Gospel Story Finder

Elder Oaks faced a similar situation in 1984 following his call to the Twelve, as he again left a position and work that he loved as a supreme court justice in the state of Utah. However, this change was different.

In 1970, Elder Oaks reasonably might have thought he would return to his legal career following his service at BYU, which in fact he eventually did. But the call in 1984 was distinctive—a consecrated commitment of his whole soul and entire life to the Lord. The eternal importance and worldwide scope of his new responsibilities truly were overwhelming.

Elder Oaks described his innermost thoughts about this important transition:
“During this period of introspection, contemplating the way I would spend the rest of my life, I asked myself what kind of an apostle I would be. Would I be a lawyer who had been called to be an apostle, or would I be an apostle who used to be a lawyer? I concluded that the answer to this question depended upon whether I would try to shape my calling to my own personal qualifications and experience, or whether I would undertake the painful process of trying to shape myself to my calling.
“Would I try to perform my calling in the world’s ways, or would I try to determine and follow the Lord’s ways?
“I made up my mind that I would try to change myself to fit my calling, that I would try to measure up to the qualifications and spiritual stature of an apostle. That is a challenge for a lifetime.”1

It was a cold wintry Sunday morning, December 9, 1849. As thirty boys and girls stamped in from outdoors, they brushed the snow from their coats and hats and slapped their mittened hands together for warmth.
The children had been invited to come to the home of Richard Ballantyne to begin the first Sunday School ever held in the Salt Lake Valley. As he was building the adobe home, with its stone foundation and dirt roof, he had dreamed of the day when he could gather the neighborhood children around him and tell them the stories of Jesus.
The warmth from the stone fireplace was no brighter than the glow of welcome on the face and in the voice of Richard as he welcomed the children and asked them to take their places on the simple wooden benches he had made for them. When all were quietly seated, the tall bearded man conducted a song and then dedicated the room for the teaching of children.
Years later one of Richard’s daughters told of a dream he had had while still a young man. “He saw a large unfinished building,” she reported. “He saw a number of young boys playing in and around it. Then he saw an officer of the law after them, trying to catch them. One of the boys ran to my father. With a pitiful pleading look on his face, he cried, ‘Oh, teach me! Teach me!’ This dream made such a strong impression that it seemed to point out my father’s special work in life.”
Richard Ballantyne was born in Whitridgebog, Scotland, on August 26, 1817. His father died when Richard was only eleven years old. He was apprenticed to a baker to learn a trade to help support the family.
Richard was twenty-five and teaching a Sunday School class in the Presbyterian Church when he first heard the Mormon missionaries in a small town near Edinburgh. He was soon baptized. The next year he immigrated to America, where he met his wife. Together they traveled west to the Salt Lake Valley with the early pioneers.
For a year Sunday School was held every Sabbath morning in the Ballantyne home. From that simple beginning, Sunday Schools were organized in other areas and finally became a part of the general organization of the Church.
As he grew older, Richard often said, “I was early called to this work by the voice of the Spirit, and I have felt many times that I had been ordained to this work before I was born, for even before I joined the Church I was moved upon to work for the young.”

Elder F. Enzio Busche of the Quorum of the Seventy learned about peace when he was a boy. He says, “During World War II in my home country of Germany, I lived with my mother and four sisters far away from home in southern Germany in two very small, humble rooms. We had fled from our home because of the many air attacks that had destroyed our city and threatened our lives. My father was separated from us because he had been drafted into the army. And I was too young to understand the dramatic events happening around me during that terrible war.
“Lying in bed one night in the room I shared with two of my sisters, I remember an intense feeling of loneliness. …
“I was awake until early in the morning, and I was so overcome with despair that I began to cry. I wept and wept.
“Suddenly something changed. A comforting power enveloped me, and a small voice said to my soul, ‘You are My child. Have trust in Me.’
“Immediately joy and happiness filled my heart. All my fear, loneliness, and despair were changed into feelings of warmth and comfort. That night I learned for the first time that there is some unseen but loving Person who is concerned about me” (Blazer A manual, page 126–127).
Elder Busche experienced the peace that comes from the Lord.

