Gospel Story Finder

Later in my life, the missionaries came and shared the plan of salvation with me. I received a testimony of the truth and was so thrilled at what I was learning that from that day forward I had no problem in my conviction to keep the Sabbath day holy—but the practice of doing so was not always easy.
I was married at the time I began meeting with the missionaries and my husband did not share my enthusiasm for the Church—yet he was a good man with high principles and a Lutheran background. But I was challenged on how to stay true to my Sabbath day convictions without causing grief and discord within my family. During this “wilderness” time for me I received important advice that my family was most important and that I should do whatever I could to keep us together.
Baptism was withheld from me and so I did not have the constant companion of the Holy Spirit to guide me. But I loved my family and so I embarked on a course to stay true to honouring the Sabbath whenever possible and where I could, yet allowing myself to join in my husband’s social activities if he planned these on the Sabbath—without complaint. These activities were mostly contained within our circle of friends and sometimes they involved business or public functions.
Even after South Africa no longer adhered to keeping the Sabbath day holy, I chose never to fill my car with fuel or purchase household or personal goods on the Sabbath, something that was encouraged by my husband. An activity that my husband did enjoy was watching Formula One motor racing on TV on a Sunday afternoon and he wanted me to share his interest, which I did. Our home was generally peaceful on the Sabbath and we both liked to listen to good classical music and which I intermingled with sacred music. I also found, when it was appropriate to my conditions, to keep my Sunday dress on. This helped me mentally choose fitting activities and behaviour while staying in harmony with my family circumstances.
I had challenges at first in going to church and chose to attend only sacrament meeting and Sunday School—so as not to be away from home for too long. On Saturdays I always pre-­prepared a good Sunday meal and any animosity from my husband at my Sunday absence from home was soon forgotten. This was the pattern of my life for 22 years and there was in the end a greater harmony and acceptance of my limited Sabbath day values, but fully integrated in our lifestyle. Eventually, heartened by my husband’s changing attitude, my journey in the Church culminated in my baptism. Now I could have the companion of the Spirit to help guide me in the future.

One of the most touching events I have ever witnessed took place at the auction three years ago. We had sat most of the day on aluminum bleachers, listening to the auctioneer’s bark, the crowd’s babble, and the animals’ bleating, mooing, and squealing. Suddenly we heard another sound—the wind pelting a freezing rain against the building.
Soon, in addition to parents and extended family attending the auction, we had many other people seeking shelter inside the metal livestock pavilion. They were quite surprised to find an auction taking place. Most were from the big city of Las Vegas and had never experienced a real animal auction before. They apparently found the auction entertaining, and a few even bid on animals. Of course, after the auctioneer explained that the price was per pound, the bidding slowed considerably.
Our boys’ pig came up for auction, and I remember feeling quite relieved when it was sold. All I could think of was getting home, away from the people, the noise, and the smell. It was still raining outside, so while I waited for my brother-in-law to get the car, I listened involuntarily to the auctioneer as he started the bidding on lambs.
A young girl brought out her lamb, and the bidding commenced. I don’t remember the exact amount, but I do remember thinking, “That’s a lot of money for a lamb.” Then a most amazing thing happened. The auctioneer explained that the person who had purchased the lamb was donating it back to the little girl to be resold. He went on to explain that this little girl’s father, who normally would have been there with her, was in the hospital. He had cancer, and the prognosis was not good. The family had no medical insurance, and the father was their sole support.
What happened next will burn in my mind and heart forever.
The bidding resumed, and again the little lamb was sold for an unheard-of amount of money. Again the lamb was donated back to be resold. About that time my brother-in-law returned, wet and windblown, but I couldn’t move. I told him something remarkable was happening, and though I tried, I could not stop my tears.
That lamb was sold again and again, and all those people, many of them from the city, were bidding and giving donations for that local family.
As I stood there in amazement, I couldn’t help but think of another lamb—not one that was sold again and again to benefit just one family, but One who allowed Himself to be sacrificed for all of God’s children. It seemed fitting that Easter was just around the corner. The Spirit bore witness to me that day of the significance of sacrifice in behalf of others and the importance of community.

