Dear readers,
For our special new series, “The Healing Power Within,” we invited readers to reflect on our third virtue: honesty. The stories we received ranged from quiet, unseen acts of integrity to moments of risking everything for the truth—each one moving and inspiring in its own way. Below are some of the standout submissions.
“The Healing Power Within” is a six-week series exploring timeless virtues and the surprising science behind how they improve our health, strengthen our relationships, and change our lives.
The following readers’ stories have been edited for style and clarity.
Happy Returns
Submitted by: Alda Bouvier, Regina, Sask.
Several years ago, I visited The Bay department store in Saskatoon, Sask. I was just staying overnight for a business meeting the next morning and had time for some shopping. I purchased several items, including a dress, paid by personal cheque—a common form of payment at the time—and left the store.
When I got to my hotel room, I emptied the bag with my purchases. I was shocked to find that the clerk had accidentally placed the cheque I had used for payment, along with both receipts, in my bag along with the purchases!
I tried calling the store immediately but it had already closed. I was envisioning this poor little clerk trying to balance her till and being short over a $100, but there was nothing I could do.
The next morning I phoned The Bay and asked for the ladies’ wear department and explained why. They told me that the clerks don’t count their own cash and that it would have gone upstairs to the office to be counted in the next few days.
So, I took my cheque and the receipts and walked back to the store, even though it was a cold wintry day, and explained to the lady in the accounts department what had happened. She looked at me in amazement and said, “Oh my dear, how honest can you be!” and thanked me.
Later that day, the store sent a courier with a $10 coupon for their coffee shop, in appreciation of my honesty. If I hadn’t been honest, I would’ve felt like a thief every time I wore that dress! Just not worth it—peace of mind is worth a lot more!
An Inconvenient Truth
Submitted by: Debra Dolan, West Vancouver, B.C.
Honesty is often described as telling the truth to others, but the deeper virtue in my view, is telling the truth to yourself.
This kind of honesty is quiet, private, and sometimes uncomfortable. There is an unspoken rule in journalling—you never lie to yourself, especially about yourself.
For more than 50 years, my journals have been the place where I practice that rule. On the page, I can’t pretend to be braver, kinder, smaller, nor more agreeable than I am. I can’t rewrite history to make it easier to hold. The journal sees through all of that. It demands the truth; not the polished version or the version meant for public consumption, but the truth of your lived experience as you know it.
The virtue of honesty, as I’ve come to understand it, is not loud or dramatic. It’s the steady, lifelong practice of meeting yourself on the page, and then in every conversation or interaction, and choosing, again and again, not to lie.
Putting It All on the (IV) Line
Submitted by: Amie K.I am a retired registered nurse (RN) clinical teacher. This following event occurred many years ago in a hospital.
One evening after finishing work, I passed by the main emergency room (ER) desk and overheard an internist and a supervisor discussing their dilemma of where to admit a critically ill patient who was eight months pregnant and suffering from malignant hypertension.
The patient was in a critical state but would not do well in the environment of the intensive care unit (ICU), due to its bright lights, loud sounds, odd smells, and bustling activities that would provoke perilous excitement, potentially causing a severe stroke, heart attack, or premature birth, endangering the fetus. This patient desperately needed a quiet, dark, calm room—stat.
This internist had previously asked me to teach ICU and ER staff how to administer and care for a patient receiving a new intravenous medication to treat and manage hypertension.
By coincidence, I had just completed this training with the staff. As I passed by, I stopped and joined the conversation. During my informal rounds before leaving for the day, I had noticed that a private labour room was vacant. I suggested to the supervisor that the patient be admitted there, where she could rest in a quieter environment while a case room RN could be assigned to monitor both her condition and the fetus.The ICU team leader could assign an ICU nurse to monitor the patient’s blood pressure monitoring, while I would provide guidance on administering and managing the intravenous medication.