“Can you tell me what talents Taylor has that I could share with the class?” my eight-year-old’s Primary teacher asked me. She had telephoned because Taylor’s class would be talking about talents they had received from Heavenly Father.
My mind went blank. I thought back over the past eight years, trying to come up with an answer. At four days old Taylor had suffered a stroke that left him with profound brain damage and an uncontrollable seizure disorder. He is unable to see, speak, or communicate. He has never progressed past a six-month-old child’s level of mental development. He spends most of his days in a wheelchair as we care for him and try to keep him comfortable.
We cheered when he learned to giggle or drink from a special cup, and we celebrated when he could stand and take a few steps. But while we cheered and celebrated on the outside, on the inside we wept with the realization that these small achievements were probably as significant as any Taylor would attain. Somehow I didn’t think this was what his Primary teacher wanted to hear.
I cleared my throat and uncomfortably answered, “Taylor really doesn’t have any talents that I can think of.”
This kind sister then forever altered my relationship with my son by her response.
“As I thought about this lesson, I realized that every child of God has a talent,” she said. “I would suggest that Taylor’s talent is that he teaches others to serve. If it is OK with you, I would like to talk to our class about how I have noticed Taylor’s talent here at church. I have seen the other Primary children learn to push his wheelchair, open doors for him, and overcome their fear to wipe his chin with a handkerchief when needed. I think that is a great talent by which he blesses our lives.”
I murmured in agreement, and we quietly said good-bye. I wonder if that Primary teacher knew what a profound impact that conversation would have on my life. Taylor remained the same. He still requires a great deal of care. Hospitals, doctors, and therapists still take up a large part of my life. But my perspective changed, and I began to notice his talent.
I saw how people around us would alter their behavior as they sought to care for him. I also noticed how he reminds us to slow down, notice his needs, and become more compassionate, observant, and patient.
I do not know God’s purpose in having Taylor face such daunting challenges, but I believe that his Primary teacher gave me a small glimpse of it. He is here to share his talent with us. He is here to give us the opportunity to learn how to serve.

1. The first Sunday after Miguel moved to a new city, his mother took him to church. They went to meet his new Primary class.
2. When they got to the classroom door, Miguel grabbed Mom’s hand. “She isn’t my teacher, Mom. Where is Sister Dominguez?”
3. Mom knelt to talk with Miguel. “We live in a different city now, and we are going to meet new friends—like your new Primary teacher.”
4. “I don’t want a new teacher,” Miguel said. “I want to go home to my old house and be with my old teacher.”
5. “I know it isn’t easy to move to a new place,” Mom said. “But some things will be the same. You will sing Primary songs, pray, and listen to talks.”
6. “I will?” Miguel asked. “What else will be the same?”
“Your new Primary teacher will teach you about Jesus—just as Sister Dominguez did.”
7. Miguel let go of Mom’s hand and sat down in a chair in his new Primary class.
8. Later …
“Mom, you were right! We sang, prayed, and listened to talks. My new Primary teacher said Jesus loves me. It is the same!”

Sarah Farr Smith was washing the dishes after the family’s midday meal, when she heard a firm knock at the back door of her home in Salt Lake City. When she opened the door, she saw a poor but tidy-looking gentleman standing on her porch. Although she didn’t know the man, he was very polite, and she invited him in for something to eat.
While he was eating, the man suddenly asked where Sarah’s young son George Albert was. She said that he was outside playing in the yard. The man then asked Sarah to call him into the house. Although she didn’t understand why, something told her to do what the man had asked. She went outside and found her son playing beneath a balcony of a two-story building next door.
As Sarah came back into the house with the boy, she heard a loud crash. Rushing back outside, she was horrified to see that the balcony under which he had just been playing had collapsed, sending large beams and pieces of lumber crashing down onto the toys that had been left there just moments earlier.
Sarah was very grateful and humbled for what she felt was Heavenly Father’s help in saving her son’s life. She decided then that George Albert must have an important mission to perform on earth and that God would help her watch over him.

