Until the Twelfth of Never

You ask how much I need you
Must I explain?
I need you, oh, my darling

 Like roses need rain

You ask how long, I'll love you
I'll tell you true
Until the twelfth of never
I'll still be loving you

Hold me close
Never let me go

Hold me close
Melt my heart like April snow

I'll love you 'til the blue bells forget to bloom
I'll love you 'til the clover has lost its perfume
I'll love you 'til the poets run out of rhyme

Until the twelfth of never
And that's a long long time
Until the twelfth of never
And that's a long long time

 
My husband and I are celebrating our 50^th anniversary and I remember the song that was popular in our  day—“The Twelfth of Never.” It is a beautiful ballad where he pledges to love her “until the twelfth of never. . . and that’s a long, long time.” This is supposed to mean a time that can’t be counted, infinity. Many other love songs sing of eternal love, a love beyond the bounds of this earth, a never-ending love. 

When my husband and I married 50 years ago in the Logan Temple, our marriage was “sealed” not just until death parts us, but for time and all eternity. This indeed is a marriage that lasts “until the twelfth of never” or for infinity. 

What is a Temple or Eternal Marriage? Why would one want such a marriage? 

First to want an eternal marriage, you must believe in a life beyond this mortal temporal life—a life before birth and a life after death—an eternal life. As members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (also referred to as Mormons), we believe that our existence on the earth today is only one part of our eternal progression; that we lived as spirit beings before we came to earth; we are living on earth to obtain mortal bodies and to test us; that after death we will once again live in a spiritual realm until we are resurrected and receive an immortal body.

If you believe in life after this, (as Mormons do) then you want to preserve family ties into the next life. 

If you believe only in this life and that when you die, your existence as a soul, spirit or any kind of conscious being or entity is wiped out, then there is no need for a marriage past death; there is nothing past death. Many people believe this way, and when family members die, it is indeed a devastating thought that their existence is gone.

Many Christians do believe in life after death and look forward to rejoining deceased family members when they die. The idea of living together in family units after death is especially appealing if your family life was happy.

My mother died over 49 years ago, soon after we were married. I was very close to her, and I yearned to have a mother to turn to as a young mother for guidance and support. Several times during the years when I have needed her, I have felt my mother’s spirit and her love and know that the veil between this world and the next can be very thin. Another time when I was going through a difficult illness and felt overwhelmed, I often felt my maternal grandparents nearby—I felt they were right behind me and if I turned quickly enough I would see them; I felt that they knew of my struggle and were there to support me. Those times I felt their spirit, I was uplifted, knowing I wasn’t alone, and I felt encouraged to keep going.

A very dear sister of mine died twelve years ago of cancer. Her husband sat with her often before her death; one day they were discussing Coleen’s mother, who had also died young of cancer. Coleen’s husband asked her if she thought that her deceased mother’s spirit had been around during the busy years that he and Coleen were raising their nine children. Coleen smiled and replied, oh yes, her mother had been there watching them raise their children and her grandchildren.

Coleen’s husband asked her how she knew that. Coleen was very peaceful replied; her mother’s spirit was sitting over in the corner of the room. When he had asked Coleen that question, her mother nodded her head, indicating, yes, she had been there.

If you believe in a post-mortal life, and want to be with your family after death, you need to know how you can. Who can promise such a thing? 

I believe that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has the authority to promise a marriage union that will last beyond this life. I believe that Christ’s church was restored to the earth by Christ’s apostles, and with it the power to seal couples in heaven and on earth.

On April 3, 1836, in the newly dedicated temple in Kirtland, Ohio, the Lord Jehovah appeared to the Prophet Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery. Then Moses, Elias, and Elijah each appeared and committed the keys of vital and eternal works to earthly leaders once more.

Elijah’s appearance was in fulfillment of the prophecy made in Malachi 4:5–6:

“Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord:

“And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.”

