in our beautiful province. I can’t do a lot physically but sitting on a bench and appreciating my surroundings has helped immensely.

• Spending time with my friends and catching up with those I haven’t heard from recently.

• Reading, and trying to consume more uplifting media.

• Meditating. My wife is an excellent example of this and continues to encourage and help me with it.

• Praying, which is both formal with my family, and all through the day as I struggle. I’ve never stopped doing this and it is as vital to me as oxygen.

• Reading the scriptures and listening to uplifting talks, like this one “Finding Personal Peace”. I need to do better here.

• Having regular meetings with my psychologist, who is just amazing especially with her background in people with serious illnesses.

Sometimes, doing everything is still not enough. You need help. You need people around you to help carry the load. This isn’t to pass the load to them, but to allow them to help you carry it. As Captain Jean-Luc Picard said in Star Trek,

"It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness; that is life.”

I feel as though despite my best efforts, my amazing family and friends, and my incredible medical team who looks after me, I am again sinking.

My family is there to help me each day. This includes helping me when I’m in pain. Literally lifting me up when I fall and lifting me up with kindness and compassion. But as my health has continued to decline, I think my pride has gotten in the way for asking and seeking out more help. It’s been hard to accept my decline, and I’m realizing that I need help with more day-to-day things. Some things I just can’t even do any longer, without serious impacts. My therapist says that this isn’t a failure on my part, but just another way of being resourceful in overcoming challenges. This resonated with me, as building software has been my career, and creatively utilizing all possible resources to overcome a challenge is something I have relied on.

The lesson I continue to learn is that I need to keep filling my cup with uplifting things, and to trust those who love me that they are there to help and I only need to ask. I should know this, as service to others has helped me focus less on myself and has eased my suffering. Service has helped me to realize that despite my declining health I can still make a difference in the world.

In the Book of Mormon, which is scripture we use alongside the Bible, it reads:

“Behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise.”

“And the Lord God doth work by means to bring about his great and eternal purposes; and by very small means the Lord doth confound the wise and bringeth about the salvation of many souls.”

If you are struggling, please remember that you are not alone, and to look to your loving friends and family for help. If you don’t have those kind of people in your life, remember that there are wonderful people out there who are trained to help. You only need to reach out. You don’t have to wait until it becomes a crisis, so be resourceful if you can and find help.

If you are a friend or a family member of someone who is struggling, please realize you can’t “fix it” but you can help carry the load and be there for that person. Even small things can help someone have a better day, and these small acts can be life changing over time.

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You may have heard that some blood types are more valuable than others. That’s because some blood types are rare on their own, or could be a “universal donor” with the blood type of Group O. The Red Cross has a great explanation for how this works. On top of this, the antigens on the surface of your red blood cells can be rare as well. There are currently 600 known antigen combinations and your specific donation could be just what someone needs at a critical time. By donating you can learn your blood type and if it’s a rare blood type that’s in great need.

I’ve only donated blood once. Given my health issues it’s not a good idea to do this. I was fortunate to donate blood to a perfect match - myself. This technique was used before my open-heart surgery and I still pat myself on the back for doing this.

On the other hand, I have received donated blood and my friend’s post brought back a memory of this that I shared with my family today. When I was 12 years old I needed back surgery due to my scoliosis. With the disease I have, Marfan Syndrome, bones can grow extra long and the connective tissue holding them together can get weak. On top of that, bones can be less dense, and a person’s skeleton can be different than other people.

Scoliosis means that your spine is curved. This can by side to side, front to back, or even both. This was discovered when I was in first grade, and I was required to wear a back brace until my surgery. Mine was based on the Milwaukee brace and it was very uncomfortable. I had to wear it (and multiple revisions of the type) all day for about five years, until my declining health forced me to have corrective surgery. I’ve included a similar, but less restrictive type, in the photo below. My spine and bones issues are a story for later.

When I was in surgery my mother waited in the hospital for me and any news. This was a former WW2 military hospital that was converted to a children’s hospital, and it only had one elevator. My mom nervously went from pacing around on my ward waiting for news, to the cafeteria, and back. The surgery lasted over five hours and was complex. On one of those trips in the elevator an IV tree was rolled in with many bags of blood hanging at the ready. My mom, curious as usual, leaned over and looked at the tags on the bags. They all had my name on them.

