Gospel Story Finder

The closest temple for the saints in Brazzaville is currently in Kinshasa, in the DRC. Getting there has not always been easy.
“We organized massive trips to the temple in Kinshasa, which meant we had to brave the challenge of crossing the turbulent river with our families,” said President Gayouele. “It was also during a time when our country was going through a severe recession. Families were destitute, but for these trips, members made enormous sacrifices to pay for the tickets for crossing the river, meals, and accommodation. There were so many of us leaving for the temple that very often there was no more room for us in the Kinshasa temple. Some brothers and sisters had to stay outside the temple and wait for their turn. These trips were sometimes trials of faith and determination for temple ordinances. Eventually, these trips have enabled us to bring the spirit of the temple into the hearts of Church members.”

Illustrations by Hollie Hibbert
Tomorrow was Moresby’s first day of school. He was nervous.
“Mummy, do you think kids will tease me?” he asked at breakfast.
“Will my teacher be nice?” he asked at lunch.
“What if no one plays with me?” he asked at dinner.
That night Dad gave Moresby a priesthood blessing. Dad said it would help him be brave. During the blessing Moresby felt warm in his heart. Mummy said that feeling was the Holy Ghost.
At school the next day, Moresby tried his best to be brave. He met his new teacher, Mrs. Moetu. She was nice. He met lots of new friends, and nobody teased him!
But during recess, two boys made mean faces at a girl on the playground. She started to cry. Moresby wanted to be brave. He walked over to help her. The boys saw him and ran away.
“I miss my mum.” The girl sniffed.
“Me too,” said Moresby.
Moresby thought of how he could cheer her up. He scooped up some dirt. “Want to bake a cake with me?”
The girl wiped her tears. “How?” she asked.
“We can make pavlova,” Moresby said, shaping the dirt like a cake.
The girl smiled. “I love pavlova.”
Later that day, Mummy picked up Moresby from school.
“How was your first day?” asked Mummy.
Moresby smiled. “I was brave, and I made a new friend!”
“That’s great!” Mummy said. “I’m glad Heavenly Father helped you today.”
Moresby smiled. “From now on, you can call me Moresby the Brave!”

Years ago our young family moved into a home on what was then the edge of development in our community, which afforded a view of the mountains to the east. One Monday morning, just as I finished dressing and was ready to rush out the door to work, our six-year-old son, Craig, came bringing his four-year-old brother, Andrew, into the room by the hand. With determination Craig looked up at me and said, “Dad, yesterday in Primary my teacher told us that if you hold the priesthood, you can move mountains. I told Andy this, and he doesn’t believe me. You hold the priesthood, right, Dad?” Then turning his little body and pointing out the window, he looked back at me and said, “See those mountains over there? Show him, Dad!”
What followed was a sweet experience. How grateful I was for young sons who were beginning a lifetime of learning about the priesthood.

“You be good and mind your aunt and uncle,” Dad said.
Sammy gave his dad a big hug and then gave his mom an even bigger one. “I will,” he promised, waving good-bye as his parents left for a weekend out of town. Sammy was happy to be spending Saturday and Sunday at his cousin Joey’s house. There were so many fun things to do. There were board games and video games. There was a swing set, a trampoline, and a barn with a loft. Playing in the loft was Sammy’s favorite thing.
Sammy had a great time. He and Joey played catch in the morning. After lunch they bounced high on the trampoline and soared even higher on the swing set. Later in the afternoon they played hide-and-seek in the barn. For dinner they had sloppy joes, Sammy’s favorite. After dinner, Joey and Sammy watched one of their favorite movies and then fell asleep in the family room.
The next morning, Sammy enjoyed going to Primary with Joey. Brother Clark, the CTR 5 teacher, was kind. Sammy liked hearing the stories in the lesson.
After church the boys changed their clothes. “What should we do now?” Sammy asked.
Joey thought for a minute. “What if we play at the park? Or we could watch a movie or take turns riding my bike. Or we could play video games. What would you like to do?”
Sammy wondered what to say. None of those activities seemed like the best ones for Sunday. Sammy’s parents had taught him that the Sabbath was a special day that should be different from other days. But his parents weren’t here, and he didn’t want to offend Joey. Maybe it would be OK. Joey’s mom and dad must think so.
Sammy decided to tell Joey that all the ideas sounded fun. He started to form the words, but he just couldn’t say them. He knew it wasn’t right. “What if we color the pictures we got in Primary today?” he asked instead. “Then maybe we could draw pictures and send them to Uncle Nick on his mission in Chile.”
“Yeah, I guess that sounds pretty fun,” Joey agreed. “Let’s go get my crayons, and we can color at the kitchen table.”
Sammy gave a silent sigh of relief. He knew that Mom and Dad would be pleased, and he was glad that Joey wasn’t upset. But most important, he knew that Heavenly Father was happy with his choice. That was what really counted.