The keys and power of the priesthood Elijah restored on that day in the Kirtland Temple are described in Doctrine and Covenants 132:46: “And verily, verily, I say unto you, that whatsoever you seal on earth shall be sealed in heaven; and whatsoever you bind on earth, in my name and by my word, saith the Lord, it shall be eternally bound in the heavens.”

These sealing ordinances, which bind families together for eternity, can be performed only in holy temples by those having the proper priesthood authority.[i]

Who then would want a temple marriage? A young couple who believe in eternal life, who believe in the authority of the church which promises the power to unite them eternally, and who love each other enough to want to be sealed eternally would want a temple marriage.  A young couple who were not sure about their love, who were thinking (even unconsciously) that if it didn’t work they could always get a divorce and try again, wouldn’t want an eternal commitment that would be harder to cancel or break. 

The commitment a couple who want an eternal marriage is far more than a couple who just wants to get married. 

They must keep all the commandments of the church for a year prior to marriage, including chastity until marriage. And the commitment to keeping the commandments of the church, to be faithful in all things is a lifetime obligation. A “happily ever after” marriage only begins on the wedding day; an eternal marriage begins the same day. A wedding sealed in the temple may never become eternal if it becomes based on anger, dishonesty, unfaithfulness, or selfishness. But living the gospel, loving and helping perfect each other, working toward becoming an eternal family is worth it. It doesn’t happen overnight (it may take a lifetime), but think of the rewards.

To be sealed as a family, knowing that you will be united as a family after death is infinitely precious. In our fifty years of marriage my husband and I have lost three grandchildren and there have been several times when my husband has been so ill we were fearful that he wasn’t long for this life. My husband served two tours in Vietnam as a helicopter pilot and I worried daily if he would survive the war or not. But the confidence of the resurrection and the knowledge that we would be a family again helps make these trials more bearable. 

As we celebrate our fifty years together, they haven’t always been easy. But I love him just as much as I did when I heard that song many years ago, “Until the twelfth of never, I’ll still be loving you.” With temple marriage, even after death, we’ll still be able to love each other as a couple with our family, forever.

---

[i] Ensign, April 2007, p. 40

Angels Watching Over Me

The huge painting of Christ in Gethsemane fascinated me. I could not turn away from it. I felt its impact throughout my whole body. I felt the comfort of the Savior, but I also felt something else, the comfort of the angel that held the savior in his arms, comforting Christ after he had suffered for the sins of man. For this was not the usual scene of the Savior in Gethsemane. This was an unusual altar piece from a Lutheran Church in Odense, Denmark, painted by Carl Bloch, a Danish artist 1878-79. See http://carlbloch.byu.edu/index.php

This beautiful painting illustrates the scene in Luke 22: 42-43 when Christ is praying in Gethsemane and accepts the sacrifice of the atonement, “Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done. And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him.”

As I viewed this tender scene, I thought of the many times an angel has comforted and sustained me in my trials. Sometimes I have felt their influence, and other times only later I have known that they had been with me.

What is the doctrine concerning angels watching over regular members? In Ensign, March 1988, “I Have a Question,” written by Larry E. Dahl, associate professor of Church history and doctrine, Brigham Young University, he discusses guardian angels and ministering angels. He says “the term ‘guardian angel’ is not used in the scriptures.[1]” However, the author does explain that “The scriptures are clear about the role of “ministering angels,” as Mormon testified:” and then lists the various roles of ministering angels including, “—bring comfort, instruction, and warnings to faithful individuals in times of need (see Gen. 16:7; Ex. 23:20–23; Matt. 2:13, 19–20; 1 Ne. 11:14–15:30; Alma 8:14–18).”

“President Joseph F. Smith gave us some insight about angels who minister to those on the earth: ‘When messengers are sent to minister to the inhabitants of this earth, they are not strangers, but from the ranks of our kindred, friends, and fellow-beings and fellow-servants.’[2]

Most of the time I felt the influence of an angel—a spirit who has passed from this life to the next, it has been my mother. My mother died of breast cancer in 1964 when I was 20 years old. I think the times I have felt her spirit it was at the times she would have comforted me if she had been alive.