My normally reserved mom let out a gasp and told the technician that all those bags had her son’s name on them. The kind gentlemen from the blood bank tried to reassure her by telling her not to worry, because maybe I wouldn’t need all the bags. That didn’t help and this only added to the torture of waiting to see if I was okay.

Without blood that day I could not have survived that surgery. I thank those that donated it, the medical professionals that helped me, and of course my dear mother whose was my fierce advocate for all my medical issues growing up.

It’s in you to give. ♥️

I would be grateful if you would spent a moment to learn a little bit about her.

Jennifer Margaret Grace Sullivan (Greenland) passed away at St. Paul’s Hospital in Vancouver, BC, Canada on December 7, 2022. Jennifer battled heart and kidney failure while still having a very active life, but sadly departed after a long stay in the hospital battling multiple illnesses. She was with her family when she passed. 

Jennifer was born on May 23, 1942 in St. John’s, Newfoundland, where she was raised by her late mother and father, Victor Hewitt Greenland and Annie Robena Diack, and her grandmother Dorcus Diack whom she loved dearly. She also had a beautiful relationship with her late brother Dr. David Greenland (Heather) and her brother Wayne Greenland (Jeannine), who was at her side when she passed.

Jennifer was the mother of four children, Vicki-Ann, Kevin, Laurie Grimoldby (husband Don), and Shane (wife Laura). She also had three grandchildren that she loved and cherished - Sarah Spalek (husband Nolan), Olivia, and Matthew. She also had many pets over the years, including her most recent dog Sam who was her cherished companion.

Jennifer spent her life helping others. She was “a friend of the friendless” who tried to help others at every opportunity. Jennifer served for decades in various capacities in her church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This included over ten years as the leader of her congregation’s women’s organization, The Relief Society. Her Christian faith sustained her through good times and bad, and helped her stay positive, grateful, and optimistic. 

Jennifer loved her new home of British Columbia in which she lived for nearly thirty years. She said her inspiration for moving west came to her while listening to a hymn, “Come, Come, Ye Saints” which includes the line, “We’ll find the place which God for us prepared, Far away in the West” and the encouragement of her daughter, Laurie, who moved west first.

Jennifer was one of the founders of the Terra Nova Co-op in Richmond which has provided affordable housing and a friendly community for hundreds of families over the years. She loved her neighbors and made many friends. She served as president for many years. She was a strong advocate for her children’s health issues and for those with disabilities. She took in many people to help them get on their feet over the years, including foster children. She was past president of the Foster Parents Association of Newfoundland, a representative for those impacted by Marfan Syndrome, and many other volunteer activities.

Jennifer will be truly missed by those who knew her, especially her daughter Vicki-Ann with whom lived with. Together they had many happy times. 

The family would like to thank all of her lifelong friends for their constant love and support over the  years. They include Theresa Head, Melissa Green, Carol and Olive Squires, Joy MacDonald, Fiona Esson, The Harvey’s, Deyell’s, and many others.

The family would like to thank all the medical staff who helped her over the years, including at Richmond General Hospital and St. Paul’s.

We could not have asked for a better Mother, Grandmother, Sister or Friend.

“God be with you till we meet again”

A memorial service will be held at a later date.

As a result of this, at low points we didn’t have much food. We had our phone cut off. We didn’t have cable. There was no consumer internet at that point and WIFI hadn’t even been invented. To top our struggles off, there were times when we did not have heat. Back then, and still now in too many places, our heat was via an oil-fired furnace. Unlike your car, you couldn’t just go and get a partial fill up, like we did sometimes by putting a few dollars worth of gas in the car. It was all or nothing which was too big of a hill to climb for us at these points. It was also winter in Newfoundland, where I grew up. Now in terms of the coldest parts of Canada, there are surely worse places to be without heat. But it was cold for us and very miserable, especially compared to the relatively mild winters we have here in my part of British Columbia.

In our house, we had one room that had an electric baseboard heater. We fortunately still had electricity. This room was our den in the basement. Mom, being very creative and adaptable, nailed up a heavy blanket to trap the heat in the part of the room by the heater and stated that we would live there to keep warm. She told me that it’s great to have a cozy room that is warm and a nice place to read. Then once bedtime arrived, we’d go to our bedrooms and sleep under piles of blankets.

