Spiritual Moments

​Belfast (Modified ending)

After my time with special forces had ended, I was posted (transferred) to Belfast, Northern Ireland, to an Intelligence Corps. Unit.  A unit consisting of about ten men whose job it was to gather information about all militant groups both north and south of the border.  Their efforts were very successful, and were recognized by visits by parliamentarians from Whitehall, London.  Methods of gathering this information, included but not limited to informants, surveillance, association, and undercover.  One of our best undercover agents was Harry (may or may not be his real name).  Harry was literally fearless, and one situation he and I and one other found ourselves in led me to worry he would do something courageous but stupid.  Harry, Pete, and I, all short fellows under 5’7’’, were out drinking in a (new to us) bar on the outskirts of Belfast.  We had been there more than an hour and had not seen any servicemen enter the bar during our stay, which in itself was not unusual given the proliferation of bars in Belfast.  Somewhere close to 9pm the bar started getting busy, noticing the clientele were totally male, Pete suggested we drink up and leave.  Before we knew it our table was the center of attention, in particular the three of us.  We were invited to put on blindfolds and were led for what seemed like ten minutes, but may have been a lot less, through doors, up and down stairs, into the cool of the night and back inside, finally down some stairs where our blindfolds were removed in front of a huge lighted wall map of Northern Ireland, with what seemed to be about fifteen or so white crosses on the map.  I knew that apart from paying attention to our host, each of us was assessing our personal situation.  I  was not a religious person, however I was praying that Harry would not do anything that would lesson our chances of getting out of this mess. There were about twelve or so, mostly tall, healthy looking Irishmen guarding our welfare in what we assumed to be a basement.  Our host was talking about the white crosses and how they represented one of their men the British had killed.  At the time I did not feel sympathetic to his cause, but since then I have had time to reconsider and now feel very sorry for these militant groups, as individuals, fighting for what their fathers, and their father’s fathers believed.  Now the cause of each faction being so distorted, that hat for their island brothers is all they cling to.  Harry, Pete, and I assessed the situation and decided that now was not the time, there were too many of them, so patience was the order.  Once again we were blindfolded and led up, down, in, out, and finally back to the bar, unblindfolded and released.   I believe that no harm came to us that night for a variety of reasons, I will cite two or more situations, where death or serious injury was a definite possibility, but I was spared. Only as I look back on my life do I see a pattern that has spared my life for the work I am doing now.  Family History is the Lord's work, and I believe I was spared to do this work, at this time, and in this place.

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Honda Civic

In the late 1980’s, I was the proud owner of a used brown Honda civic, you know, the one that closely resembles the old English mini’s. I would drive it the 60 miles to work, and then 60 miles home again, every day, except Sunday.  I would drive from Riverside, California, along the dreaded 91 freeway, all the way to its end in Gardena, California, and then on to work in Torrance.  One day on the way home, it was hot, its always hot, and the traffic was horrendous as usual, I cut up from the 91 to the 60 freeway, and by the time I had passed the 15/60 interchange, the traffic was stop and go, and the speed eastbound was about 20 mph, drivers were frustrated, no-one could see the holdup problem, cars were driving on the hard shoulders, both below the slow lane, and above the fast lane trying to move a few cars ahead, and then trying to merge back in among other frustrated driver some who were not accommodating.  Occasionally I would let the car in front get about 3 car lengths ahead before catching up, during those moment I felt like I was getting somewhere.  A white Volvo, who was behind me, decided to use the hard shoulder to get past me and into the space I had left, he was successful, but I was angry, I accelerated to stop him getting in but my tired old Honda didn’t have the guts to compete, he stopped in front of me, which caused me to brake, and turn towards the hard shoulder to avoid rear ending him. Something unexplainable happened then!  My car did not stop, the engine was still accelerating, I was almost standing on the brakes, and the car was going ever faster, I pulled the handbrake with no effect, the steering was locked and I was headed across the 20 feet or so, freeway divider towards the speeding oncoming traffic in the westbound lanes, sixty miles per hour plus.  My feelings should have been fear, yet I felt calm, and analytical, as I was wondering why my steering was locked, why my braking hand and foot had no effect. I really though this was going to be “the moment” as I entered the ongoing traffic head on at probably thirty plus miles an hour against their sixty plus miles an hour in the most ill prepared vehicle for survival. I sliced through the fast lane, and remember seeing a semi-truck in front of me in the “slow” lane, I took my foot off the brake and slammed it hard on the accelerator, this jettisoned (unusual word for my civic) me forward and up the dirt bank, and stopping at the very top of this fifteen foot or so mound, and looking down on the traffic on the westbound lane mostly oblivious to the fact that I had just driven through it.  This is another example of my life being preserved for something the Lord wants me to do.
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Civic 2

