Our New chapter in Kaysville, Utah

650 South: Settling into the Beehive State

Our friends, the Bookers, let me stay with them during my job search. I unsuccessfully went job hunting for weeks in the Salt Lake City area. I decided to fast for a period to attune myself to God for guidance. I fasted for three days until I felt that my fast was accepted. I then ended the fast and got two job offers within the next two hours. I went to work at Salt Lake Hardware, where my grandfather had worked decades earlier.

The family soon followed me to Utah. While awaiting the completion of our house, we moved into a basement apartment. No dogs were allowed in the house, which wasn’t easy. We were fresh to the area and knew no one to help with Scamper. She was very confined while we waited, and the terrible living conditions completely changed her nature; she was never the same sweet dog again. Because of complaints from neighbors when we finally moved to Kaysville, she had to be rehomed. We don’t know her fate after that, but it broke our hearts to lose our Scamper.

We searched for a permanent home and found one under construction in a new development in Kaysville, Utah. It took a few months to complete, but it was a beautiful home sitting on a lot and a half. The north lot held our house, and the half lot to the south became our orchard and garden.

The Kaysville Ward that we moved into was huge—the rapid influx of new housing developments completely overwhelmed local Church leadership. If you didn’t get to church early, there wasn’t a seat for you, and you ended up standing in the back. Having a one-year-old daughter, it was much easier to arrive early and secure a seat. They eventually divided us into smaller, more manageable wards.

Shortly after moving into the new house, my earlier application at the headquarters of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints finally turned into an interview. I thought there had been no interest in me initially, but I was called in for a different position in the finance department. The interviewer weighed his decision carefully for weeks, but I did finally receive the offer. I began a rewarding nine-year career with the Church. To stay in shape, I started practicing stair climbing every day. I would start on the ground floor, ascend to the 26th floor, and then descend to the 14th or 15th floor where I worked. I made sure to do it slowly enough to prevent a sweat breakout—they didn’t need a stinky accountant.

Toddlers, Trucks, and Triumphs: Life on 650 South

With our new home established, our family life quickly grew busier. Kathy became pregnant with Aaron. Pregnancies were always complicated for her, though deliveries were easy. At about three months pregnant, she began hemorrhaging. We went to the emergency room, where we were told that the baby was lost, and they proposed a D&C procedure.

When I laid my hands on her head to give her a priesthood blessing, I felt a powerful, distinct prompt that the baby would be born healthy. However, looking at the grim medical circumstances around us, I lost my courage to voice that promise out loud. A few minutes later, her obstetrician called the emergency room and told us to wait before making a final decision, prescribing strict bed rest for three months instead. That was a challenge with a busy two-year-old Melissa at home, but Aaron was born a healthy baby six months later. I have remembered ever since that moment of hesitation, but even more, I remember the Lord’s boundless mercy. Even when my own courage wavered in the emergency room, His promise never did. Heavenly Father carried us through that storm and placed a healthy son into our arms.

Please don’t ask me where my head was, but I decided to rebuild the carburetor on our pickup truck when Kathy was nine months pregnant. Of course, she went into labor while the vehicle was completely down. Why not? She sat right alongside the truck in the garage, timing contractions, while I worked frantically to get the pieces back together. I called my neighbor from across the street for backup, we got the engine firing, and we were on our way to the hospital. Hey, we got there. Everything’s good. Right?

I bought a 1959 Ford Pickup as a second vehicle and handy hauler. That pickup truck provided an unforgettable memory on a winter morning. Kathy was driving it to Ogden for a doctor’s appointment when she hit a patch of black ice. The truck’s back end slid sideways, spinning her around several times until she landed deep in the weeds alongside the road. Fortunately, everyone was safe, and the truck was completely unhurt, so she drove it right out of the weeds and continued on to her appointment. I believe that was the last time she ever drove that pickup—or any pickup I have owned since.

Raising two toddlers on 650 South kept us constantly on our toes. One afternoon while Kathy was outside gardening, three-year-old Melissa sneaked into the house through the doggie door. We were planning to entertain friends that evening, and Kathy had made strawberry pies that were cooling in the fridge. Melissa pulled them out, dropping them upside down all over the kitchen floor. To finish the job, she found a tin of cocoa powder and poured it all over the living room furniture. When our visitors arrived that night, they warmly commented on how much they enjoyed the “chocolate smells” in our house. Melissa’s life sentence for her crimes was eventually pardoned, and she grew up to be a wonderful, responsible adult.