During the second match of his senior season, middle blocker Mark Fletcher of Desert Vista High School in Phoenix, Arizona, leaped high into the air, just as he had in so many volleyball games before. But this time when he landed, something went horribly wrong.
“You could hear the bone snap,” he recalls. “There was no question my leg was broken.” He had suffered a near compound fracture of the tibia and shattered the fibula in his leg. The next two weeks were filled with heartache, both in the hospital and then recovering at home. “I kept thinking about the years of practice and training, the hopes for a winning season,” he says. “It was tough.”
His father read two scriptures to him, Doctrine & Covenants 121:7 and 122:7, and told him that this would give him experience and be for his good. Mark also remembered reading in 2 Nephi 2:11 that there must be opposition in all things. “I figured something good could come out of this, so I might as well figure out what it was.” The answer was to focus on helping others rather than wondering why he had been hurt himself.
Coach Ryan Tolman, who is also a Latter-day Saint, kept Mark practicing with the team daily and assigned him to work with younger players, who could benefit from his experience. Call it service of a different kind. Team members adjusted by playing in different positions; Mark adjusted by offering encouragement. Even though the season didn’t turn out as great as everyone had hoped, Desert Vista still qualified for the playoffs.
As the last home match approached, Coach Tolman asked Mark to serve the first serve. With a pin in his leg but strong enough to participate, Mark practiced over and over. “I didn’t want to just hit it into the net,” he explains. “I was praying the whole time.”
When the game began, he limped to the line and then hit the ball so precisely the other team couldn’t return it. The coach left him in. Mark couldn’t move around the court, so his teammates had to cover balls that came his way. With the score 9-0, Mark finally lost service and left to a standing ovation. He limped to the bench and continued to cheer for his team.
Three weeks later, Desert Vista High School won the state championship, the lowest-seeded team ever to do so. In the official photo, teammates asked Mark to hold the trophy. Then at the annual awards ceremony, the coach announced a new award to be given each year in Mark’s honor: the Teammate Award, presented to the player who exemplifies courage, dedication, and team spirit.
Today, Mark is serving full-time in the Brazil Manaus Mission. “What I learned in volleyball was that the scriptures are true,” he concludes. “Without misery, you don’t know happiness. So if life hands you something bitter, look for a way to make it sweet.”
Mark Fletcher and his brother, Matt, were featured in the article “Brothers” in the May 2007 New Era.

For a time he lived in the home of Joseph Smith and relates this incident: “During the winter that I boarded with Brother Joseph … we had a number of prayer meetings, in the Prophet’s chamber. … In one of those meetings the Prophet told us, ‘If we would humble ourselves before God, and exercise strong faith, we should see the face of the Lord.’ And about midday the visions of my mind were opened, and the eyes of my understanding were enlightened, and I saw the form of a man, most lovely, the visage of his face was sound and fair as the sun. His hair a bright silver grey, curled in a most majestic form; His eyes a keen penetrating blue, and the skin of his neck a most beautiful white and he was covered from the neck to the feet with a loose garment, pure white: Whiter than any garment I have ever before seen. His countenance was most penetrating, and yet most lovely. And while I was endeavoring to comprehend the whole personage from head to feet it slipped from me, and the vision was closed up. But it left on my mind the impression of love, for months, that I never before felt to that degree.” (John Murdock, An Abridged Record of the Life of John Murdock, p. 26.)

Eight years after his baptism, Luciano was called as president of the Lingayen stake. Like most Philippine Church leaders, President de Guzmán has no car, no phone, and limited money for public transportation. He does have a bicycle. And at age fifty-nine, he rides it to his meetings and assignments—up to three hours round-trip. He carries a sack lunch with him because, he says, “I don’t want to impose on members for lunch.”