Throughout these and many other hardships, my mother remained positive and encouraging. Her secret, I think, was her reliance on gratitude. She knew things could be worse than what we had at the time. But she also appreciated that she and her children were now safer at home, and she found ways to bring us cheer and share her sense of gratitude.

An example of her finding gratitude in our day to day lives was a little tradition she and I had. It could be the coldest part of the winter and she’d ask me if I’d like to get a cone from Dairy Queen. She had this twinkle of mischievousness in her eyes that was so endearing in times like this. Our local Dairy Queen usually heavily discounted ice cream products in the winter, and especially in January. I would readily agree, and we would start our search for money to go as if it was some big, exciting adventure. We’d check jackets, the cushions under chairs and couches, and finally around the car. When we found enough pennies, nickels, and bits of change we’d set off for the short ride in our car.

Our car was an old rusted out Chrysler sedan. But that was okay, because my mother would say, it’s better than walking! We didn’t have snow tires either so going out in the snow was always an adventure. But she didn’t complain, she was grateful for what we had, and coaxed the best out of our little car. If her life was different, she would have been a very famous champion on the Japanese drifting circuit, if they put some ice on the track.

We’d laugh all the way to the Dairy Queen and get our cones. The drive thru person would dutifully count out the pile of change she handed over. My mother would always say, “they must think we’re crazy and are probably back there trying to get the machine to work in the cold!” and get me laughing some more. We’d park the car and eat the cones in the cold and if we had enough money, they would be two large chocolate dipped cones. The cold would make the chocolate into an instant plate of armor that required a precise approach to eating as to not to drop and waste anything. Each bite was precious and appreciated.

I know in quiet times she would worry about how we’d make it. I’d sometimes hear her crying in her room at night. My father was not always a predictable source of child support and would lash out when he could. But we managed through the tough times and in the end, things were not more difficult than we could bear. I think my mother’s sense of gratitude had a big impact in helping us and herself handle these times.

I read recently that feelings of gratitude cannot exist in the same space as negative feelings. As I look at my life, I can see how this is true. I’ve been studying and practicing mindfulness and have found that gratitude is integral to that experience. Mindfulness can be had in any place and at any time and it’s not just reserved for the well off or the healthy and better abled.

I grew up with very poor vision, because of the rare disease I have. There wasn’t much that could be done due to risk complications including total blindness, and so I adapted to this reality of limited sight. I remember an old well experienced Ophthalmologist consoling me and telling me softly that I should be grateful for what vision I had as many had it worse. He was trying to prepare me for what was expected at the time with my disease: a real chance of losing the rest of my sight.

Despite this risk, something amazing happened in my thirties. My vision improved. I’ll leave the details to another day, but finally, in my one “good” eye I could see clearly beyond my previous limited vision. I could read a book without having to nearly press it into my face. I could see the trees, and their beautiful textures and ranges of colours. I could see the mountains off into the distance and I could finally fully appreciate the delicate beauty and expressions of my wife’s kind hazel eyes.

This was for me a miracle and a dramatic shift. When it happened, I decided to commit myself to appreciate the new world I could now see. For the most part I’ve done this. Sometimes I drive people crazy because I’m always reading store signs when we drive by them. Or ask what kind of tree something was. I still remember the first time I saw a rainstorm in the distance. I know medically I could eventually lose my vision, so I try to be grateful every day for what I have.

My challenge to myself, and to my friends reading this, is to try to appreciate and be grateful for not just the big things in your life, but as much as you can. Think about and savor each bite of food. Slow down and look at bits of nature you see as you commute to work or go to the store. You will find beauty to be grateful for everywhere. You’ll start to understand all the little things in your life that make it better and begin to truly appreciate them. Take a moment and thank those around you for their help and kindness. Keep this spirit of gratitude in your heart, and you’ll find that it’ll help make you a better person.

I’m grateful for my mother for showing me the importance of gratitude, and not just in the easy times. I’m grateful for all that she has done for me. She was my steadfast advocate as we navigated my many health issues, and she showed me by her everyday actions what it means to be good and kind. She believed in me when no one else did. As an example of her everyday gratitude and kindness, she recently thanked the hospital chaplain for his service by quoting Jesus Christ, from Matthew 25:40 and acknowledging that his service to her was as if he was doing it the Saviour himself.

…”Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

My wish is that our gratitude will ease the burden of the trials we face and open our hearts to kindness and the desire to help others. I have found that as you help others you help yourself increase your own sense of gratitude. I am grateful for your friendship and the time you took today to read this.