In order to keep the Sabbath day holy, I once had to lose my job. But I know now that God lives. This is a great joy, isn’t it? Another time, shortly after my marriage, I became seriously ill. For two years my condition worsened and doctors gave no hope for my recovery. Finally, however, through a powerful priesthood blessing, my health was fully restored. Without your help and the help of other missionaries, I might never have known about the restoration of the priesthood. I don’t know how to thank you all enough for your sincere hearts and your love for me.

I know some of you worry about being misjudged, ridiculed, and even harassed if you stand up for Heavenly Father, the Lord Jesus Christ, and the Church. I understand your concerns.

I served in the British Mission after the end of World War II as a young missionary. At that time Mormons were “a hiss and a byword” (3 Nephi 16:9), and missionaries were laughed at and ridiculed. People even threw things at us, and some would spit at us. However, we did not retreat, but we continued to bear our testimonies and share the gospel. Like Abinadi, we did not shrink; like Paul, we did not shrink; and like the Savior, we did not shrink. At the time we could not have imagined the impact of our labors. We had 14 districts and no stakes. Today, 46 stakes of Zion are found in the British Isles.

We need more such attitudes in the world. There is the story of the husband and wife who had saved and saved for a new car. After taking delivery, the husband told his wife that all the necessary legal documents and insurance information were in a packet in the glove compartment. On her first day out in the new car, she was involved in an accident, which demolished the front end of the car. Unhurt, in tears, and near panic, she opened the packet to show the police officer her papers. There she found a handwritten note from her husband which read: “Now that you have had an accident, remember I can always replace the car, but not you. Please know how much I love you!”

This advice was found and followed by Joe, who had been asked to get up at 6:00 in the morning and drive a crippled child 50 miles to the hospital. He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t know how to say no. A woman carried the child out to the car and set him next to the driver’s seat, mumbling thanks through her tears. Joe said everything would be all right and drove off quickly.

After a mile or so, the child inquired shyly, “You’re God, aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid not, little fellow,” replied Joe.
“I thought you must be God,” said the child. “I heard Mother praying next to my bed and asking God to help me get to the hospital so I could get well and play with the other boys. Do you work for God?”
“Sometimes, I guess,” said Joe, “but not regularly. I think I’m going to work for him a lot more from now on.”

When I was in an elders quorum presidency, we worked with several less-active families. In a personal interview with one couple, I asked, “Isn’t it about time you went to the temple with your family?”
I couldn’t believe their answer: they said yes.
We cried.
They were asked to speak about their “conversion” in a Saturday evening session of stake conference, and as they expressed their love, I cried. I thought I had used up all my tears by the time we went to the temple—until I saw them and their beautiful daughters kneel at the altar and be sealed for time and eternity.