The first time I felt the influence of my mother was in 1980 when my siblings got together for a family reunion in Utah and all of us (except my youngest brother) went to the Ogden Temple together as a family for the first time. As we waited in the chapel, I felt an uncharacteristic sadness descend on me, and I began to cry. Everyone kept asking me if I was okay, and I kept saying, yes, I was fine. I felt sadness, it was true—but it wasn’t me—I was very happy to be there with everyone. Once we left the chapel and began the temple session, the sadness was gone. My one sister whispered to another (as I was told as we got outside the temple), “Maybe mother is telling Beth that something bad is going to happen to one of us.” That thought had never occurred to me.

However, less than two months later, I was diagnosed with invasive breast cancer, the same cancer as my mother had, at the same age as my mother had been diagnosed—36 years of age. As I came out of the anesthesia after my first mastectomy, I saw my mother’s face; but she wasn’t sad or feeling sorry for me. I saw her as she had been when she had been in pain and suffering. I saw her thin lips stretched with pain as she said, “I hurt.” I felt her pain and I thought, “Yes, Mother, I hurt also, but I can be as strong as you. I will make it through this just as you did.” I would open my eyes and see the medical people helping me, but then I would close my eyes and see my mother again, and know she was there with me, strengthening me, and loving me. It is interesting that she would “comfort” me in a way that did not allow me to pity myself, but in a way that strengthened my determination to be like her—strong and overcome the cancer.

>The next time I felt my mother’s spirit was as a young mother. As my younger sisters married and had children, we often turned to each other for advice, but many times I’d wish I had my mother around to ask questions and talk to. When I had my second child, a daughter Athena, 20 months after my first, she was as different as night from day as my first born. Athena was a fussy eater, and would nurse for a minute, wiggle and look around, eventually get back to nursing and wiggle again. She wouldn’t cry; she just wasn’t interested in eating.

Athena was hyperactive, didn’t sleep much and she was never still. Holding her was like holding a pack of monkeys. She was the cutest, adorable little baby, but she drove me crazy. I had imagined a sweet, doll-like daughter to dress up. I dreamed of a daughter who would coo at me, and I had a fidgety, squirming bundle of nerves who was never still. Getting her dressed was a 20-minute gymnastic trick and laying still and cooing was something she may have done in her sleep—if she ever slept. She didn’t nurse well, and when she did, she threw up everything—projectile vomiting. For the first year, I smelled like sour milk and I didn’t dare try to feed her any solid food.

One day in Mineral Wells Texas where we were living, my older toddler son was playing happily and my daughter was going 100 miles per hour. Exhausted, I put her in the playpen, and sat down on the couch and broke down in tears. Suddenly I could see my mother standing across the room by my daughter.

“Oh, Beth, I knew Athena’s special spirit before she came to earth! I knew how difficult it would be for you to understand her,” I felt her voice say.

I jerked my head up and stared at the playpen. There was no one, especially my long-deceased mother, standing by the playpen where my daughter was trying to climb out and I had thought I saw. I was sure I was going crazy. Not only was I a bad mother, now I was crazy, besides. I put my head in my hands and began to cry harder.

With my eyes closed, I saw my mother’s smile—she was almost laughing as she gazed at the baby. “Your daughter is such a special spirit, Beth. She and I were good friends in the pre-existence. When I knew you were going to be her mother, I knew it would be like it was between us—you two would struggle to understand each other because you are both so different in personality, just as we were. When you were little, I often wondered if you were from Mars because we were so unalike. But just as we loved each other, you and Athena will love each other and learn from each other!”I jerked my eyes open and although I couldn’t see my mother with my human eyes, I could feel her love and her laughter. I knew she was there in the room with me, comforting me and playing with my tiny daughter. I cried more, but it wasn’t tears of discouragement, but of happiness and love, as I picked up my squirming daughter. I held her and looked around the room, wondered just where my mother was as Athena kept trying to crawl over my shoulder to reach something behind me, then she would turn around and almost leap out of my arms grasping for something in front of me.

