A Pivotal Moment

by Spencer Michael

There are a few pivotal moments in life. Those times when you look back and see a situation for what it really was and how your loving Heavenly Father and Savior’s guidance made you what you are at present. This was a powerful experience for me, which I’m eternally grateful for. I’ll admit to getting caught up in memory as I wrote it; feel free to skip to the last twelve paragraphs if I wax too strongly for your appreciation.

In the year of our Lord, 1997, one of these pivotal moments happened for me. High school graduation had happened the year before (don’t age discriminate), and it was a time of change. I lived with my maternal grandparents during high school, helping them as they helped me in sage ways. I’d gained several great friends during that time, and they became like family. So much so that after a short summer of resume growth as a Pinkerton security guard for the Trojan Powder Company, an explosives plant south of Provo, UT, I bought an International Scout II, a new snowboard, and drove an interesting interstate 80 drive back to live with them. No job. I was 18 and had all the answers, so who needed a job. Ya, people who need to pay rent, but we’ll get to that. (By the way, the explosion of 2006 at the Trojan Powder Company had nothing to do with me.)

There I was in the illustrious Denver, Colorado suburb of Arvada. Christian, one of my good friends, still living at home, had volunteered his basement for me to live in for $250/month in rent. I bought a metal futon to sleep on, they were the rage at the time, but turned out to be less comfortable than the concrete floor, which always seemed mildly damp. My multi cardboard box shelving unit used to organize my decadent wardrobe was a great feature, and my bass amp served as an excellent nightstand for the borrowed lamp that Chris’s mom had lent me.

As summer turned into fall, the next few weeks turned out to be a perfect time for one on one discussions with my friends as they were mostly all taking a year off, as I was, before college to make some much-needed coin. We would stay up all hours discussing philosophy at Denny’s as only knowing teenagers can, occasionally, stopping by the “sev” (7-11) on the way home to end the night by metabolizing some Chili-Cheese Fritos, Nachos, or other healthy options from the supplier of wholesome goodness.

During one of these nightly treks home, I held the door open for a venerable ancient woman to which she remarked on my manners, thanked me, and asked if I needed anything. I said I was “cool,” then jokingly adding, “unless you know of a place, I could get employment.”

Turns out she did. She’d just graduated with her master’s and worked in the finance department of a plumbing supply warehouse called George T Sanders. She knew the warehouse proper was looking for a puller and stocker, lovingly referred to as PUK’s. She gave me the number for the HR manager and told me she’d put in a good word. I called the next day, and indeed, she had put in a good word as I got the job on the spot.

Dressed to the nine’s in my blue jeans, vans, t-shirt, and hoodie, I started the 1st day by pulling lavs (toilet bowls) off pallets and putting them on shelves. All-day. Seriously. The job paid $7.50 an hour, and that my friends, was the cheddar, as most of my comrades were only making $7 an hour. Only two weeks before I left this job did I get word that most puk’s got pulled onto plumbing crews and made $9 as assistant apprentices. For the record, I do not consider it a missed opportunity.

Prosperous employment at George T continued through the fall into the winter and spring before I finally started evaluating my life and the Groundhog Day it had become. I would regularly call home to talk to my wonderful Mother, who was always interested in checking in with me for some reason. I had vented my boredom to her, and she told me one night, “Spence, why don’t you go on a mission and grow spiritually by serving the Lord?” delivered in a loving and non-admonished way as a question. See, my mom had always been in my corner and had always been the person championing me. So when she said that to me, I took stock. Born under the covenant, raised by goodly parents (by the way, it took me a few reads to understand Nephi never said “perfect parents”… ) it impacted me when she asked me this serious question.

After some pondering, I decided to read the Book of Mormon and get a firm answer, as I felt that I needed something concrete to determine that I’d devote two years of my life. If you know me, I don’t like doing things halfway… can’t do things halfway is more accurate. I was conscious of this at that age and knew that it would not be a lasting decision unless I built it on rock. I started with the simple goal that I’d test Moroni’s promise that if you read the Book of Mormon and sincerely pray about it, you’ll obtain an answer. So, read read read read and seven days later I’d finished… at about 3 am. As soon as I was done, I hit my knees and began a prayer, and what happened next… I woke up to my alarm, and I was late for George T.

Folding up my scriptures and pulling my knees from the damp concrete I’d decided to sleep on as my head rested on the futon. I ran to the bathroom and brushed my teeth while changing clothes. The Scout had gone bust at this point, so I had to sprint to the bus to make it. I got into work about 30min late after missing the regular bus line and began putting up stock immediately to assure that I didn’t get behind. It was mid-day during lunch that I had the chance to escape with my sandwich and sit amongst the unused lavs that I again had to stock after my break.

As I sat there, I began thinking about the night before, and I prayed. And nothing. Nothing immediately happened. I was disappointed. Time for lunch was over, and I got to work putting up the lavs again and thought about the investment that I’d made of reading, the early morning seminary, and all the Sundays, and my 18-year-old self got mad. I’d done it, everything I was asked, and where were the promised results? I fell to my knees out of habit that loving parents had instilled and asked why I could not have an answer.

It was here, at George T Sanders in Arvada, Colorado. Kneeling on warehouse concrete, again, among toilets and other plumbing fixtures, the Lord changed my heart instantly. The despair, disappointment, and anger of injustice were all supplanted with love. Not kitty, bunny, love, but the love you can only feel from a Heavenly Father. Immediately overcome with excitement and emotion, I heard the spirit as a voice in my mind testifying of the Savior, His Church, the doctrine, the restoration, and so many other things all at once.

This experience changed my life. There have been many other sacred experiences that have shaped it before and since, but this was a pivotal moment in my life where the Lord’s hand was evident. I’ll always be grateful for the parents I have that taught me the gospel and to be kind to others. I bear my testimony of our Lord and his hand in our lives. Our Heavenly Father knows you and me and is involved in assuring that we grow into our fullest potential. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.