Layna Cahone ran lightly up the front steps of the house and into the living room. “Dad,” she called, “are you home?”
“In the kitchen.”
She went to the kitchen doorway. Her father stood by the stove, stirring something in a small pan. “I knew that you’d be too busy again to fix supper,” he said, “so I opened a can of soup.”
Layna felt a quick stab of guilt. She had thought having just herself and her father home would be rather enjoyable. Charles was in the service, and Mother had gone to help Anne with her first baby. Layna had promised that she’d see to it that her father had adequate meals and clean clothes, but she realized now that she’d been pretty lax.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get here earlier, Dad,” she told him, “but I was talking to Debbie and forgot the time. You want toast with your soup?”
“Never mind, dear, but it would be nice if you would—”
“Oh, good grief,” she cried, “just look how late it is! I’m supposed to be at a meeting—decorating committee for the dance. May I take the car?”
He inclined his head slightly toward the hook behind the door where the car keys hung. Hurrying out, Layna thought briefly that her father must have had an especially tiring day. The lines around his mouth appeared deeper than usual, and his skin looked gray.
For a moment Layna paused with her hand on the car door. She really should go back and at least fix him dessert; but then, remembering the confusion in the school auditorium—decorations half finished, no decision made on the music—she climbed into the car and drove away.
Darkness had fallen before she reached home again. All the windows were dark. Wondering where her father could have gone, Layna turned on the kitchen lights. His soup, uneaten, was on the kitchen table. A cold chill went through her.
“Dad?” She flipped on a lamp in the living room. Her father lay on the couch. His hands, clenched into fists, were on his chest and his eyes were closed. Layna ran to him and bent down, realizing at once that he was fighting desperately to breathe.
“Oh, Daddy,” she cried, “what is it? What’s the matter?”
His eyes opened. “Heart,” he gasped hoarsely. “Doctor—”
Layna rushed to the phone, grateful that emergency numbers were written down, because her fingers shook so badly she had trouble dialing the doctor’s home number. She breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving when Dr. Shannon, answering, said, “An ambulance will be there in just a few minutes. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
But even though she knew that little more than fifteen minutes had passed before she and her father were speeding toward the hospital, Layna hadn’t known a stretch of time could be so agonizingly long. She looked at her father, lying half conscious on a stretcher, telling herself over and over, “I wouldn’t know what to do if my father died.” What would life be like without the good, quiet man whose gentle strength had supported her every day of her life? She knew that a world without him would be not only empty but frightening.
At the hospital her father was wheeled down a long, busy corridor. After she could no longer see him, Layna stood, not knowing what to do, until a nurse came to ask if she could register for her father at the front desk.
In the office a woman asked, “Does your father carry insurance?” and Layna remembered the card he carried in his wallet.
“I’ll have the orderly get it and bring it to you,” the lady said.
The sight of the wallet, handed to her a few moments later by a young man in a white coat, made Layna intensely aware of the seriousness of her father’s condition. She took the wallet, feeling the soft leather, worn smooth, and after giving the woman the necessary information, she went to call her mother, who assured her that she’d be there by morning. Then she sat in the waiting room, holding the wallet tightly, as though she could gain comfort from something that was his.
Thinking of how many important things the wallet held, Layna remembered a picture that she knew her father had carried for a while—a snapshot of herself and Charles and Anne taken in the mountains one summer. Wondering whether the picture was still there, she opened the wallet. As she did so, a tightly folded piece of paper fell out.
Absently she unfolded it. As she read the brief paragraph, she knew with a stabbing sense of her own failure that a letter she had seen in a newspaper the week before, one that had touched her, had also been seen and saved by her father.
She read the clipping again: “I have lived nearly fifty-five years and have worked hard to care for my family. My children have all they need. Why can’t they see me as a person who loves them and needs their affection? I’d gladly give every cent I have if my son or one of my daughters would only take my hand and say, ‘I love you, Dad.’”
Layna folded the clipping carefully as tears streamed down her cheeks. Oh, Daddy, she thought, don’t die. I want a chance to say what I’ve been too thoughtless to say to you all these years.
Slowly the hours passed. Layna rested, eyes closed, remembering many little things about her father, such as the day when she was in her early years at school and had complained because he absentmindedly took steps that were too long, and then how, smiling, he had shortened his stride to fit hers. She thought about one of her birthdays; he had come home from work looking a little sheepish because the stuffed tiger he’d bought for her was too big to wrap.
She remembered big things, too, like the time she’d had her appendix out and had awakened to see her father sitting beside her bed. She had known immediately that she’d be all right. She thought of the nights when she’d gone on dates and he had told her, “I know we can trust you.”
Just then Dr. Shannon came into the room. Jumping up, Layna ran to him. He put his hand on her arm.
“Everything’s fine, Layna,” he assured her gently. “Your father’s resting.”
After drawing a shaky breath, Layna asked, “Can I see him?”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, but just for a minute.”
Slowly, feeling almost shy, Layna entered the room where her father lay on a high, narrow bed. How strange, she thought, to see him so quiet, this big man who was always busy and interested. His face was white, but the worry lines on his forehead seemed eased, his eyes composed.
Pulling a chair close to the bed, Layna sat down. She looked at her father and smiled, then covered his strong, work-worn hand with hers.
“Daddy,” she said softly, “I love you.”