I often felt my mother near me during the years I was raising my children, especially during those times when I became exasperated and felt I couldn’t take it another moment. Then I would remember that day in Mineral Wells, and shut my eyes and know that my mother was not far away, even if I couldn’t see her, helping me.

It was only lately that I realized that the two years that my husband was in Vietnam when I was alone, I am sure my mother was with me, especially the second time when I had the three little ones, and Marlowe the oldest turned three just before the youngest was born. I had often felt so proud of myself for being so self-sufficient and taking care of myself during those difficult years. Whenever my daughters would call and complain about their husbands being gone for a day or two and how they couldn’t take care of their babies for a night alone, I’d pat myself on the back and say, “I was alone for a year with three little ones and NO ONE to help me, and I was fine.”

Recently the thought struck me very forcefully that I hadn’t been alone. I am sure my mother was with me, helping me every day. I remember the day I brought Marc home from the hospital as a new born baby. I had lost a lot of blood and was anemic after Marc’s birth and Aunt Wilma came to visit me. After she left I felt so overwhelmed; I cried and cried wondering how I could take care of my three little ones by myself with no one to help me—no one to spell me when I was tired or sick. I remember kneeling down and praying with all my heart for the Lord to help me so I could do it. The next morning, I felt strong and knew that I could do it. I am sure my mother was with me and helping me with the kids. I know I couldn’t have done it by myself.

Another time I felt the power of spirits was while I was working for the school district in the 2000s after I had acute pericarditis. I had had fluid around my heart, which they drained. Despite massive amounts of prednisone, the fluid reoccurred, and the doctors were planning on draining it again. Then my rheumatologist suggested that I take “hydroxychloroquine” a medication used for lupus and rheumatoid arthritis. This medication helped reduce the fluid, but the lining of the heart was still very inflamed and sensitized.

For months I still had episodes when inflammation would occur in the lining around the heart or occasionally around the lungs. When it occurred around the lungs, it was called pleurisy and was extremely painful; when it occurred around the lining of the heart, the doctor called it pericarditis and it was just as painful. I was still very weak from the acute attack, and the lupus, and an inflammation was usually set off when I became too stressed or tired. However, I was still trying to work full time and my youngest son was still in junior high school.

It was during this stressful time, when I felt overcome with life, that I started having the feeling that someone was behind me, especially at school when I was feeling I couldn’t do my job. I sensed that if I could just look over my shoulder or turn fast enough, I could see who was there. I wasn’t frightened of whoever was there; in fact I knew they were there to help me. One day I was at Morgan Elementary School; the lab where I was working was empty and I was frustrated because I was trying to fix some computers. Suddenly I felt that same feeling come over me so strongly. This time I knew it was my Grandmother Hendrickson who was in the room with me. I just stood there with my eyes shut and felt her love wash over me. She felt my pain; she knew how hard it was to keep going when you felt like you just couldn’t go another hour. I wasn’t alone. Another time I felt it was my Grandfather Hendrickson’s spirit there in the school with me; I had never known him as he had passed away long before I was born. But the few times I felt his spirit comfort me as I struggled with the pain and discouragement while working in the school, I felt uplifted. He had worked as a custodian at a school in Brigham City and had arthritis in his knee. I felt that he too, knew my struggle.

Eventually I recovered from my pericarditis and the attacks became further and further apart. Soon, the feeling that someone was behind me and the sense I had of my Grandmother and Grandfather’s spirit being near was gone.

There are many accounts of angels assisting people on earth; the pioneers of the Martin Willey Handcart Company felt the angels were pushing their handcarts when they were too weak to do so. There was the account of the Cokeville, Wyoming school where an armed couple took more than 160 teachers and children hostage 25 years ago and blew up the school. A recent account in the Deseret News http://www.mormontimes.com/article/20817/Cokeville-miracle-marking-25-years mentions just one account of the children who saw angels in the school that day, “Glenna Walker’s children saw a ‘beautiful lady’ who told them to go near the window right before the explosion. When looking at a picture in a locket later, one of the children identified the lady as Walker’s deceased mother.”