A few weeks after the 60 fwy event,  I had occasion to have my life preserved once again.  From my home, I was driving into Riverside, California, along a street called Limonite Ave. Limonite at that time did not have a posted speed limit east of Indian Hills drive, and if it did, no one paid attention to it.  From Indian Hills for about two miles, Limonite has a landscaped divider, and one of the first streets is San Juan Baptiste.  Going eastbound, San Juan is on the right,  and as you look right you notice you are on top of a hill which overlooks Flabob airport, and a good part of Riverside, after the San Juan turnoff the bank on the right of Limonite is very steep down to another road with houses on the other side of it.  I was travelling eastbound at about sixty mph or so, and as I approached San Juan, I noticed a car heading westbound travelling fairly fast with his left turn signal on.  I remember thinking at the time, I hope he stops and looks before turning.  By the time I was twenty or thirty feet from the intersection I knew he had not seen me, and that he was just going to turn at the intersection, across the eastbound lane and into San Juan.  Its amazing how fast calculations come into your mind when you are going sixty miles an hour into what seems like a certain accident. If I swerved to avoid him, I would tumble down the bank into one of the houses at the bottom of the hill, at that moment I hit the accelerator (after all it had gotten me out of trouble before) and I felt a barely perceptible quickening of the car.  Good thing, because the other person did not stop, but he did manage to remove one of the rubber rear bumper guards from my Civic, as he passed. I figure if I had been about one hundredth of a second slower in hitting the accelerator the other car would have hit my drivers door, and I or both of us would be calling at the houses at the bottom of the hill.  I often wonder why the Lord has lengthened my life on this earth when I see so many wonderful people doing the same work in Family History as I do.  I am very grateful that He has deemed to spare my life once again. 



Estacada, Oregon

In August 2015, I flew to Oregon, to spend a couple of weeks with my son, and his family, and my daughter.  I went to the Estacada, Portland ward, about two miles from Aaron’s house, I started walking, over the years I had walked that route many times. This time, at the end of the street, an elderly trio in a van pulled up and asked me if I was going to church, and after I had got in and we were on our way they asked me which church.  The dropped me off at the church, and I was about a half hour early for the service, I looked around and found the presentation case which has the plaques of all the missionaries serving from that ward and where they are serving.  There was only one plaque in the case, and the missionary Elder Forrest Pelton, was serving in St George, Utah, I thought that was interesting.  After talking to a few people I discovered that Elder Pelton’s sister Grace was speaking today in the meeting.  She was very good, after the meeting had concluded, Elder Pelton’s parents beckoned me over, and after introductions and a some small talk, his father said that if I did see him when I went home, to give him the message that the family was well, and for him not to worry.  I got home from Oregon in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, and Wednesday, I was working at the FamilySearch Library.  Missionaries come to the library to send emails to their family, but I have rarely seen more than six in a week.  The St George mission covers over a thousand square miles, and they have one hundred and fifty missionaries  in communities dotted in that area.  On Wednesday evening, I entered the research room, which has almost seventy computers, most of them being used when I noticed two elders helping someone with their computer work.  I thought this a good opportunity to see if they know elder Pelton, and pass along the message.  I touched the arm of the one closest to me, and when he turned round I started “I wonder if you know… by this time I could see his badge, which said Elder Kane Pelton…. If you know Elder Forrest Pelton.”  He answered “that’s me.” I gave him the message and he thanked me enthusiastically.  I know that Heavenly Father knows, and cares about each of his children, I am glad he chose me to be the instrument in delivering this, what must have been an important message to Elder Pelton.

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Sunny’s Family

In 2015, my mother had a stroke and was put into hospital, she had some paralysis, and disability of speech.  At the time I was suffering from a bad case of allergies, runny nose, sneezing, coughing, and general stuffed up feeling.  By the time I was ready to travel to England, Mum was out of the hospital, and back living with my sister, Mary, and her husband Dave.  I was unable to stay at Mary’s, she had a full house, so I decided to use Mary’s as the hub of my travels, so I would visit a relative and then go back and visit Mum, visit another relative, and so on.  I went north to Yorkshire, east to Norfolk coast, and south to Hampshire coast I had a wonderful trip.  Two weeks after I had returned, I was at the FamilySearch Library, and was called over by Sunny Konold, a longtime friend from the Library.  She is of Danish descent, and she told me she had just returned from a long trip to England, and said she understood that I had just returned also.  I told her a few of the counties I had visited, and when I mentioned Hampshire, she said where, I replied Sway.  I could see she was getting excited, and she asked me when I was there, I told her, and she said she was in Sway, either the same day I was or very close to it.  It was then I noticed the names she was adding to her family history, the name Kircher grabbed my attention.  I blurted out, that’s my family, and I told her I had photographed their names in the Sway cemetery.  I know the Lord is in charge of this great work we are doing, adding leaves, twigs, and branches to the one family tree.