Aunt Jennie gave me a scrapbook for my birthday. The cover is red with “My Book of Remembrance” written on the front. The pages inside are thick and gray.
I decided to put the supplies I need to work on my scrapbook in a box. I put in markers, scissors, glue, and tape.
Mom is helping me fill my book with things about me.
On the first page I glued a picture of me, and I wrote my name below it. Then I wrote, “My eyes are green. My hair is brown. I am six years old.”
On the next page I glued a special letter Grandma sent me. It is the first letter I ever received.
Last month I made a card for my dad. I colored purple flowers all around it. Dad said I could glue it in my book.
On another page I drew a picture of my mom, dad, brother, our pet cat, and me. I added a photo of the whole family and wrote, “We are a family.”
Mom helped me find a picture of the temple to glue in my book. I want to remember that we can be together forever.
I drew a picture of my house and the tree I like to climb. I also wrote my address and phone number.
If you read my book of remembrance, you will learn lots of things about me. You can fill a book with things about you too. When people read it, they will learn about your history!

One experience that proves I am indoctrinated into Scouting happened on August 9, 1976, at 5:00 in the morning. My husband and I were frantically trying to get to the hospital. Our first child was about to be born. Instead of immediately calling the hospital or the doctor, my husband first called my father. You see, dad was packing to leave for a week at Scout camp. We wanted him to know that his first grandchild was on the way.
A few minutes later, dad stopped by in his Scout uniform to wish me luck and tell us to let him know if it was a boy or a girl. Then, as my husband and I walked out to our car, dad walked out to his truck to the waiting Scouts. Seven hours later we had a miniature Scout of our own. We tried to get the news to grandpa. Word was sent with a Scout who joined the others the next day. The message dad received was, “Mr. Hasler, you’re a grandpa, but I can’t remember if it was a girl or a boy.” Three and a half days later, dad finally found out he had a grandson.

May I tell you of my own testimony concerning the benefits of Relief Society for single women?
After my husband’s sudden death several years ago, I felt that life was giving me more challenges than I should have. I felt a large amount of self-pity and rebellion to think that as a relatively young woman, I was facing the fact that I would probably spend the rest of my life alone. While I was wrestling with these problems, the opportunity came for me to accept a position at the headquarters of the Relief Society and to become a member of its general board. There was but one drawback—it required that I move far from my family and friends to Salt Lake City.
Of course, I accepted the calling and loved my work in it. But as satisfying as it was, I found that I still needed friends and companionship outside my world of work.
In Relief Society I found that I had friends in my ward. My testimony was strengthened as I participated in gospel studies and heard the testimonies of other sisters. It brought out my valuable feminine qualities, and I found opportunities for service, as well as for homemaking activities. It brought relief from some of the pressures of life and from loneliness, and it gave me a fresh point of view.

But being an all-star can go to your head. Every now and then Scott has to remind himself what’s really important.
“Once you put the hockey jacket on it’s instant popularity,” he says after practice. Scott’s with his older brother, Troy. They sit cross-legged in their basement, trading hockey cards and playing video hockey. “Some of the guys think they’re pretty hot. Once in a while I might join them and put somebody down—let it go to my head. When I put somebody down I always end up thinking about my brother, Troy.”
Troy, 17, has had a slight motor-skills problem and learning disorder since birth. It’s not serious enough to affect his life much, but it does make him a little different from the other kids. “When he was in elementary school he got picked on a lot,” adds Scott. “I think about that and stop. I try to get the others to stop, too.”

I would like to tell a story about my Grandfather Nelson. They called him A.C. When he was just 27 years old, his father died. A few months later, his deceased father came to visit him in a vision. He was in bed when his father came and sat on the side of the bed.
“What have you been doing since you died, Father?” Grandfather asked.
“I’ve been very busy preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ,” his father answered. “You cannot imagine, my son, how many spirits there are in the spirit world that have not yet received the gospel.”
He said many spirits were learning about the gospel and were looking forward to the time when their friends would do their temple work for them.
Grandfather had another question.
“Father, can you see us at all times, and do you know what we’re doing?”
His father said, “No, I am usually busy doing my work there. But today I am allowed to visit for a little while.”
Grandfather had a third question.
“Father, is it natural to die?”
His father said it was as natural as being born. It was like walking through a door from one room into another room.
Grandfather had one last question.
“Father, is the gospel as taught by this Church true?”
His father pointed to a picture of the First Presidency that was hanging on the wall.
“Just as sure as you see that picture, just as sure is the gospel true,” he said. He testified that the gospel can save everyone who obeys it, and that it’s the only way to be saved in the kingdom of God. “Always cling to the gospel.”
My grandfather’s father told him to be humble, prayerful, true, and faithful.
“Never do anything that would displease God,” he said. “My son, be a good boy.”
Grandfather wrote this special experience in his journal. I took his journal entry and made a copy for every member of my family. And now I want to share the story with you, my Church family.

