Gospel Story Finder

The Mia Maids of the Bluffdale Eighth Ward in Bluffdale, Utah, decided to make a hands-on sign of their commitment to living virtuous lives. After some memorable lessons and discussions on the topic of virtue, each one of the girls traced her handprint on the flag and wrote inside it what they were committing to do to be virtuous. These were some of the promises printed on the flag:
“I promise to keep clean thoughts and to have friends that don’t promote bad things.”—Sierra Hirschi
“I promise to watch clean things so my thoughts will be clean.” —Erica Wilcox
“I promise to keep myself temple worthy and clean so someday I can be sealed for time and all eternity.”—Katelyn Pitchford
“I promise to keep the music I listen to clean.”—Karley Newbold
“I promise not to date until I am 16.”—McKayla Hill
The virtue flag now hangs in the bishop’s office so every time the girls are in his office they are reminded of their commitments.

Two days later, Stephanie and Serena meet at the train station in Amsterdam. Three American sisters, Michelle, Amanda, and Jackie Miller of the Hilversum Branch, are with them. They can’t get together very often, so they’re happy when they get the chance. It’s 6:00 P.M. as they walk out of Central Station. They’re all hungry, they decide on pizza, then they look for a restaurant. As the group walks the streets of Amsterdam with the rain coming down, they’re laughing and telling stories. But nobody is sure where the closest restaurant is. For a moment they stop. Then a voice calls out, “I know where we can go.”

Stephanie then speeds her pace and leads the way.

Two years ago, the Pace family was able to bring a part of the Easter pageant home with them. A pure white baby lamb, needed for a scene where Adam offers a sacrifice, didn’t have a mother, and many worried the lamb might die.
“When my mother noticed the lamb,” Kelsey Pace, 14, remembers, “she told the owner that I had raised lambs on a bottle before. So the lamb became my responsibility. I had to feed her every four hours, even in the middle of the night, with extra-large bottles of powdered goat’s milk and sometimes medicine, too.
“We prayed for her every day. She is now healthy, and she’s even in the pageant again as one of the sheep with the shepherds who hear the angel tell of the birth of Jesus.” The lamb, now a family pet, lives in the Paces’ backyard.

Wilhelm Friedrichs (second from left) and Emil Hoppe (center, back row) attended the first baptisms in Argentina.
The Friedrichs and Hoppe families were the only Latter-day Saints in Argentina when they moved there from Germany in the early 1920s. Wilhelm Friedrichs and Emil Hoppe tried to share the gospel in their new country, distributing pamphlets and inviting others to join their meetings. “I have full trust in my Heavenly Father that he will send sincere friends who will accept the Gospel,” Wilhelm wrote, “for I rejoice in being an instrument in the hands of God.”7
There were significant challenges, however. The families lived far apart and had to travel two hours to meet together. Because Emil was a deacon and Wilhelm a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, they were unable to administer ordinances such as the sacrament or give priesthood blessings.
In 1924, Hildegarde Hoppe gave birth to a baby girl, who died two months later. As she mourned, Hildegarde asked how the baby’s name could be included in the records of the Church. As a result, Wilhelm began corresponding with Church leaders in Salt Lake City.
A year and a half later, Elder Melvin J. Ballard (1873–1939) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was sent with other missionaries to meet the growing group of converts in Buenos Aires. When they arrived in December 1925, Elder Ballard baptized several converts and organized a branch. On Christmas Day, Elder Ballard dedicated South America for missionary work and organized the first mission on the continent.

Thomas Moore joined the Church in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, when he was 83 years old. Brother Moore is a baker, and he enjoys inviting the missionaries into his home “for whatever food they would like. Most of the time, I see them living on sandwiches,” he says. Brother Moore loves to serve the missionaries because he sees them making time “for people like me, whom they don’t even know. What a privilege to help them even just a little!” Brother Moore has discovered for himself the joy that comes from serving others with love (see Mosiah 2:17; Gal. 5:13).