Pedaling on congested Philippine highways can be dangerous. But, says President de Guzmán, “As I am working in the Lord’s service, he protects me.” One time, a bus was overtaking a jeepney, and the president—on his bicycle—was caught in the middle. “Everyone thought I was going to be killed,” he says. “But then, it was as if a great wind lifted me up and swept me out of the way of the bus. The bicycle was not destroyed, and I was not hurt. The people were surprised when they saw me alive. I was surprised, too!”

The missionaries did reap an important harvest in Ohio. En route west, they had visited Sidney Rigdon, a former Campbellite preacher and friend of Parley P. Pratt. At first skeptical, Rigdon studied the Book of Mormon, invited the missionaries to address his congregation, and soon asked for baptism. So did about 130 other persons in the area. Rigdon would not be satisfied until he met the Prophet. In December, he and a young hat maker, Edward Partridge, traveled together to the Smith home in Waterloo, New York, to meet Joseph Smith. The Prophet was impressed by Rigdon’s abilities and soon received a revelation stating that the Lord had prepared him “for a greater work” (D&C 35:3). The former preacher soon employed his oratorical skills in explaining the gospel to others. He soon began to serve as scribe to Joseph Smith in an inspired revision of the Bible and served as a counselor in the First Presidency.

When my father, Elwood Allred, was young, he helped his mother gather eggs. He would crawl under the granary to retrieve some of them—the hens loved to lay their eggs in that dark, tight area. One day after he’d gathered the eggs there and was starting to squeeze out, he heard his mother say, “Elwood, don’t come out the way you went in. Please come out the other side.”
“But Mom,” he protested. “Do I have to?”
“Please do it for me,” his mother replied. “I’ll meet you on the other side.”
My father wasn’t happy about it, but he obediently crawled through the spider webs and dark to the other side of the granary, where his mother swept him in her arms. “Thank you for being obedient,” she said. She took my father’s hand. “I want to show you something.”
Father and his mother walked to the spot where he would have crawled out, and Father was frightened to see a rattlesnake coiled up. Listening to his mother had most likely saved his life!
My father often shared that story with me, and I learned early in life the importance of being obedient! I always tried hard to listen to my parents because I knew that they understood and knew things that I didn’t. I knew, too, that they loved me and wanted only the best for me. I also recognized early that Heavenly Father loved me and wanted only what was best for me.