The Callings That Shaped Us

Professionally and spiritually, we were planting deep roots. I told Kathy that I would be willing to accept any assignment in the Church except for teaching in Primary. I picture the Lord chuckling over that, because I was called to serve as a Primary teacher within two weeks. I learned very quickly that you don’t tell the Lord what you will and won’t do; He knows what we need for our own growth.

Thanks to Kathy’s extensive help, it turned out to be a great experience. We had one deliberately disruptive boy in the class whom nothing seemed to reach. Kathy and I decided to invite him over to our house for lunch one Saturday, and later, we visited him at his home. Sensing a heavy tension in his household gave me a clue as to what was causing his errant behavior. After those visits, the boy completely transformed—he appointed himself as the enforcer in my classroom. If anyone else became disruptive, they had to answer to him. Instead of being the problem, he became the solution.

The Victorian

As I grew into my professional role, we found ourselves ready for a home with more character than a cookie-cutter tract house. We saw a central Kaysville home for sale that had been built in 1907, and after praying about it, we decided to make the leap.

Before we could close, our realtor told us he needed a temporary loan to complete the sales chain, promising to repay it as soon as all the properties officially closed. We loaned him $6,000, but several of his business deals collapsed, and we never saw a dime of it back. This painful moment led me to a lifelong rule: I would never loan money again. If a friend needs money and I have it, I will give it to them as a gift. If they are able to repay it someday, they are instructed to pass it forward to someone else in need. I will never become a finance guru this way, but it keeps my friendships entirely clean. This was a difficult but life-changing experience.

The Victorian house was a true love and hate relationship. Whenever Kathy and I watch modern HGTV shows where couples tackle historic renovations, we just laugh and say, “They have no idea what’s ahead.” An older home requires constant, exhausting, and expensive upkeep. While the Victorian craftsmanship was exquisite, the utility bills were astronomical due to the antiquated furnace, original windows, and towering 12-foot ceilings. For budget reasons, we kept the thermostat strictly at 65 degrees. If we had lived there later in life when we had more money, it would have been a dream; at the time, it was an endless test of endurance.

Yet, it was a beautiful backdrop for family milestones. Kathy entered a writing contest with The Deseret News, penning a story about her most memorable Christmas at age 13, when she received her very first flute. She wrote about her Church youth group performing at a bleak, sad care center for the elderly, and how the atmosphere completely transformed into something lively and joyful because of the music. Her beautifully written piece won the contest and was published in the newspaper.

We also experienced a true miracle at that house. Kathy was preparing to drive to a doctor’s appointment in Ogden and left Melissa and Aaron on the back porch with strict instructions not to move until she called for them. Aaron escaped, running directly behind the truck just as Kathy was backing out of the driveway. He bumped into the tailgate, fell, and the truck backed completely over him. A panicked Kathy rushed him to the doctor in Ogden, but after a thorough examination, all was completely well. The winter snow he had fallen into was perfectly soft, protecting him from injury.

At age 28, I was called to the stake high council to oversee missionary activity. I was the youngster of the group, being schooled by the masters. Because of my professional access to technical computer equipment at Church HQ, I began providing computer-generated statistics, charts, and graphs for our stake presidency to display attendance and ward trends visually. These tools are commonplace now, but back then, my ability to produce them was highly unusual and beneficial.

Because we still only owned one car, Kathy used it to take the children to church while I walked to my various speaking and high council assignments across the stake. Kathy served as the chorister in our home ward, which meant she had to leave the two children in the pews while she led the hymns. Frequently, when she returned to her seat, the children were completely gone. Looking around the chapel, she would find that the ward’s many “adoptive grandparents” had happily taken them into their own arms to hold them for the rest of the meeting.

The “School of the Prophets” and a Call to Samoa

My daily commute from Kaysville into Salt Lake City became an unexpected source of deep spiritual and personal education. I managed to join a unique carpool where every member was an employee of the Church. Traveling with them each morning felt like sitting in the “School of the Prophets.” One rider was the co-author of the Old Testament seminary manual—a brilliant scholar of the Hebrew and Greek languages and ancient Israel who shared incredible scriptural insights. Another was a dedicated historian for the Church History Department. Our morning discussions were deeply academic, close-knit, and unforgettable.

One morning on the way to work, a member of our carpool who worked in Church International Operations mentioned that he was having a difficult time finding a strong financial manager for an opening in Samoa. Half-joking, I told him he could throw my name into the hat if he wanted to.

A few days later, a massive, multi-state power blackout hit the region. In the pitch-black darkness of his office, he called me in and formally offered me the Samoa position. Accepting a life-altering assignment in the literal dark was a leap of faith, but we knew Who was guiding us. We stepped into the unknown with complete trust that wherever the Lord led our family, He would see us through and land us safely on the other side.

Bellflower

Samoa