Sister Meredith and I were recently on a Church assignment getting acquainted with the stake presidency. One of the counselors mentioned that he was a baseball fan and was particularly passionate about the LA Dodgers.
He told us that he recorded every Dodgers game but did not watch the games while they were being played. Once a game concluded, he checked the score. If the Dodgers won, he watched the recording of the game. However, if the Dodgers lost, he deleted the recording. Then he said, “So if the Dodgers give up a three-run home run in the fourth inning, I don’t fret, because I know that in the end, they win all the games that I watch.”
You are going to have some difficult innings in life. That is part of the test of mortality. But Christ suffered pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind so that He could succor us in our time of infirmity, even in our most desperate and hopeless times. [13] In those times, you may feel that life, or part of it anyway, is unfair.

A few years ago we would regularly receive on our home phone a number of sales or solicitation calls. I remember answering three of those calls in one day. At the conclusion of the third call I placed the phone on the receiver rather energetically and remarked to my wife that if salespeople were going to interrupt me on a regular basis, I was going to teach them the gospel.

A few days later I answered a sales call and thought, “Okay, here we go.” After politely declining the sales offer, I said, “I would like to ask you a question. Do you believe in Jesus Christ?”

The saleswoman replied, “Why, yes, I do.”

I then asked, “Have you ever heard of the visit of Jesus Christ to America after His death and resurrection in Jerusalem?”

“No.”

“Well, 600 years before His birth, God directed a small group of people to leave Jerusalem and travel to the Western Hemisphere. These people were taught by prophets whose words were written on gold plates. Their words have been translated in our time in what we now know as the Book of Mormon, and this record describes the visit of Christ to them.”

She said, “That is the most wonderful thing I have ever heard.”

A few days later I got another call. I’m on a roll!

After the initial sales pitch, I replied, “I don’t really want what you are trying to sell me, but I would like to ask you a question. Do you believe in Jesus Christ?”

The salesman replied, “No, I’m a Muslim, and besides, I am not supposed to talk about personal things, so I better hang up.”

I said, “Before you do, let me say one thing. Do you have a family?”

“Yes.”

“Do you care about them?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Before you hang up, I want you to know that I may be the only person you will ever talk to who can tell you how you can have your family after you die.”

He replied, “What’s that?”

I said, “I thought you said you had to hang up.”

“Oh, no, I want to hear about this.”

Sometimes you get a little surprise in these kinds of situations. A saleslady gave me her spiel, and then I asked her if she believed in Christ and knew of His visit to America. She replied, “Yes, I read the Book of Mormon every day with my family. I’m an LDS mom in Las Vegas.”

President George Albert Smith, left, the eighth President of the Church, was born on 4 April 1870, just across the street from Temple Square. When he was 13, he attended Brigham Young Academy. He said, “I cannot remember much of what was said during the year that I was there, but there is one thing that I will probably never forget. Dr. [Karl] Maeser one day stood up and said:
“‘Not only will you be held accountable for the things that you do, but you will be held responsible for the very thoughts you think.’
“Being a boy, not in the habit of controlling my thoughts very much, it was quite a puzzle to me what I was to do, and it worried me.” A few days after this, President Smith came to a realization: “Why, of course, you will be held accountable for your thoughts because when your life is complete in mortality, it will be the sum of your thoughts. That one suggestion has been a great blessing to me all my life, and it has enabled me upon many occasions to avoid thinking improperly because I realize that I will be, when my life’s labor is complete, the product of my thoughts” (Church News, Feb. 16, 1946, 1).

Doing what comes naturally brought top honors to Tracey Keogh, 17, and Brenda Richmond, 18, of Dublin, Ireland. Their school year was spent working to improve themselves and the community, and they received the country’s prestigious President’s Award.
Requirements for the award said they had to spend a certain number of hours each week working on community projects, a personal skill, and a special project. Tracey visited an elderly lady, recycled, and learned to use a personal computer. Brenda volunteered at a hospital, acted in a school play, and ran a small company.
Their projects went hand-in-hand with the Young Women Personal Progress program. Brenda said she couldn’t have done all she did that year without the Church in her life. “The Church, its principles, and its leaders have taught me a lot,” she said.