When fourteen-year-old Joseph Smith received his first vision in 1820, Charles Smith was a year old. But his life, like the lives of thousands of people in the British Isles during the nineteenth century, would be profoundly affected by that vision. As a young man, Charles heard the gospel message in his native England and became part of “the gathering to Zion.” He is one example of the faithful, though not famous, Saints who left their homes and came to Utah.
Charles was born July 10, 1819, in Ipstones, England. His parents, John and Ann Varley Smith, had six other sons and one daughter. Because Charles was not a strong child, he was apprenticed to a watchmaker. Children in England at that time did not have the opportunity to go to school unless their parents were very wealthy. Boys were apprenticed, or taught a trade, at an early age in exchange for their work. Sometimes they were only seven or eight years old.
In 1840, when Charles was twenty-one years old, he heard two Mormon missionaries preaching the gospel. He knew that what they were teaching was true, and he asked to be baptized. Charles was the only member of his family to join the Church. Not long after his baptism, Charles also became a missionary and was the companion of the missionary who baptized him! Charles served his mission in England and North Wales until 1843.
Later Charles and his fiancée, Sarah Price, said good-bye to their families and went to Liverpool, a seaport from which most of the Latter-day Saint emigrants embarked. They were married on shipboard after they set sail for Nauvoo. Although the trip across the Atlantic Ocean aboard the Equinox was long, the 572 Saints “arrived in full health and vigor, with not one soul lost, full of praise and thanksgiving to the God of Israel for his mercy in blessing them with a safe journey with no serious difficulty” (Journal of Charles Smith).
The company of Saints remained together on the second part of the trip, from New Orleans up the Mississippi River to Nauvoo. As their boat landed at Nauvoo on April 12, 1843, the Prophet Joseph was standing on the riverbank to welcome them! The next day he delivered an address to the new arrivals that was very comforting to them after their long journey.
Charles worked in a brickyard and as a watchmaker. He also had the opportunity to help build the temple. A musician all his life, Charles played the flute and the dulcimer, a stringed instrument something like a harp, in the Nauvoo Band.
Sarah and Charles were happy in Nauvoo and grateful that they had joined with the Saints. However, the Saints began to be persecuted by mobs. Charles and Sarah’s first son, John, was born in June, 1844, just a few weeks before the Prophet was martyred. John died in January of 1846 while the first group of Saints was preparing to leave Nauvoo for the West. A second son, Charles Edward, was born in August of that year, when the mobs were gathering to drive the rest of the Saints from Nauvoo.
Charles helped Mary Fielding Smith, Hyrum Smith’s widow, move her belongings across the river. He and Sarah and little Charles Edward spent the winter at Winter Quarters, then, in March, fit out for the trip West. In fitting out, Charles bought a yoke of oxen, a wagon, a cow, food, and other supplies. They left Iowa City in March, joining Isaac Higbee’s company, and entered the Salt Lake Valley in September, 1848.
The Smith family needed a home to live in, so Charles began making adobe bricks so that he could build a house. Charles also worked at his trade and was the first watchmaker in Salt Lake City.
Not long after the Smiths were settled in their new home, Charles Edward, who was two years old, fell into a pot of boiling water and was scalded to death. Of the nine children born to Sarah and Charles, only five lived to adulthood.
A second mission call came to Charles, and he returned to his homeland in 1852, leaving Sarah with a small daughter. He was thrilled to see his mother and family again. Still, none of them were interested in the Church.
Charles received another mission call in 1862. This time he was to take his family and help settle St. George, where he planted cotton, corn, peaches, and sorghum. St. George was a difficult place in which to live because it was very hot and dry. The pioneers tried many times to dam the Virgin River so that they could irrigate their farms, but each time a spring flood washed out the dam. At times Charles had to go back to Salt Lake City to work as a watchmaker for a while to earn enough money to feed his family. Finally, after ten years of his family’s living in a one-room house, he was able to build a larger home in St. George.
Throughout the trials that he and his family endured—the deaths of their children, persecutions of mobs, separation from his family during his three-year mission, and difficult living conditions—Charles remained faithful and enthusiastic about the gospel. A devoted student of the scriptures, he was second counselor to Bishop Henry Eyring in the St. George Second Ward. Later Charles served on the stake high council there for twenty-seven years, and he spent many years doing temple work. For the last five years of his life he was the patriarch of the St. George Stake.
His granddaughter Ethel Smith Matheson remembered him as a very gentle, soft-spoken man who always carried a pocketful of peppermints. His grandchildren always ran to him for a handout and a kiss. She recalled that for many years he climbed the steep stairs of the town clock in St. George to take care of the clockwork.
Charles Smith, like many other early converts to the Church, helped build the kingdom quietly and steadily. Because he listened to the missionaries and was willing to leave home and family, hundreds of his posterity have enjoyed the blessings of the gospel.

I want you to know how much I love this place. Not only do I get to teach here and associate with all of you; I also got a great education here, and the best thing that ever happened to me happened on this campus. Her name is Bonnie, and she's seated right behind me on the stand. We actually attended several devotionals together when we were students. I think we even held hands. As a matter of fact, I'm sure of it because I don't remember a single thing any of the speakers said. I was just so happy to be holding a girl's hand. I was living the dream--a returned missionary, at Ricks College, holding hands with the girl that I would someday marry. Now, 24 years, seven children, and almost one grandchild later, here we are at devotional again. She's my companion, my hero, and my very best friend.