Thank you mom, I love you.

I remember laying in bed after my back surgery when I was just twelve years old. My spine had severe scoliosis that got to the point that it was impacting my lungs and heart. Surgery could no longer be put off. The surgery was a terrible thing and used a combination of two procedures that have long since been abandoned due adverse results in the long term. After the surgery when I was out of the ICU, I just wanted to go home. The surgeon told me that if I could walk as far as the end of the room and back, I could go home.

Despite the pain I was able to do it, with the encouragement of my mother who was right there to help. They sent me home in an ambulance and my recovery took a long time. In a way, I never fully recovered as I’ve had back pain every day since then. But laying in my parent’s bed, unable to move, I was able to summon hope that within the next few months, so I’d be able to walk again.  It took a lot of suffering, a second spinal surgery, and a near endless amount of physiotherapy to get me to the point I could walk without terrible pain. The few months I initially envisioned turned into more than a year. During all this, I kept the little flame of hope alive in my mind and it sustained me.

Throughout my life I’ve summoned this sense of hope to help me endure difficult situations, medical or otherwise. A favorite scripture of mine about hope, in the New Testament - Romans 5:1-5

1 Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ:

2 By whom also we have access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God.

3 And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience;

4 And patience, experience; and experience, hope:

5 And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.

From a certain perspective, I can see how my trials have helped me. Like it says in those verses, my tribulations increased my patience and from that my hope. Looking at my trials in retrospect, I have attempted to find a positive meaning for each of them. Maybe it has made me a kinder person? Maybe it has made me more grateful for what I do have? To be honest, I wish I had not endured them. That’s when my optimism begins to fail. This puts a crack in the hope I hold in my heart. Sometimes I think it’s not fair.

Hope is like oxygen; you only start to panic when you have run out. Sometimes you need someone else to put the oxygen mask on you. I have found that asking for help requires courage but it’s well worth it and your hope can increase because of it.

Some things in life you can’t change. “Shane, you have an incurable disease” is something I didn’t want to hear but I must continue to adapt to that reality as my body fails and betrays me. What I am in control of is asking for help and trying to help others where I can. I have found helping others who are suffering eases my own suffering and can restore my own hope.

A friend once asked me, “Shane, I have cancer and I don’t know how to be sick. Can you help me?”. These are the times when I try to share my hope and optimism. I told them the importance of taking it one day at a time. That it’s okay to be afraid and that they had people who loved them who would help. That’s when I must dig down and create meaning from my trials and use that meaning to help others.

Gandalf had a good answer to Frodo in The Lord of Rings, when Frodo was heavily burdened with his responsibilities and the state of the world around him.

“I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.

"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

For my time, I’ll try to help others and try to keep my own hope alive. My hope right now has ebbed away to a low point, and I write this to try to restore a little more hope in my heart.  But more importantly, that the hope in the heart of someone I love is rekindled so that they can endure their present burdens. Thank you for reading and I wish for your hope to grow as well.

I grew up in Newfoundland and Labrador and she visited three times over the years: 1959, 1978, and 1997. This gave me one opportunity to see her and that was in 1978 when I was a young child.

I grew up in the capital, St. John’s, and in 1978 the Queen visited our famous annual sporting event – Royal St. John's Regatta. This is a series of rowing races on a lake in the city called Quidi Vidi, alongside the similarly named village. This is said to be the North American colonizers’ oldest sporting event and it dates to 1816. It happens each year in August and the day is a civic holiday.

Around the lake there is a carnival-like atmosphere. There are games of chance, music, booze, and of food vendors with a crush of people in attendance. At that time my church would have two booths selling soda and hotdogs to raise money. A late-night shift would setup the booths that were just a big tent made from wood and plastic sheets. Then more volunteers would staff the booths during the day.

I was four years old at the time and very much visually impaired. My “job” was assisting my mom with taking orders and being as helpful as a half blind four-year-old could be. We were serving a man a hotdog and my mom asked him if he would like mustard or ketchup on it. Just as she asked, someone shouted out “the Queen is coming!”.

Mom quickly grabbed my hand, and we raced out of the back of the booth to get to the street behind it. Everyone was cheering and waving, and a convertible car slowly drove right by me with the waving Queen. This was just a regular one lane road which meant we were right there to see her. My mom pointed the Queen out for me to be sure I could see her. I was excited not specifically because I understood who she was but because my mom and everyone else was.