My sister Coleen died a number of years ago. When she was in the final stages of her life, her husband Lloyd would sit at her side and talk to her about things. Coleen told him stories about our Mother and her last days and how close Coleen felt to her then. Lloyd asked Coleen if she thought mom had been there when they were raising their children. Coleen said she was sure Mother had been there. Lloyd asked how Coleen knew. Coleen said, “Because Mother is sitting in the corner nodding her head yes!”

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[1] (Dahl 1988)

[2] (Smith 1970, 435-36)

Dahl, Larry E. ""I Have a Question" Is there any truth to the idea that we have guardian angels who watch over and protect us?" Ensign, March 1988.

Smith, Joseph F. Gospel Doctrine. Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1970.

“Your Son Needs You!”

Fay Hansen died on a warm June night in 1980.

He was recovering from his second coronary bypass when he had a fatal reaction to the morphine administered to him for pain. He felt his heart go wild, then collapse in on itself. One minute he was struggling vainly to quiet his racing heart, panicked and afraid; the next moment, overwhelming peace and relief wiped away the terror. One minute doctors and nurses were fussing and fretting, trying to stabilize him; the next, the room was full of old friends and relatives in white.

Fay saw his father first, smiling in the warm, loving way he always had. Fay realized then that he had died in the frantic moments that his heart was out of control, because his father had departed life nearly a half century before.

"You've come for me," Fay thought as he recognized familiar faces of friends and family who had died many years before. "I am through with this life." It was an overwhelming peace that enveloped Fay, a wonderful relief from the pain that was his constant companion.

"Are you ready to go?" Fay's father asked him.

The thought of leaving the pain, the struggles behind seemed so inviting that Fay wanted with all his heart to say "Yes." But something nagged at him. There was something that was not yet done.

"Haven't you forgotten something?" Fay's father asked gently. Fleeting thoughts of all seven of his children raced through his mind. Six were married with families of their own. His youngest daughter, Ann, although unmarried, was doing well and was active in the Church.

With instant clarity, a nagging feeling of what was left undone overwhelmed Fay. If he left the earth at this moment, what would happen to his youngest son? This son had been given the name of his grandfather, the big, kindly man standing before Fay. Will was a good man, but he had become estranged in a subtle way from the rest of the family.

"Will is not very close to the family." Fay told his father. "I can't do any more to reach him." Fay looked in vain among the crowd for the wife who had died nearly twenty years before. He could see old friends from half a century before, his brother, his cousin. However, he could not see his first wife among the individuals in white.

"Your son needs you," Fay's father gently reminded him.

Fay thought of this youngest son, who was so like the grandfather whom he had been named after. He was kind, thoughtful, reserved, and very friendly. There was no outright break from the family, but ever since Fay had married (a second time) to Donna, who had eight children of her own, Will had gone his own way.

"Are you really ready to leave this earth?" Fay's father asked him, his eyes searing Fay to the soul. "Are you ready to leave things as they are at this moment?" As much as Fay wanted to shrug off the pain, sorrow, and struggles that had been his life, he knew that he'd be leaving work undone. And Fay was not one to shirk away from duty.

"But what can I do to unite my family?" Fay asked. "What more can I do that I have not already done?" Fay's thoughts bubbled up like a pot boiling over, but as they struck the tall man facing him, they fizzled and evaporated. Would Fay be happy if he left things as they were that day? No. He knew—as tempting as the prospect appeared—it wasn't right.

"Can I have more time? Can I try again to find the way to strengthen my family?" The thoughts came unbidden to Fay's mind as his father smiled back at him with a joy that filled the room. Suddenly the room full of people dressed in white vanished.

Overwhelming pain enveloped Fay like a damp, heavy cloth, smothering the peace he'd felt so recently. Voices and noises scattered the lingering remnants.

"I have a heartbeat," a woman's voice cried triumphantly.

Fay tried in vain to capture again the fleeting image of his father smiling in the old familiar way, but it was gone.