Elder Richards had grown up with a piano. In fact, he could never remember his home without one. It had been as permanent a fixture as the kitchen sink; and yet, the piano had always been Terry Richards’s curse. Even though the rest of the family had musical inclinations, he had rebelled against everything musical—especially the piano. However, his mother had insisted and he had been forced to practice the piano one hour each day. Until that daily payment was made, he was in his mother’s debt. There was no football, no movies, no TV, nothing until the piano received its due. His heart was seldom in the practices, but he put in his required time, banging out his version of music, which was often nothing more than a cacophony of reckless pounding.
When he turned 16, even his tenacious mother relented and relinquished her dream of making him a great pianist. The lessons were abandoned, and with some money he had saved, Terry celebrated his freedom by buying a portable stereo, declaring that any music he made from then on would come from the stereo and not the piano.
Now in Guaymas, lonely and somewhat dejected, he gently ran his fingers along the chipped and broken keyboard. A wan smile touched his lips. “It would take more than a pianist to get music out of you,” he whispered. He began to walk his fingers across the keys, listening to the sharp ping of the falling notes.
A worn hymnbook lay on one of the folding chairs. He reached for it and turned to “Ere You Left Your Room This Morning.” It was the first hymn he had ever learned to play. He studied the notes for a moment. When he was convinced he could, he sat down and began to play. His fingers were terribly awkward. The piano needed tuning, and several keys were broken. At times it was difficult to determine whether he or the piano was making the mistakes. But he labored through the hymn, once, twice. He played until the music, if not entirely melodious, was at least recognizable.
It was late when Elder Becket, Elder Richards’s new companion, and Elder Cole found him upstairs lying on their cot asleep.
The next morning as Elder Cole was preparing the sacrament and Elder Becket filled out a mission report, Elder Richards strolled to the old piano. “Who plays this old box?” he asked with a grin.
Elder Becket looked up and laughed. “That, Elder, isn’t just an old box. To the members here, it’s the most precious thing in Guaymas.”
“This?” Elder Richards asked with surprise. Elder Becket nodded. “Why? Did Cortez bring it over from Spain or something?”
“It’s a piano. There are a few of them in town, but you certainly don’t find them in every house for the kids to climb on and kick around. Some of the newer members haven’t even heard this one played, and none of the members have heard it played very well. An Elder Fisher, who could play a few hymns with one hand, was here about a year ago, a few months after they bought it. The members almost made him a saint. They made him play his hymns every Sunday. Finally he jokingly told the mission president he was going home if he had to play those hymns another time.”
“It’s seen better days,” Elder Richards commented. “It could sure use a tuning job.”
“You play?” Elder Becket asked.
Elder Richards laughed and shook his head. “I can make noise, pretty bad noise at that, but I don’t play. My mother thought I had musical talents, but after five years of lessons and no noticeable improvement, even she gave up.”
“If you had lessons for five years …”
“I didn’t learn anything.”
“If you played that long, you can play as well as Elder Fisher.”
Just then President Perales and his family arrived and the piano was temporarily forgotten, but just before sacrament meeting, President Perales approached Elder Richards with a hymnbook and spoke, pointing to the piano. Grinning and shaking his head, Elder Richards said shyly, “No, no puedo … tocar.”
President Perales motioned for Elder Becket to come over. “Hermano Marcos said he heard you playing yesterday,” Elder Becket said.
“Yesterday?” he gasped. “I was just fooling around. I can’t play.”
“You sure impressed Hermano Marcos.”
“Elder, I haven’t played for over three years. Yesterday was the first time—I mean the very first time—I’ve even sat down to a piano for over three years. I was just …”
“Play what you were playing yesterday.”
“I can’t,” he insisted, but the protest was to no avail. With his face burning with embarrassment, Elder Richards retreated to the piano. Never had he played in front of a group. At home when the bishop had asked him to play in priesthood, he had adamantly refused.
When it came time for the first hymn, he huddled morosely on the piano chair and braced himself for the shame. Even had the piano been a good one, he would have battled to coax music from it. With his fingers trembling and his eyes frantically searching the keyboard, he began to grope through “Ere You Left Your Room This Morning.” He managed to get through all three verses, but it was torture for him. Later he played the sacrament hymn, and at the conclusion of the meeting he played “I Know That My Redeemer Lives.”