Based on folktales and dances of west Africa, the storyline of the celebration followed Kwaku Anansi, who searched for all the good things in the world to keep for himself. Each stake and district sang and danced and gave him something good, like courage, love, or family. But when Anansi saw the Accra Ghana Temple, its beauty convinced him that he should share all the good things he had collected.

A massive hurricane is bearing down on you and your family. Winds exceed 150 miles per hour. Flooding and wind damage are certain. Survival may depend on how well you respond to two questions: What should I do before the hurricane arrives? What should I do after it passes?
For Latter-day Saint youth and their families who live along the Gulf Coast of the United States, dealing with both questions became a terrifying reality in August and September 2005. First, Hurricane Katrina slammed ashore, devastating the New Orleans area and the Mississippi coast. Just weeks later, Hurricane Rita ripped through southeastern Texas and western Louisiana. Both storms damaged homes and businesses for hundreds of miles and created the need for massive clean-up. Youth who had to deal with the devastation will remember it for a lifetime.
“No one ever believes it will happen to them, and neither did we,” says Kim Dohm, 17. Hurricane warnings come so often here they seem routine. “We evacuated, but we didn’t think much about what we took with us, because we expected to be back in a few days. We thought it was just another false alarm.” It wasn’t. The storm smashed through Kim’s hometown of Slidell, Louisiana. Winds tore roofs from buildings and snapped trees like toothpicks. Rapidly rising water flooded major portions of the city.
“The damage seemed so random,” Kim says. “In the same neighborhood some houses were torn apart, while others were mostly undamaged. The main thing I learned was to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. If you have to evacuate, leave early and plan to be gone for a while.” Her family had to stay away not just for days, but for weeks.
“No one can predict exactly where and when a hurricane will come ashore,” says Nolan Moore, 15, of Vidor, Texas. “But if officials say you should leave, then leave. And do it as soon as you can.” Nolan and his family caravanned with other Latter-day Saints and found shelter in an LDS meetinghouse a safe distance away.
Seventeen-year-old Brittany Crossley and her thirteen-year-old sister, Danielle, live in Vidor, Texas. Their father is an emergency room doctor at a hospital in Port Arthur, directly in the projected path of Hurricane Rita. Dr. Crossley prayed and felt impressed that if he would spend the day before the storm evacuating patients, he and his family would be all right. Since the Crossley’s home was in an area of potential danger, he obtained permission from his bishop for the family to stay in their ward building during the storm. “The ward is far enough north to be safe,” Brittany explains.
“When Dad said, ‘We’re going to the church and we’re going to be okay,’ I thought, ‘Trust the inspiration and follow him to higher ground,’” Danielle recalls. Soon they received calls that the mass evacuation had resulted in gridlock on the freeway. “It’s good that we listened to our father,” Brittany says. “Otherwise, we would have been stuck in traffic all through the storm.”
So they “hunkered down” at the church, in an inside room with no windows. “We had food and water. We played a board game to pass the time. At 11:00 p.m., the power went out, so we read scriptures by flashlight and had family prayer,” Danielle recalls. They listened to the wind rattling like a freight train. “At one point someone held a flashlight high so we could all see each other,” Brittany says. “I remember how grateful we were for the light. It made me think of the Savior, the Light of the World.”
Kim Dohm was comfortable at her grandparents’ house in Fort Worth, Texas, 500 miles from her home and parents. Her father and mother were helping with relief efforts in Slidell. But when she heard the news that evacuees wouldn’t be allowed back home for weeks or possibly months, it was more than she could bear. “One day at school, I just started to sob,” Kim says. “Everyone told me things would be okay, but I couldn’t stop crying.” Anxious and uncertain, she prayed. “I felt the most overwhelming peace in my heart,” she says. “I remembered how the Savior calmed the storm and reassured the disciples on the Sea of Galilee. My heart was raging, but His example calmed and reassured me.”