With the Queen having driven by, we went back to the tent. My mom realized that the whole time she was still carrying the poor guy’s hotdog in one hand and was possibly waving it around at the Queen. She trashed it, got another, and found the man still waiting. She apologized and asked again, “would you like mustard or ketchup?”

.

I asked some clarifying questions:

What is the difference in pay?

They are about the same.

How big is each company?

They are similar in size.

What is the industry?

Both the same - and that industry is big in their city.

What is the commute like if you must go to the office?

Not an issue.

What are the differences in the roles?

Company A: similar leadership position that I have now but into a larger company.

Company B: I would be going back to being an individual contributor.

Do you prefer being a leader or an individual contributor?

I like them both.

What are the tech stacks like?

Company A: this is a traditional database role in a BI team using all the tools I’m familiar with – including Microsoft SQL Server. Tech is hosted on prem but they are considering using the cloud.

Company B: they are using Snowflake and other modern tech.

The result is that both companies are very similar. The main choice is to stay in a comfortable position where they are already an expert in the technology with the same job title as before or to step down a level to get to use more modern tech.

What would you do?

Would you take the role you were more comfortable with in order to keep at the same career level? Or risk it all in order to use new tech?

I knew before we got to the end what decision my friend wanted to make. We’ve known each other for a long time. He just needed me to agree with it to be comfortable. It’s good to get a second opinion. We both agreed that the new tech was more important than that the job title.

But Shane, that’s crazy! My career path is more important!

Some of you may protest and say the title and career path are more important. That is 100% true for many types of jobs. But in tech, you can easily kill your career by focusing on soon-to-be obsolete tech. I have interviewed many people who left it too late and were laid off into a job market that was hard to break back into. If your company isn’t helping you keep current they are actively hurting you and your career. You alone must take control of your career and not wait around for someone else to do it for you.

The flip side of this is if you are a company that isn’t keeping current with tech then you won’t be able to attract the talented and motivated people you need. The stink of technical decay and technical debt does not wash off easily in our highly competitive field.

Making a decision like this isn’t actually hard unless you overthink it. By identifying the core reason you’d want to move to a new company (modern tech) the decision is made much easier.

As for my friend, I know they are going to love the challenge of learning new tech and not just because it makes them more valuable in the market. They are someone who loves to learn, a very valuable skill for any worker.

We met via church and started together as friends with an immediate connection. I truly knew the moment we met that I would marry her just as clear I know the sun will rise each day. We could talk for hours and laugh for days. About a month or so after we met my wife went back home to the US and we kept in touch the old-fashioned way via letters and infrequent (and expensive) phone calls. This was before the web and email were not widely used. Sometimes this meant calls from payphones with stacks of quarters. Sometimes it was just a message left on an answering machine.

I decided to serve a volunteer two-year mission for my church. I was able to finagle things so that I could arrive in the US a few weeks early to spend time with my future wife and her family before going off for training and my service. We got to know each other better and I was able to muster the courage to tell her I loved her. This though was under the context of me going away for two years with extraordinarily little contact. We did not make any promises to each other, but I parted as the hopeful optimist I strive to be.

Although normally we would be expected only to keep in touch via mail, less than a year later things changed. I found out that I needed life-saving surgery. The primary killer for people with my rare disease was upon me. I remember sitting weeping as I took the news in, alongside my mission leaders. I explained that I had found love and that I did not want much for my life but only to see myself married to my best friend. Instead of mail, we were able to speak on the phone and tried to be hopeful.

I would not be writing this if the story ended there with my death. I was able to get help from one of the top facilities for my disease in the world, and one of the top surgeons. It was an exceedingly difficult time and recovery, but I made it. About a year or so later we were able to meet again and reconnect. We both knew that we should be married. In my religion, the commitment to marriage is meant to be for all time and not just until “death due you part”. It is a beautiful promise and we both took this seriously, even at our relatively young age.

We have grown closer as the years have passed. We try not to hold things back and instead try to openly communicate our problems, fears, and dreams. We pray together every day. We strive never to go to bed mad with each other. We promised each other early on that we would live together in a peaceful home. We have worked together to keep that promise.