"Fay, you old rascal," he recognized the intensive care doctor calling to him from afar. "You sure gave us a good scare that time." Reluctantly Fay opened his eyes to the familiar hospital room.

"We almost lost you that time," the nurse said, smiling, her stethoscope pressed against his aching chest. "Your heart became arrhythmic and went out of control. But you're back."

The constant pain shrouded Fay until he prayed for the oblivion of sleep. But he couldn't lose the urgency that there was something important he needed to do. Something he couldn't forget again. Several times during the recovery which had been only temporarily halted by his anaphylactic reaction to the morphine, Fay almost forgot what he still had to do.

Several times when he felt it had slipped away from him, he'd open his eyes and see two white figures standing by the window. They would smile at him, and again he would feel their love reach across the room to him. He would then remember his son, Will, and know that he, too, must reach out in love to him.

When his wife, Donna, arrived and heard about the incident wherein Fay had died, she clucked over him like a mother hen. Fay then shared with her what had happened to him during the frantic few minutes he had been clinically "dead."

"There is something important I need to do," Fay explained. "We haven't been all together as a family for years. It is important that we do so." Two months later Fay's seven children and their families gathered together in Mueller Park for a short reunion. Will and Lois laughed with the others and the family drew closer than they had for a long time.

Surprisingly, that was not the end of the story. There was another chapter that did not come out until 12 years later at another family reunion—this one at Fish Lake in Southern Utah.

At a family testimony meeting Fay and Donna testified of our ancestors love for all the family. The story was told of the night Grandpa William Hansen came and reminded Fay that his “son” that needed him.

Then Dale, (Donna’s youngest son) asked if he could tell his side of the same story. Tears shown in his eyes as he explained that at the time of Fay's “death,” Dale was serving as a missionary in Argentina. Donna's younger children had accepted Fay with open hearts when he had married her. Surprisingly, Dale had grown closer to Fay than to his own father.

When Dale left on his mission, he had been concerned about Fay’s health, which wasn’t very good. Donna had promised to keep him informed of any problems. Soon afterward, Fay underwent his first coronary by-pass, and Donna had sent a telegram to Dale. The message about Fay's surgery and recovery took so long to reach Dale that when the second coronary by-pass was scheduled, Donna decided not to worry Dale until it was all over.

Dale, however, didn't need a letter or telegram to know that Fay was very ill and that he might die. The same day Fay had his surgery, Dale had awoke from a vivid dream wherein he saw Jenny, Fay's deceased first wife, and others waiting to welcome Fay into the spirit world. Dale recognized Jenny though he had never met her in this life, and knew that she was eagerly awaiting Fay’s arrival.

The fear that Fay would die upset Dale so much that he asked his missionary companion to join him in a special fast and prayer. Dale pleaded with the Lord to spare Fay. He explained that he had just learned to appreciate Fay as the father he'd never had before then. He cried that he still had many activities—fishing, hunting—that he wanted to do with Fay. During a long, anxious day Dale and his companion worried and prayed. That night Dale received a confirmation of the spirit, that the Lord had heard his plea and that Fay would be spared. He felt peace that Fay would be fine.

It was very late that evening, (not weeks later, as before) when Dale received a telegram that told him that Fay had had another coronary surgery. Donna explained in the telegram that although there had been some problems, Fay was recovering. Dale was never told that Fay had died after the surgery, or that he had experienced a visit from his father while he was clinically dead.

On that starlit night around a campfire in 1992, tears flowed as Dale recalled the experience he had endured at the time of Fay’s “death.” He shared his immense feeling of gratitude that his prayer had been answered; that Fay had been spared because “his son” needed him.

Which son needed Fay that night when his heart stopped? Perhaps both. Only Fay’s father knows—and he can’t tell us.

Incident in the South China Sea--1971

A Veteran's Day Experience told by Edward, Major, Retired, U.S.A. Army

How are we influenced and are we really listening when our Heavenly Father is talking to us? Who is directing us during this time frame? While I was in Vietnam I had several experiences when I knew I was being prompted by our Heavenly Father. One took place when I was Operations Officer at Chu Lai in April 1971.