Fifteen-year-old Ashley Clarke of Slidell remembers that reading the Book of Mormon calmed her nerves and brought relief from the uncertainty of living in an evacuation area. So did writing in her journal. “It gave me something productive to do instead of getting annoyed,” she says.
It was almost a month before Emily Smith, 17, who had stayed with relatives, was reunited with her immediate family in Slidell. “Even though we were together, dealing with the destruction was depressing,” she recalls. “All of the downed trees, water-soaked furniture, and ruined clothes piling up in people’s yards—it could get to you. Some of the places where we used to hang out had vanished like they never existed.” Now, 9 months after the storm, things are slowly getting back to normal. “Each day it seems a little better,” Emily says. She and her friends are back in school, back in seminary, and finding new places to have fun.
“We saw that designer clothes, furniture, and even nice houses can be ruined. Material things don’t matter much,” says Samantha Adams, 17. Following the hurricane, she spent a lot of time working in the bishops’ storehouse. “When I saw people come in who had lost practically everything, it didn’t seem important to worry about how my hair looked or if I had makeup on. I was just glad to help them.”
Samantha, along with Ashley Clarke, and her brother Thomas, 17, worked day after day in the storehouse. “They knew the landmarks and locations, and they understood computers,” explains Mike Dohm, field operations coordinator for the command center that was set up there. “We gave them responsibility for mapping out locations so work crews could get where they needed to go. They saw a need, recognized they could do it, and showed up every day to get it done. There’s just no way we could have done as much as we did without them.”
In anticipation of the hurricanes, the Church had moved food, bottled water, generators, chain saws, and other equipment to safe sites near the coast. As soon as the storms passed, supplies and equipment were quickly moved to locations like the storehouse for use and distribution. Stakes and wards in surrounding areas organized thousands of LDS volunteers into work groups that came each weekend from September to November to put tarps on roofs, cut up trees lying across roads, and pull up water-soaked carpets.
Ben Bradley, 13, was on one of these crews. He and his father, sister, and brother drove seven hours each way from Albany, Georgia, to Gulfport, Mississippi, making the trip several times. “We wanted to help,” Ben says. “I learned that all it takes is a willingness to pitch in, and Mormons are good at that.” Often crews would complete a work order at a member’s house and then perform similar tasks in other houses or yards in the neighborhood. The Church was widely recognized for its ability to help its own members and its willingness to help others, too.
Hurricanes Katrina and Rita left reminders of their fury that will endure for a decade or more. But they also left a memory in the minds of these teens who survived the storms. “Sometimes people ask if living through Katrina has made me worried about the future,” Ashley says. “I tell them just the opposite is true. Now I know I can handle emergencies. All I need to do is hold fast to gospel principles and rely on a little help from my family and friends.”
Natural disasters are a possibility no matter where we live. The best way to prepare is to have emergency plans in place, survival supplies prepared, and training completed where it is available. Here are some other lessons learned by those who survived the hurricanes:
Make sure you have fresh batteries and flashlights.
Refrigerators and freezers will provide food for a few days.
Store water, both for drinking and for bathing.
Have important papers in a place where you can easily grab them.
Get to know your neighbors, and have a contact list for emergencies.
Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women camping experience can prepare you for living in emergency conditions.
Remember, “If ye are prepared ye shall not fear” (D&C 38:30).
“The time has come to get our houses in order. … There is a portent of stormy weather ahead to which we had better give heed.”—President Gordon B. Hinckley (“To the Boys and to the Men,” Ensign, Nov. 1998, 53).
To learn more about preparing for emergencies, go to www.lds.org and click on “Provident Living” and then on “Food Storage and Emergency Preparedness.” There you’ll find advice on topics such as how to prepare for the future, both spiritually and temporally; preparing for home emergencies and natural disasters; and a list of emergency preparation resources.