The internist wanted the patient stabilized so she could be transferred to a specialized obstetrics and gynecology unit. The patient was moved to the labour and delivery quiet room. The small, quickly assembled nursing team efficiently attended to the patient through my whispered instructions, and I explained each procedure to the calmed patient simply and quietly.
The patient responded beautifully to the team’s meticulous care and administered medication. Within 2.5 hours the patient’s blood pressure and overall condition were stabilized within normal ranges, and the fetus was in satisfactory condition.
The internist then ordered that the patient be transferred. She was transported by ambulance, accompanied by a critical-care nurse, to a specialized maternity unit at a downtown hospital.
The first thing the next morning, the labour and delivery manager contacted the ICU manager, and the two met to raise concerns with the director of nursing about my actions, which they believed were taken without proper authority.
The labour and delivery manager complained that I had no authority to provide patient care in a unit where I was not employed. She also said I had no right to assign ICU or labour and delivery staff, as I was not a manager, and no authority to document in a patient’s file, as I was not a staff nurse, among other concerns.I was then called to the director of nursing’s office. The director told me to sit down and tell her the whole story of the previous evening. I relayed the event as it had unfolded, explained my nursing point of view, outlined the reasons for my actions as presented, and noted my problem-solving solutions had achieved satisfactory end results.
In my defence, I had added that I was a qualified, registered RN and an employee of the hospital authorized to administer patient care.
When I finished, I felt uneasy... was I being seen as in the wrong? Or as overstepping the boundaries of my appointed position?
The director then asked me what I would do if the same type of situation arose again.
I thought to myself, “I’m getting set up, and will be fired.” So with nothing left to lose, I squared my shoulders to give my honest reply: “If the situation were the same, I would have to act on behalf of the patient, and do the same nursing care for the same reasons.”
I waited for the shoe to drop. Instead, the director replied,“Good. And you continue to give the same best care, and don’t change.”
I left the office in some relief. Later that day, the labour and delivery manager called to offer me an apology.
I felt good that my professional stance and ethical belief in truth and honesty were accepted over institutional “internal politics.”
This is the first time I have spoken of this event, since it has been a confidential matter for the manager and me all these years.
Hidden Treasure
Submitted by: Ken Debono, Ameliasburgh, Ont.In 1999, just before my 38th birthday, I bought my elderly neighbour Mike’s house. He had lived alone for the previous 10 years, and it was time for him to move into an assisted living facility.
My plan was to rent the house to my sister-in-law and her young family.
On moving day, she had plenty of help at the house so I began renovating the badly outdated bathroom. The first thing I tackled was the old vanity.
As I looked at it, a strange thought crossed my mind: I wonder if someone ever hid something inside this.
There was a narrow ledge between the sink and the front panel. I reached my hand into the gap, not expecting to find anything. To my surprise, my fingers touched a small department store box.
I opened it and found rings, earrings, a necklace, several vintage women’s watches, and nine silver dollars. Most of this ’treasure' had belonged to Mike’s late wife.
I brought the box out and showed everyone. Almost immediately, a few people began talking about which items they would like to keep.
I shut that down right away.
“No,” I said. “These belong to Mike.”
I called him and explained what I had found and where I had found it. At first, he insisted the box wasn’t his. He had completely forgotten about it. I told him that if he remembered anything, I would keep everything safe until he came for it.
A few hours later, he called back. He remembered.
Not long afterward, his son drove him over to the house. When Mike saw the contents of the box, he was overwhelmed with gratitude. The jewelry, watches, and coins weren’t especially valuable in monetary terms. In fact, they were probably worth less than a couple hundred dollars. But to Mike, they were priceless reminders of his wife, who had been gone for many years.
Looking back on that day, I know I made the right choice. Had I kept those items and sold them, I would have carried the guilt of theft for the rest of my life. The money would have been spent and forgotten, but the knowledge that I had effectively stolen a man’s treasured memories would have remained.
Honesty wasn’t just the right choice—it was the only choice I could live with.