Sensing that all eyes were on him, he couldn’t bring himself to raise his head. He wanted to race from the building and hide himself, and the thing that was so utterly frustrating was that he was forced to endure his shame in silence. There was absolutely no way he could explain in Spanish that it had been years since he had last played, that he had never learned properly in the first place, that this whole thing was a terrible mistake.
As soon as the benediction was said, he stood, planning to sneak from the room and hide from the members’ questioning stares, but before he took three steps a sister had him by the arm and was speaking to him, tears glistening in her eyes. The only words that had any meaning for him were her often repeated, “Muchisimas gracias!” Two more sisters approached and then a brother. Soon it seemed as though the entire branch crowded around him, many with tears in their eyes, each trying to shake his hand.
He saw Elder Becket and searched his face for an explanation. Elder Becket smiled and called, “They loved it. If the Church sainted people, you would be the first Mormon saint in Guaymas.”
“For what?” he asked, completely bewildered.
“For playing their piano.”
“That wasn’t playing. That wasn’t music.”
“You’ll have a hard time convincing them. They want you to play again.”
“Now?”
“But I can’t. It’s been …”
“That might have worked back home, but not here. Look at them, Elder. They’re all but begging.”
Elder Richards was touched. He felt a twinge of shame, a gnawing guilt. Suddenly he wished he could play like his mother had always dreamed of him playing. He offered a silent prayer, pleading for help, not to shelter him from shame and embarrassment but to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands so that through his neglected talent he might give these special people the joy and satisfaction they sought.
It was almost an hour later before the last of the members left the building and Elder Richards made his way with his companions up to their room. “I can’t believe they could even listen to that, let alone enjoy it,” Elder Richards commented.
For a long while Elder Becket didn’t reply; then he shook his head and asked, “Where are you from, Elder?”
“Logan, Utah.”
“Have you ever been to a chapel that didn’t have a piano?” Elder Richards shook his head. “Well, most of these people have never heard the hymns played on a piano. The elders have taught them the melodies. Before today, when they sang “Ere You Left Your Room This Morning,” it was the way the elders had taught it. Not more than a handful of them have ever sung that hymn accompanied by a piano. “I Know That My Redeemer Lives” is a hymn that many of them have wanted to sing accompanied by a piano, but they’ve hardly dared hope that it was really possible.”
“I’m no musician,” Elder Richards said, “but I can hear the difference between noise and music.”
“Maybe two years ago I would have felt the same, but this morning that sounded pretty good, even to me.”
“Where did they get the old box anyway?”
“In Logan,” Elder Becket chided, “that’s an old box. Here it’s a treasure. They bought it from the Baptists. They had a special dinner to raise the money. Everybody donated food and then paid outlandish prices to eat it. All the money went for the piano. Someday, when the chapel’s built, they’ll have a new one, but right now they have to make do with that. The members are proud of their piano. Even though no one can play it and even though it might be out of tune, that’s one of the most important things in this whole building.”
“If it’s so important to them, why don’t they tune it?”
“No money. Right now they’re trying to raise money so they can start building their chapel. Every extra peso goes for that.”
The rest of the day, as Elder Richards followed his two companions, he couldn’t forget the old piano. When they returned to the building that night, it was late and Elder Richards was tired, but before going to bed he went down to the old piano and played “I Know That My Redeemer Lives.” The timing was off, and the notes didn’t come through as smoothly as they did when his sisters or mother played, but for the first time in his life he really tried to make music and not merely put in time.
The next day he wrote a short note to his mother: “Mom, I would appreciate it if you would sell my stereo and send me the money. Ted Roberts said he’d buy it if I ever wanted to sell. There’s this piano here that needs tuning, and the members don’t have the money to get the job done. I’d like to help them out. I figure I owe them something after wasting all those piano lessons. And, mom, thanks for making me practice the piano.”
When the letter was addressed and sealed, Elder Richards stood and started down the stairs to the chapel below. “Where are you going?” Elder Becket asked.
“Oh, I think I’ll go down and beat on that old box. I mean, I figure that as long as I’m going to be the new branch pianist, I should give the members something they can be proud of, not just a lot of noise.”

