In the quiet coastal towns of Parksville and Qualicum Beach, where the Salish Sea kisses ancient shores and cedar forests whisper secrets to the wind, something extraordinary is stirring. It is not the work of the flawless or the mighty. It is the work of the Creator, who has always chosen the cracked vessels, the stumbling hearts, the ones the world calls failures, and filled them with living water until they overflow. Long ago, a fisherman named Peter denied his Lord three

In Parksville and the Oceanside region, an insidious weapon silences the cries of the homeless: dehumanization. It’s the quiet, vicious process that strips human beings of their dignity, reducing them to “transients,” “addicts,” or “problems” to be swept away. By labeling the unhoused as less than human—lazy choices, moral failures, or invisible nuisances—comfortable residents and indifferent leaders absolve themselves of responsibility. No need for an all-weather shelter whe

To Whom This May Concern, I write this letter with a heavy heart, sickened by what we’ve become, yet clinging to the faint hope that these words might pierce the darkness we’ve wrapped around ourselves. We call ourselves humans—a title rooted in the earth itself, from the Latin humanus, tied to humus, the soil, the ground we walk on. It reminds us we are earthly beings, formed from dust, meant to be humble stewards of this beautiful blue planet. But that name feels like a hol