Even before the 1994 Tutsi genocide, many leaders of the Hutu tribe taught that a Hutu man married to a Tutsi woman should be required to kill her and all her family to show his allegiance to his tribe. Because of those teachings, and to better protect his family, my father moved his wife and children to a small village near Cyangugu, in the far southwestern corner of Rwanda. Even in that small village, the majority of Hutu villagers spurned and rejected my mother because she was a Tutsi. But my father continued to protect us. In 1993, when the tension and genocide ideology increased, she was pregnant with me and caring for my three older sisters. Because it was known that she was a Tutsi, our family didn’t have many friends and it was dangerous every time she had to fetch water or go to the market. It was a very difficult time for her, but always my father was on her side, protecting her and taking care of his family.
During this time, there were constant meetings in the community where the locals were given machetes and guns and trained on how to kill the Tutsis. Every week they had a community meeting. In March 1994, my father attended a town meeting where it was announced that Hutu men married to a Tutsi woman would be required to kill her and all their children. It was a hard time for them. Some of the men and some of the women who were Hutus did kill their children.
In a meeting in early April, my father was ordered to kill my mother and his four daughters. When he came home from the meeting around 6:00 p.m., it was very dark because there were no street lights at the time. He immediately took us to a small island located in the southern part of Lac Kivu, a large lake dividing Rwanda and Congo. He told my mom that the villagers had determined that we were supposed to die, so we should hide in that place; he was going back home to find a safe place for us. He told her that if she saw any boats, she should ask them if they would carry us over to Congo, where we would be safe from the Rwandan genocide. She was able to find someone willing to take us across to Congo, where we spent the next five months, until peace was restored in Rwanda and it was safe to return.
All the while in Congo, and after we came home, we didn’t know what had happened to my father. When we came back we didn’t see anything; they didn’t allow us to enter the house where we had lived, and we were told everything that belonged to my father had been sold. It was a very hard time for my mom. We didn’t have a house to stay in. We didn’t have anything to eat. We went to the Seventh-­Day Adventist chapel, where we slept for a whole week. After that my mother carried all of us to town where she learned we could get small help from the new government.
In 2003, nine years after the violence ended, the government created a reconciliation program called “Gacaca” to help resolve the hard feelings from the killings. As part of the process, people who had killed others during the genocide confessed and asked for forgiveness. Through gacaca, we came to know that my father’s family members, after they looked everywhere for us and could not find us, had killed him. My mother and my eldest sister attended the hearing where my father’s family asked for our forgiveness, and they forgave them. They told my mother that they had thrown his body into the river after killing him, so we were never able to locate his body. Because I was so young at the time he saved us, I have no recollections of my father; I don’t know his face.
When I met with the missionaries, it was hard for them to tell me how God loves me and that He is my Father in Heaven. I did come to understand that because of the plan of salvation, I will meet my father once more. Because of my faith in the plan of salvation and the Atonement of Jesus Christ, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-­day Saints in 2013.
My mother continued to struggle to raise the four of us herself. She had many health and stomach problems and for much of the time she suffered. She was not able to go to the hospital because she was a Tutsi. She finally passed away on June 16, 2016, from what was discovered to be cancer. She knew I was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. She believed that I had become part of a big family. She blessed me and said I was doing the right thing. She always taught me and my sisters to love one another and to serve one another. She said our father suffered himself to allow us to live. She said we should always work hard; it would make our father happy.
I know this gospel is true. I know I will see my family again. I know my father sacrificed his life to allow me to have this life today and I am very anxious to meet him once more and thank him for his wonderful sacrifice.
I was thrilled to receive the privilege to serve as a missionary, starting in August 2017. My mission allows me to teach the joy of the gospel to families around me. One of the greatest blessings the Lord has given me since I have been on my mission is that two of my sisters have joined the Church. One of my greatest ambitions after I complete my mission is to do the temple work for my parents so that our family can be sealed for eternity.
The plan of salvation can bring happiness in this life and eternal joy in the life hereafter. I know this to be true, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.