Experience Helps Us Understand Our Heavenly Father’s Love for His Children

I have asked young missionaries, “Do you know what the word father means?” They say, of course, they do know. I respect their answer, but deep down I think, “You know so very little.” They do know what the word father means, but their knowledge is immature.
To you who are married and have a child, the word father takes on a new meaning; the word father comes into clearer focus.
Perhaps there will come a day when a doctor tells you, “I think you are not going to keep this one.” Finally, you learn about the Father and about yourself.
We had been married for nine years when we first heard those words from the doctor: “I’m afraid you’re not going to keep this one.” As parents, we looked at our tiny baby son and did the only thing we could do. He was named and given a father’s blessing in the hospital. We prayed, had faith, and said aloud, “Thy will be done.”
Hours passed, and then days. The doctors and nurses continued to work with our son.
At last we heard the words from the doctor, “I believe you will keep this one.”
As parents, we grew in understanding and strength and drew closer to each other and to the Father.
Thirteen years later, in a much larger hospital, that experience was repeated with our tenth child. He was given a name and a father’s blessing in the hospital. We prayed, had faith, and once again said aloud, “Thy will be done.”
Hours crept slowly by. Once again we were greatly blessed. He would live. The lessons learned years before had been repeated.
Such experiences will teach you what father and mother mean. Then you know that you would give your life if that little son could live to experience mortality. You then can begin to understand our Heavenly Father. Then you will truly know what the words father and mother mean.

My mother also taught me to be honest, even if it meant doing hard things. Our neighbor grew all kinds of fruits and vegetables. Sometimes his fruit would grow on our side of the fence. Once I picked some of this fruit and took it to my mom. She looked at me and said, “That doesn’t belong to us.”
I couldn’t believe it. I said, “What do you mean? It’s on our side of our fence!” Again she said, “That doesn’t belong to us.” Then she took my hand, and we walked to our neighbor’s house. We asked for forgiveness for taking his fruit. My mother said that if we wanted something, we needed to get it honestly.

Now is the time to obey. In the premortal existence, ours was not a selective obedience. We did not pick and choose which parts of the eternal plan to follow. I learned that lesson on our first night flying solo in pilot training when all of us were given the instruction: “Don’t fly acrobatic patterns at night. You are beginning pilots without instrument flight training.” Some time later, an otherwise good pilot and a great friend chose to disobey that command. As he flew loops and barrel rolls through the night sky over Texas, he looked through the cockpit canopy and thought he saw stars above him, but he was really seeing the lights of oil rigs below. He was experiencing vertigo: the g-forces on his plane made it seem he was right side up, yet he was upside down. As he pulled up on the stick to climb higher into the night sky, he dove toward the earth and crashed into the twinkling lights of the oil field below.