I learned a great lesson from my father about priesthood authority and power.
I grew up in a home with a faithful mother and a wonderful father. My dad was not a member of our Church but still came to Church meetings with our family. He coached our ward softball team and helped with Scout activities.
As a boy I asked my dad many times each week when he was going to be baptized. My father replied each time, “David, I will join the Church when I know it’s the right thing to do.”
One Sunday I asked my dad when he was going to be baptized. He just smiled and asked me a question. “David, your church teaches that the priesthood was taken from the earth anciently and has been restored by heavenly messengers. If your church truly has the restored priesthood of God, then why are so many of the men in your church no different about doing their priesthood duty than the men in my church?”
My mind went blank. I had no answer for my dad.
I knew that men who hold the priesthood should act differently than other men. Priesthood holders should not only receive priesthood authority but also be faithful and worthy to exercise God’s power.
I decided I never wanted to be a poor example to my father. I simply wanted to be a good boy. The Lord needs all of us who hold the priesthood to be honorable, virtuous, and good boys at all times and in all places.
A number of years later, my father was baptized. I had the opportunity to confer upon him the Aaronic and the Melchizedek Priesthoods. One of the great experiences of my life was seeing my dad receive the authority and qualify for the power of the priesthood.

Last year we all watched in astonishment as Kenneth Rooks fell during the 2023 USA Track and Field 3,000-meter steeplechase championships. Put mildly, Rooks’s chances at that point didn’t look good. But the stumble became a change point in an unexpected direction. In an improbable turn of events, during the last lap Rooks pulled ahead and won the race in arguably one of the most dramatic comebacks in BYU track and field history. Many of us watched Rooks again this summer as he captured a silver medal at the Olympics in yet another thrilling race.

When asked on BYUtv where his drive comes from to surge to the head of the pack, Rooks said: “It’s just deep inside. . . . It’s a decision . . . to finish that race knowing that I had fought and had given it everything.”

I recall a situation that came to my attention while I was practicing law some years ago. It involved a very well-educated and initially successful physician. He had spent years gaining the education and training required for a very coveted and much sought after specialty in medicine.

Just when it seemed that he “had everything,” he attended a party where drugs were available and tampered with by many in attendance. With an air of abandonment—an attitude of “What will it hurt to give it a try”—he consented to an injection of a substance that his tempter said he would really enjoy.

Little did he realize that this would be the beginning of a nightmare that ultimately cost him his family, his practice, and his ability to function. He later admitted that when he took that first dare, so to speak, he knew that he was hopelessly addicted.

What a price to pay for such a moment of abandonment, a moment of thoughtlessness. Of course, not every case of addiction or promiscuity or a wasted lifestyle results from just one experiment or just one drink or just one immoral encounter, but unfortunately we are not able to determine just how strong we will be in a given situation or what effect harmful substances will have on us.

One of my early memories is reading the scriptures in a school room. The law of the land did not yet forbid it, so the Princeton, New Jersey, public schools began each school day with a standard ritual. I can’t remember the sequence, but I remember the content. In our classroom, we pledged allegiance to the flag—in unison, standing hand over heart. One student, a different one each school day, read verses he or she had chosen from the Bible, and then we recited aloud together the Lord’s Prayer.

So about every twenty-five school days, my turn came to choose the scripture. I always chose the same one, so my classmates must have known what was coming when it was my day. I don’t remember when I first heard the words; that is lost in the mists of childhood. But I can recite them to you now, and with them the feelings come back. It happened every time, and it still does:
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. [1 Corinthians 13:1–2]

You remember the rest, through that thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians. By the time I read the first few words, the feeling would come back. The feeling was not just that the words were true, but that they were about some better world I wanted with all my heart to live in. For me, the feeling was even more specific, and I knew it did not come from within me. It was that there would or could be some better life, and that it would be in a family I would someday have. In that then-distant future, I would be able to live with people in some better, kinder way, beyond even the best and the kindest world I had known as a boy.

Now, little boys don’t talk about such things, not to anyone. You might confide in someone that you wanted to play big league baseball someday. But you wouldn’t say that you knew someday you’d have a home where you would feel the way you felt when you heard the thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians. So I never talked with anyone about those feelings.

