I’m a 43-year-old, lifelong resident of Sooke, BC.

Two years ago, I suffered a hemorrhagic stroke that, in the words of my neurologist, should not only have taken my life, but at the very least should have left me blind.

After a long time in the ICU, I was transferred to the neurology ward, where I had my first face-to-face meeting with my neurologist. He said to me:

“I know you’re a no-BS kind of guy after having you in the ICU, so I’ll be straight with you. Do you remember the people beside you—either dying or incapacitated from their strokes? Theirs were the size of a dime. Yours was the size of a peach. We don’t know how we’re looking at you.”

He continued, “That’s not even the craziest part. Not only was your stroke the size of a peach, it was directly over your visual cortex. We genuinely don’t understand how you can see. At a minimum, we believe you should be blind.”

The stroke did, however, leave me with paralysis on the entire left side of my body. This included a loss of sensation—but not completely. What I feel now is a constant burning sensation across the entire left side. The lightest touch and the heaviest impact feel exactly the same, blending into one continuous signal.

Coming out of the hospital, I knew I was going to face major obstacles. I had spent the latter part of my life working as a building contractor and carpenter. Suddenly, I didn’t know what the future would look like. I was semi-disabled and unable to perform the tasks that once defined me.

For the first time in my life, I had no direction.

My identity was stripped from me in an instant.

Something deeply spiritual happened in that same moment. It’s the hardest part to explain.

The best way I can describe it is this: physically, it felt like the stroke was the result of a battle between good and evil over my being—my soul.

Like anyone, I had spent my life making both good and bad choices. Some led to incredible experiences; others led to darker places.

At that moment, something shifted. Negative parts of my life either fell away completely, or I felt a deep conviction to begin changing them. I’m still on the journey of fully understanding what happened to me.

I first noticed it in small ways. I couldn’t throw a cigarette butt out the window or onto the ground anymore. That might sound minor, but it was completely out of character for me. Then smoking stopped altogether. Drinking fell away. Drugs disappeared from my life.

I couldn’t lie anymore. If I said something untrue, it was immediately corrected. Anything spiritually or physically unhealthy simply couldn’t continue—not by my own strength, but by something beyond me.

I had always believed in God. Growing up in Western culture, I loosely associated that belief with the Bible and Jesus Christ, though I didn’t truly understand either. I didn’t grow up in a Christian household, and most of what I heard about religion was negative.

At the same time, being neurodivergent (ADHD), I struggled to read or finish books. Yet there was always a quiet thought in the back of my mind: If there’s one book I should read in my life, it’s probably the Bible.

After everything that happened, that conviction became impossible to ignore.

So I started reading.

Before that, I had explored New Age beliefs and more general spirituality, but nothing truly resonated. Something deeper was happening to me, and I needed answers.

The moment I opened the Bible and began calling on Jesus by name, everything shifted.

Things started moving—but not in comfortable ways.

I had to begin trusting something outside of myself. Some might call it intuition or consciousness. For me, it felt like a strong pull toward doing the right thing.

But what is the “right thing”?

You don’t always know—until your choices begin to align and things start to work out in ways you can’t explain.

That’s faith.

I never understood faith until I understood surrender—letting go of control and accepting that I couldn’t do this on my own.

I let Jesus in. I started calling on Him by name.

That’s when my second chance at life began.

And that’s what I want to share.

Unable to work, and with my insurance claim denied (a storm of its own), I was left in complete uncertainty.

At the same time, I had been prescribed Adderall a year prior to my stroke to help manage ADHD. Looking back, I believe it may have been a major contributing factor. My naturopath later told me that a stroke of that nature is often caused by a chemical present in the body at the time.

Adderall was the only one.

Before my stroke, I had been cold dipping to help regulate my serotonin, and it worked incredibly well. In hindsight, I should have stayed with that. But pressure from life and work made me feel like I needed more.

The life I was living simply wasn’t sustainable—and eventually, that showed up physically.

Now I was physically limited, financially strained, and unable to return to my old life.

The Lord forced my hand.

I felt a strong conviction to build something rooted in what had actually helped me.

But how?

I had no money. I was physically limited. I could barely walk or hold anything in my left hand.

The answer I felt was simple:

“Just do what you can.”

After a lifetime of pushing beyond my limits, that didn’t feel like enough.

But I started anyway.

I had to.

The Lord put it on my heart to help others going through similar struggles using the same tools that helped me.

At that point, the most effective thing—aside from the support of incredible people in my life—was cold dipping.

Before my stroke, I had started a small cold dipping group. We met at Ella Beach a few times a week. Looking back, that was one of the most spiritually and physically fulfilling times in my life.

The message I felt was clear:

“Do more of that.”

But how could that possibly solve my financial situation?

I had seen sauna and cold plunge spas that were beautiful—and likely profitable—but building something like that felt completely out of reach.

Still, the idea wouldn’t leave me. It persisted.

I remember falling to my knees and asking, “Please—just show me.”

It clicked.

Maybe I could start small. A couple of benches. A sauna. A cold tub. A place for people to gather, heal, and connect.

There was a lot of fear. A lot of uncertainty.

I sold everything I owned and moved on to the property.

And then—I had time to think.

A lot of time.

I isolated myself. I felt ashamed and embarrassed by where I thought I had ended up.

But in that space, I was alone with God.

The first thing I knew I needed was a sauna. It was the biggest investment I could make, so I used what little money I had left to buy a kit.

It arrived in a box.

I remember staring at it, wondering, How am I going to build the rest of this? How am I going to do this in the condition I’m in?

From there, I started collecting materials—mostly free or low-cost—from Facebook Marketplace. Old fences, decks, anything I could repurpose.

At one point, I even recovered lumber from a fence I had built nearly 20 years earlier.

Things just started showing up.

When you have a vision, it’s like everything begins aligning with it.

God gave me a skillset—and this became part of my healing.

There was no master plan. I just kept building, piece by piece.

Today, about 95% of what you see here is built from upcycled materials, much of it on removable trailer platforms.

We are made in the image of the Creator—and we are meant to create.

This is my creation.

I pray it serves this community as a place of rest, healing, and connection.

The name Walk On Water comes from a simple truth:

If I had taken my eyes off Christ—even for a moment during this process—I would have sunk.

Keeping my focus on Him is what carried me through, and it’s what continues to guide me through life’s uncertainties.

During this journey, I’ve endured a stroke, torn both menisci in my knees, and been diagnosed with cancer—all while facing the greatest financial instability of my life.

And yet, it has also been the most meaningful, rewarding, and transformative experience I’ve ever had.

Spiritually and physically rehabilitating myself.

There is no doubt in my mind that God is real.

He has guided every step—whether I recognized it in the moment or not.

The answers were always there.

They just revealed themselves in time.

I know this isn’t the end of the journey—it’s the beginning of a new chapter.

Sharing this is deeply personal and vulnerable.

But it matters.

You are welcome here. ♥