My husband and I had been praying for another baby before we found out we were expecting. “Excited” hardly describes how we felt. Adding to our joy was the news that a friend’s baby was due the day before mine, and my sister-in-law’s baby was due four days later. Almost immediately, we started planning the play dates.
Nine weeks into my pregnancy, however, I started having seizures. Terrified, my husband and I rushed to the hospital for an ultrasound. At my appointment, I eagerly looked to the monitor and asked the technician if my baby was OK. He didn’t respond as he turned the monitor away from me.
I didn’t want to expect the worst, but when the technician left the room, fear seized me. I began to pray in a way I had never realized I could, asking for something—anything—that could give me peace.
Instantly, I was enveloped in a warm embrace and heard the “still small voice” (1 Kings 19:12) reassure me that all would be well. I felt comforted and calm as I waited for the doctor to give me answers.
When the doctor arrived, he gently told my husband and me that our baby had died. Instantly, I again felt the Spirit’s warm embrace. I hurt, but I could not doubt the feeling that comforted me.
As I grieved during the following weeks, I turned to my Heavenly Father in frequent prayer. The calming reassurance of the Holy Ghost never left, and I knew that the Lord was watching over me. I gained a deeper understanding of the Atonement of Jesus Christ as I felt the Savior’s healing balm. On days when I felt I could not function, I could feel angelic hands bearing me up.
My husband and I prayed for continued comfort. We were both still sad, but neither of us doubted that through His Atonement, the Savior could cover our pain and loss.
This experience was incredibly difficult. At times it was almost too great to bear. But I am eternally grateful for the relationship I developed with my Heavenly Father and my Savior through this experience. Prayer can be one of our greatest resources.
I know that Heavenly Father really does care for His children and that He and His Son “will not leave [us] comfortless” (John 14:18).

One ever remembers that Christmas day when giving replaced getting. In my life, this took place in my tenth year. As Christmas approached, I yearned as only a boy can yearn for an electric train. My desire was not to receive the economical and everywhere-to-be-found windup model train; rather, I wanted one that operated through the miracle of electricity. The times were those of economic depression; yet Mother and Dad, through some sacrifice, I am sure, presented to me on Christmas morning a beautiful electric train.

For hours I operated the transformer, watching the engine first pull its cars forward, then push them backward around the track. Mother entered the living room and said to me that she had purchased a windup train for Mrs. Hansen’s son Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see the train. The engine was short and blocky, not long and sleek like the expensive model I had received. However, I did take notice of an oil tanker car that was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and pangs of envy began to be felt. I put up such a fuss that Mother succumbed to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker car. She said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.

Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen. The young boy was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, it not being electric like mine, and was overjoyed as the engine and two cars, plus a caboose, went around the track. Mother wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?”

I felt a keen sense of guilt and became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a moment. I’ll be right back!”

As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran to our home, picked up the oil tanker car, plus an additional car from my train set, ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, and joyfully said to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars that belong to your train.” Mark coupled the two extra cars to his set. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track and felt a supreme joy, difficult to describe and impossible to forget. The spirit of Christmas had filled my very soul.

In the George household, there are cherished memories about their ancestors that help strengthen the faith of family members. Elder George relates one beautiful story his grandfather told them:
“One man told my Grandpa about being in a stake conference when he was twelve years old, and he became nervous when Elder Kimball [then an Apostle] asked all of the twelveyear-old boys to come to the front. Elder Kimball lined them all up and gave each one of them a crisp, new one-dollar bill. He told them that that was the start of their missionary fund. The man never forgot that experience and he said that it helped give focus to his life.”

President McKay was prepared for this work and responsibility from his earliest childhood in Huntsville, where he was taught by the example of his parents that the Lord and His work were to come first in a person’s life. When he was eight years old, his two older sisters died, and a short time later, his father was called on a two-year mission to Scotland. Sister McKay was to give birth to a baby girl in ten days, the farm had to be run, and the young family needed to be fed. It was a time of testing and of sacrifice—and David learned much about faith and commitment. As his father climbed on his horse to leave, he lifted young David up into his arms, kissed him good-bye, and said, “David, take care of Mama and the family.” From that day forward, David O. McKay developed an exceptional sense of responsibility.

I love the temple. When I was a child, my Primary teacher took my class to the Salt Lake Temple grounds. It was wonderful to walk through the grounds, admire the beautiful flowers, and feel Heavenly Father’s Spirit near the house of the Lord.
My teacher pointed out that the temple is made from granite stones. She talked about the sacrifice the pioneers made for those precious stones—how it took five days for them to bring one stone to the temple site. “Can you see all these stones?” she asked. “Think of how many days it would have taken the pioneers to bring them to build this beautiful temple.” I remember realizing the sacrifice that was made by our ancestors.
It was a memorable experience. It’s also an example of how you children can enjoy the blessings of the temple now. If you live near a temple, you can partake of the spiritual atmosphere at the temple grounds. After you are baptized and confirmed, you can participate in temple dedications. And there will be many more dedications; 11 are being planned right now! When you turn 12, you can perform baptisms for the dead. No matter how far you live from a temple, it is important for you to prepare now for that sacred opportunity.