When I was eleven, my parents dropped me off at the Salt Lake City home of my great uncle Gaskell Romney. He was a patriarch and, because he was my father’s uncle, he could give me, a boy from the mission field, a patriarchal blessing. I don’t think he even sat down to visit with me. He didn’t know me except as my father’s son. He just led me through the house to a room where a recording device was on a table. He sat me down facing a fireplace, put his hands on my head, and began to give first my lineage and then a blessing.

He began to tell me about the home in which I would someday be the father. That’s when I opened my eyes. I know the stones in the fireplace were there because I began to stare at them. I wondered, “How can this man know what is only in my heart?” He described in concrete detail what had been only a yearning; but I could recognize it. It was the desire of my heart, that future home and family that I thought was secret. But it was not secret, because God knew.

Shortly after assuming the mantle of the prophet, President Smith sent Elder Ezra Taft Benson to Europe to oversee a massive relief effort provided by the Church.
In the October 1947 general conference, President Smith recalled going to Washington, D.C., to meet with U.S. President Harry S. Truman.
“When I called on him, he received me very graciously … and I said: ‘I have just come to ascertain from you, Mr. President, what your attitude will be if the Latter-day Saints are prepared to ship food, clothing, and bedding to Europe.’
“He smiled and looked at me, and said: ‘Well, what do you want to ship it over there for? Their money isn’t any good.’
“I said: ‘We don’t want their money.’
“He looked at me and asked: ‘You don’t mean you are going to give it to them?’
“I said: ‘Of course, we would give it to them. They are our brothers and sisters and are in distress. God has blessed us with a surplus, and we will be glad to send it if we can have the co-operation of the government.’”
That cooperation was quickly forthcoming in the form of railroad cars and shipping space. When the Church membership had received aid, President Smith directed tons of wheat be sent to nonmembers in Greece who were suffering from starvation. He had known poverty in his own youth and did all in his power to help those suffering from its effects. He could not rest while he knew of suffering; he could never be the victim of apathy.

Now, a year after her son’s death, Jesusita was still living in San Marcos. On the first Sunday in July 1916, the Saints held a testimony meeting, and each member of the branch bore witness of the gospel and the hope it gave them. Then, on July 17, the anniversary of the killings, they met together again to remember the martyrs. They sang a hymn about the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, and Casimiro Gutierrez read a chapter from the New Testament. Another branch member compared Rafael and Vicente to the martyr Stephen, who died for his testimony of Christ.6
Jesusita remained a pillar of faith for her family. “Our sorrows have been grievous,” she wrote in a letter, “but our faith is strong, and we will never forsake this religion.”7

Mother is “secretary of labor” for her home. She teaches the work ethic with its responsibilities and rewards. Father, too, shares that duty. I remember a hot Saturday afternoon years ago when one of our little daughters heard the chimes of an approaching ice-cream wagon. She asked me for some money. A bit heartlessly, I replied, “Sweetheart, why don’t you earn your money like everyone else does?” I’ll never forget her reply.

“But, Daddy,” she said, “I don’t like to work!” (Things are different now with four children of her own.)

When Joseph was about six or seven years old, he and his brothers and sisters were stricken with typhus fever. Although the others recovered readily, Joseph was left with a painful sore on his leg. The doctors, using the best medicine they had, treated him, and yet the sore persisted. In order to save Joseph’s life, they said, he would have to lose his leg. Thankfully, however, soon after that diagnosis, the doctors returned to the Smith home and reported that there was a new procedure which might save Joseph’s leg. They wanted to operate immediately and had brought some cord with which to tie little Joseph to the bed so that he wouldn’t thrash about, since they had nothing with which to dull the pain. Young Joseph, however, told them, “You won’t need to tie me.”

The doctors suggested he take some brandy or wine so that the pain might not be so severe. “No,” young Joseph replied. “If my father will sit on the bed and hold me in his arms, I will do whatever is necessary.” Joseph Smith Sr. held in his arms his small child, and the doctors removed the diseased piece of bone. Although young Joseph was lame for some time afterward, he was healed. At such a young age and countless other times throughout his life, Joseph Smith taught us courage—by example.