Things have not always been easy. We have faced many challenges, but we have faced them together as a team. My work and health problem have been a heavy burden for me, but I have never been alone in facing those challenges. Until recently, my work had been seven days a week responsibility. I can say I was on call for twenty years straight.  I missed birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, and so much rest. But we did this together. I remember one unplanned all-nighter where my wife slept on a couch at work as she wanted to be nearby in case I needed her.

Being chronically ill has been my biggest challenge. We knew from the start that my health would continue to decline as the years passed. There is the intellectual knowledge of that and then there is the reality. I said recently that I have had both the happiest and worst times in these twenty-five years. But even during the toughest of times, my wife has been there to lighten my load. During the worst night of my life, my wife was there racing me to the hospital as it would be faster than an ambulance. She was there shouting for help and there helping the medical team as they fought over what they could do to help me. In the morning I awoke to find her asleep in a chair next to me. This is just one of the countless examples of her being my advocate and keeping me safe.

A happy marriage isn’t always happy. That should not be your goal as it is not based on any obtainable reality. Our goal has been to find happiness when we can, to cherish our time together, and work to make the best life we can. Much of our happiness has been from helping others. By working as a team and growing together we have found what works for us.

My marriage has been my biggest accomplishment in life, and I am grateful beyond words that I have the partner that I do. She teaches me daily what it means to have unconditional love, a faithful heart, and a love of God.

I am the luckiest.

Years ago I was having a serious health crisis. More specifically, I required urgent heart surgery to save my life. I have a disease called Marfan Syndrome which can cause life-threatening heart issues. As you would expect, this was an incredibly difficult and stressful time for me. I lived away from home in another county doing volunteer missionary work but was too sick to travel back. My focus was trying to stay well while waiting for surgery.

During all of this, I started noticing a strange thread of comments I would get from people as I shared the details of my health issues. Most were supportive in nature, but a significant amount displayed what I would now call “Toxic Positivity”. This ranged from comments disregarding the seriousness of things (“It can’t be that bad! You’ll be fine!”) to what I found to be the most disrespectful: if I only had more faith in God I would be healed.

I’m not going to explain the theological basis for this being an absolutely ignorant comment. I also have to clarify that such views expressed to me were rare. But if it had only happened once (it did not), that alone would have been too many times. Skipping forward to my many years dealing with a chronic illness, I can say that Toxic Positivity can generally be categorized in three ways:

1. Well meaning but oblivious

This is when people ignore the reality of the situation and try to make things better with a low effort statement.

• I’m sure you’ll pull through

• I’m sure this is all happening for a reason.

• You’re not doing okay? Well tomorrow is another day!

This category of interactions can come across as uncaring and dismissive. Culturally, where I am from in Atlantic Canada you do not ask someone how they are unless you are prepared to listen to the answer. A simple “how are you doing today?” can turn into a fifteen-minute discussion that oftentimes include details of the unpleasantness in their lives.

Please do not dismiss the struggles of others. Instead, take a moment to listen and offer help when you can.

2. The Gas Lighters

This is when folks try to convince you that things aren’t as serious as they are. Telltale examples of this include:

• “You’re probably just imagining this”

• “I’m sure that it’s not a big deal”

• “There’s nothing wrong with you so stop worrying”

One of the worst examples of this was when I was told by a co-worker that they researched my disease, and it was no big deal as the life expectancy was close to normal. I gently explained that, yes, perhaps I would live as long as them but my health issues would dramatically alter my quality of life.

Don’t try to manipulate someone who is suffering into a false reality of their situation.

3. The Narcissist

This must be the worst kind of false positivity. These are the people who always make everything about themselves. No matter what is wrong with you they have had it worse.

• That can’t be as bad as when I had x

• You think you are suffering? Well let me tell you about my day…

• All you do is talk about yourself! I’m the one with problems here!

Just writing this out gets me upset. If there was a common Bladerunner-esque test for empathy, this type of person would break the machine.

When interacting with someone who is struggling, focus on them and not yourself.

How Can I Do Better?

I’ve often said that you shouldn’t ask a question if you’re not willing to hear the answer. If someone you know is struggling then please ask how they are doing and be prepared to listen to the answer with compassion and caring. Sometimes you don’t even have to ask at all. Instead, you could offer a kind word that reinforces your love and concern for them.

Simple and sincere kindness can make a difference to someone who is struggling in your life. I for one, am grateful for my caring friends and family that know this and who help lighten the load when they can.

In the end, please choose to be kind.