Jimmy came in from playing ball and found his big sister typing at her desk. “What are you doing, Laura?”
“I’m typing my résumé,” his sister replied.
“What’s a résumé?”
“It’s a list of the things I know how to do. I’m going to send it to people who might want to give me a job.”
“Why are you looking for a job?” Jimmy asked.
“Because I’ll soon be going to college and I want to earn as much money for it as I can,” Laura answered, pulling her finished résumé out of the typewriter.
“Can I make a résumé too?” Jimmy asked.
Laura smiled. “Of course you can!” She dug through the desk drawers and pulled out some crayons and paper. “Here, Jimmy. Since you can’t write yet, why don’t you draw some jobs you can do around the house.”
“OK.” Jimmy knew he could do a good job on his résumé. He pulled up a chair beside his sister and began to draw and color. When he was done, he had five pictures. “I’m ready for you to see my résumé!” He climbed onto her lap.
“What beautiful pictures!” Laura said, looking carefully at each one.
“Will you help me write the name of the job on each picture?”
“OK. What does this first picture say?”
“This is me washing Spot,” Jimmy explained.
Laura wrote below the picture, “Jimmy can wash Spot the dog.” When she read the title to Jimmy, he smiled.
Jimmy’s sister flipped to the second picture.
“This is me dusting the furniture,” Jimmy said with a big grin.
Laura wrote below the picture, “Jimmy can dust.”
Jimmy flipped to the third page. “I can dry the dishes,” he said happily.
Below the third picture, Laura wrote, “Jimmy can dry the dishes.”
Jimmy eagerly flipped to the fourth page. This picture was divided into halves. “This part shows me raking leaves,” Jimmy explained with a big smile. “The other part shows me shoveling snow.”
“Oh, this is the best picture yet, Jimmy! I really like the snowflakes and the colored leaves.” Laura wrote, “Jimmy can rake leaves and shovel snow” under the picture. “So far this is a great résumé—I’m proud of it.”
“Thanks, Laura! I’m real proud of it, too,” Jimmy said as he flipped to the final page. “This picture says I can take out the trash.”
“That’s wonderful, Jimmy. Now I’m going to write the last title for your résumé.” She picked up her pen and wrote, “Jimmy can take out the trash.” She laughed. “Jimmy, you’re hired! You’re going to be a big help here when I get a job. I’m very proud of you!”

All this talk caused a great curiosity about the Church and the Book of Mormon. Twelve-year-old Mary Elizabeth Rollins, a recently baptized member, wanted to see the Book of Mormon, but at that time there were very few copies of it available. When she heard that a neighbor, Isaac Morley, had one, she went to his home to see it. When she first glimpsed at the book, an overwhelming desire came over her to read it. Gathering her courage, she asked if she could take the book home and read it while Brother Morley attended a missionary meeting that evening. Brother Morley hesitated but finally said, “Child, if you will bring this book back before breakfast tomorrow morning, you may take it.” Mary hurried home with the book, threw open the door, and exclaimed to her uncle and aunt, “Here is the ‘Golden Bible!’” Immediately her aunt and uncle sat down with her and began taking turns reading until late at night. Mary got up the next morning as soon as it was light enough to see and memorized the first verse. Then she hurried to Brother Morley’s house to return the book. Upon greeting her, Brother Morley said, “I guess you did not read much in it.” When Mary showed him how far they had read, he was surprised. “I don’t believe you can tell me one word of it,” he said. Mary repeated the verse she had memorized and told him the story of Nephi. At that, Brother Morley gazed at her and said, “Child, take this book home and finish it. I can wait.”