When I was young, my mother was the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in our family. Each Sunday she would go to church alone because my dad wanted his children to go to the Methodist Church. But my dad didn’t go to church at all.
Things changed in 1989. I was baptized, and within two months, my dad was baptized as well. He later became my bishop.
It was an amazing change for my dad, and I remember it very well. I now want to be like him. Here’s why.
Before my dad became a Church member, he was doing all the bad things of the world. He drank all the time. I saw my dad drunk. I saw him smoke. He just stayed home and watched TV. We weren’t very happy.
It’s totally different now. He’s very calm, and he talks to me about incorporating the teachings of the gospel into my life. Every night before we have our evening prayers, he talks to all of us about the gospel and its importance.
Before, we used to try to have evening prayers, but my dad wouldn’t participate. He didn’t seem to care. But now he makes it a priority that we all gather together each night to thank Heavenly Father.
It’s been great to see the changes in my family that the Church has brought. I know if my dad had gone on as he was before—smoking and drinking—I might have followed his example and felt that those were things I should do. And he couldn’t have told me to stop because he was doing them too.
But he’s a member of the Church, and because he lived that other life, he knows that it won’t bring me happiness.
My dad also stresses that since I’m the oldest son, my younger brothers and younger sister are looking up to me. He says they will follow me and I need to be a good example so they will follow me in righteousness. That’s what I’m trying to do.
It’s been a real blessing to me to have a father who honors the priesthood. He always talks to me about the priesthood before I give a talk or bless the sacrament. He reminds me that I’m a priesthood holder and that I should be thankful for the priesthood because not all men have it.
So many teenagers here in Western Samoa drink and smoke and do things they shouldn’t. My dad’s example is like a protection to me.
With my dad leading the way, it’s so much easier to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ. And for that I’m grateful.

Members from the Brandon Florida Stake, an area near Tampa, were on the phone with members in the Port Charlotte Ward as soon as they heard Port Charlotte was receiving the brunt of the storm. They arrived before relief workers had time to set up camp, so they began clearing the grounds around the meetinghouse using tools and machinery from the local Church farm. They then went to members’ homes to assess their needs.

All members in all areas of Florida were accounted for with no reports of injury, though some lost their homes. All missionaries were evacuated before the storm hit, but they later returned to help in the relief efforts. At least seven meetinghouses were damaged, but repairs are underway or already completed.

While the member volunteers helped clear people’s property, counselors from LDS Family Services in Salt Lake City were helping clear people’s minds. “In these abnormal situations a lot of what we do is reestablish family patterns and instill hope in the community,” Doug LeCheminant, program specialist for LDS Family Services, said. They have also helped in such situations as the September 11 tragedy and the Kosovo refugee crisis.

About nine months before Charlie died, he and his mother, Susan Addington, and younger brother Perry, then 10, moved to Malibu, California. “Charlie loved the ocean and wanted to be there to spend his last days.” When Charlie could, he went to his new ward, the Pacific Palisades Ward. It was there he met Cameron Carr, who was a few months younger and not yet a deacon.
“Charlie was a great friend,” Cameron says. “Something I remember most is how kind he was and how fun he was to be around. I would go over to his house after school a lot and on weekends too. We’d play games, listen to music, and just goof off. I remember the day Charlie was ordained a deacon and passed the sacrament. I sat in the aisle seat so that he’d pass to me. He did a great job. Two months later, I was ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood, and we were able to pass the sacrament together. That is something I will always remember.”
Charlie’s mother remembers vividly the day Charlie first passed the sacrament. “When he actually turned 12, and I saw him walk up on the stand and give the sacrament to the bishop, I just burst into tears. It was unbelievable. The priesthood was so important to him. He wanted to be a deacon. He loved the organization of it and was such an organized person anyway. He loved the way it was so reverent, and there was a pattern that determined which aisles to do first and how to alternate rows. That fascinated him for years. He wanted to wear a tie and a white shirt. He wanted to be there and see others fold their hands and bow their heads. He was in awe of the reverence of the sacrament ever since he was a small child.”