Since I was an Instructor Pilot, I’d been given a mission to give a checkride one day. In Vietnam checkrides were given every six months or whenever a pilot was made an aircraft commander. What you did on a checkride was to take the pilot through all the emergency procedures, all routine procedures, make sure they were able to handle the aircraft, see if their judgment was good, and if they were capable of flying the missions they were assigned to fly.

When we got out to the aircraft that morning, the aircraft that I was originally assigned to give the checkride in was restricted from doing running landings which was normally one of our procedures. However, as an I.P. (Instructor Pilot) I could wave that particular portion of the checkride if I wanted to. But I felt, “No, I want to give this particular individual the running landing.”

So I talked to another aircrew that was getting ready to go out on a regular mission that day, and their aircraft was okay for running landings, so we coordinated with maintenance officer to see if there was any problem with swapping aircrafts. He consented to letting us go ahead and swap aircraft.

We took off on the checkride, and everything was perfectly normal—no problems whatsoever. The airfield where I gave the checkride was located right next to South China Sea, and as we were downwind over the sea, all of a sudden there was a loud bang and the aircraft swung violently to the right. I thought initially, we had had a midair collision with an aircraft coming up off the airfield who had taken off and hit us in the back of the aircraft. In my mind, I visualized the aircraft on fire, falling into the ocean and exploding. I grabbed the controls from the young pilot and headed the aircraft for the beach.


Now, normally when you have things like this happen, emergency procedures are to reduce the throttle and make an auto rotation down. However, this time, for some reason, I did not do this. I did the exact opposite. I did not reduce the throttle—I kept it full open. I kept all the power that I had, that the engine could produce, applied to the rotor system. Why I did this I don’t know. I just did it. I can’t say that I was told to do it, or directed to do it. It was just one of those things that for some reason, I did. I kept the full throttle applied.



We made the beach. When we landed, I turned aircraft to land on a steep slope—a 25 degree slope. Usually you can't make a landing on a 25 degree slope in that particular aircraft. How I did it, I don’t have any idea. I just know I did. One skid was in the water, the other skid on the beach. That’s how close it came to going in the water. When the collective pitch was reduced, as the skids touched the beach, the rotor blades came to an immediate stop. Fortunately because of where we were and my extraordinary actions, both the other pilot and I were safe.


When maintenance checked the engine, they discovered that transmission oil was lost due to blown seals, resulting in internal failure of the transmission. The pieces of the transmission were ground into small magnetized metal, pieces of which I still have.
href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4yjun0Zxwp2iUGG9UFK78qTz01X1Tq_KUQtt1zmMMwYeMDRRgSxwde30N02Keqre1vELQIwq18iqyD6MV-XCT_1kNT__vLqAkacR2eKpE0IbP9YfDnyPn3YcrEqhc6AYBVylXeLQI0_Y/s1600/helicopter+report2+%2528Medium%2529.bmp">Now, if this aircraft, originally scheduled for another mission had gone on its original mission, there’s a very good possibility that the 10 to 14 people aboard (it would have been a loaded aircraft) would not have been as fortunate as we had been. If that aircraft had gone out flying out over the mountains, in very rough terrain, with virtually no landing areas available for them, when the transmission had seized up, there is little chance that they could have landed safely.

Maybe I was just a tool in the hand of our Heavenly Father; if we had not swapped aircraft most likely everybody on that other aircraft would have been killed. By swapping aircraft, I was very fortunate in being exactly where I was in the situation where I was in, to land the aircraft safely.

Our Father in Heaven does give guidance to us. We may not recognize that guidance comes from our Father in Heaven. At the time that this occurrence happened, I would not have said that I had had a vision like Moses did with the burning bush or that I heard a voice like Moses heard coming out of the bush telling him to do this or not to do this. But looking back on it, I know the promptings of the spirit were coming to me. I know that I was being given guidance and direction on what to do. I know that I was being looked after by our Father in Heaven. I know that our Father in Heaven guides us and directs us, and helps us in these things.