When I turned 18, my father allowed me to be baptized in any church I wanted. I wanted to join a Christian church because I’d studied the Bible in several congregations and believed in Jesus Christ.
One day my uncle invited two sister missionaries to our home. They spoke with much conviction about their belief in the Book of Mormon as another testament of Jesus Christ, stating that He had visited the American continent.
On that point, I expressed my opinion that perhaps they were mistaken, since never in my life had I studied about that. One of the sister missionaries, with tears in her eyes and with kindness, said to me, “Brother Roberto, the fact that you do not know the Book of Mormon is true does not mean that we are mistaken. I know that Jesus Christ loves us and that He was on this continent and that He taught His gospel just as He had in the Holy Land.”
They tried to help me with my many concerns and doubts during that first discussion, agreeing that they would visit me the next week.
That night I began to leaf through the Book of Mormon. As I read the title page, one phrase caught my attention: “Jesus is the Christ, the Eternal God, manifesting himself unto all nations.” I also read 3 Nephi 11 about the Savior’s visit to the Americas, and I felt a gladness in my heart. So I did what the missionaries had told me to do: I knelt and asked my Heavenly Father if the book was true.
As I finished the prayer, I felt a peace and a surety that this was so. For a moment I thought that the tears of the sisters had moved me and caused me to believe in their testimony. So I continued reading the Book of Mormon until a little after 4:00 in the morning. Each time I prayed, I felt with more strength the confirmation that Christ had come to the Americas and that He wanted me to learn more about His true gospel.
Within weeks, I finished reading the Book of Mormon and felt a need to be baptized into the true Church.
Reading the Book of Mormon helped me to grow closer to Jesus Christ and to make Him the center of my life. I am so grateful that the Savior put the missionaries and His Church into my path.

It seems like we’re always asking people in our ward (Centerville Fifth, Centerville Utah South Stake) to contribute something to the youth.
For example, as a Mia Maid, I’ve been to practically every home in the ward to see if we could wash their windows, or sell them pizza, or get the whole family to come to a fund-raising dinner. The Aaronic Priesthood does the same thing—they’ve tried power raking lawns, selling light bulbs, even holding “slave auctions.”
And the people in the ward do try to support us as much as they can. So our leaders suggested that it was about time we said thanks. What’s more, they even suggested a way—a car wash.
I can hear you already. A car wash. That’s not a way of saying thanks. That’s another fund-raising idea, and not a very original one at that. But this car wash wasn’t to make money. We were going to clean every car in the ward—for free.
“Think of it as our way of saying thanks to everybody who’s helped the youth,” said Nadine Taylor, our Young Women president. “It’ll make them happier the next time they see you at their door,” said Corey Stahle, the Young Men president at the time.
Our group response was about zero.
But our leaders persisted, and after distributing flyers, getting announcements in the ward bulletin and the ward paper, and making arrangements for water, soap, towels, vacuums, and buckets, we started making suds, and something magic happened.
One by one, cars pulled up, the cars of the same people who had purchased our pizzas or driven us to girls’ camp or coached our ball teams. One by one, we were able to tell them, “Thanks. No charge. This one’s for you.” And we even washed a couple of cars for people who happened by and thought it was a fund-raiser, people who aren’t even members of the ward. You can imagine how they reacted when we told them the service was free.
Oh yes, we had the usual water fights and chasing around. And granted, we didn’t wash every car in the ward. But we washed enough of them that people were talking about it for weeks. I guess we did something pretty good.

This year when I changed to a new school, I cried a lot because I didn’t want to leave my old friends. I told myself I would never like my new school and felt like I would be betraying my old friends if I made new ones.
All week, I kept a frown on my face. I didn’t talk to anyone. There were some girls who tried talking with me, but I wasn’t looking to make friends with them.
One day, I realized I didn’t want to be alone. I saw that I needed to be more open. While watching a television series about Jesus Christ, I was inspired to think about how He made friends. Even He didn’t please everyone, but for most people, He changed their life.
Because of Christ’s example, I decided to try to make new friends, even with the fear I had. I was afraid because I was shy and worried that people would make fun of me. But I had the thought, “You have a Father in Heaven who will help you. Even if everyone rejects you, He will be there.”
Now looking back, I can see that the one Friend who never left me during that time was the Savior. Because of the hard experiences I went through, I got so much closer to Him. He loves us so much that He gave His own life for us. And He gave us the scriptures so we can know how to be like Him. You can always count on Jesus Christ to be your Friend.
Rebeca C., age 13, Ceará, Brazil
Enjoys playing volleyball, reading, and drawing.

When James R. Heap accepted his mission call, he was well aware of the years of college, medical school, and residency lying ahead. Still, he wasn’t worried that a mission break would hinder him professionally. Upon returning home he quickly made up for “lost” time. After three years of college he was accepted to medical school—the first year of medical school was applied to his graduation requirements—and he became a doctor of medicine at the age of 26, the same age as many others who had gone straight through. (Incidentally, he was serving in the branch presidency of a student branch at the time.) He then took a three-year residency at Scott Air Force Base Medical Center in Illinois and is presently established as a family practice specialist in Phoenix, Arizona.
During those years of internship and residency, he continued his Church service, fulfilling many responsible callings, among them executive secretary, Sunday School teacher, and high councilor.
Dr. Heap feels that his mission contributed in a large way to his success as a physician. When he returned to college, he found that his capacity for learning, and the speed with which he did it, were increased. More importantly, devoting his time and talents to full-time missionary work brought about an increased love and concern for others. “Intelligence alone is not enough,” he maintains. “Intelligence plus a Christlike love for mankind is the perfect combination for a successful and respected physician.”
In addition to his present responsibilities as husband, father of five, and physician, Dr. Heap still finds time to serve as the ward music chairman, ward organist and choir accompanist, family relations teacher, and temple preparation seminar teacher. He has done more, at the relatively young age of 30, than many do in a lifetime.
How does he manage it, one might wonder.
“The more I give, the more I’m blessed and the more I’m able to do effectively,” he answers. “Happiness has come into my life through service to my God, my family, and my fellowmen.”

Such a man was Paul Tingey. Just a month ago I attended his funeral services here in Salt Lake City. Paul grew up in a fine Latter-day Saint home and served an honorable mission for the Lord in Germany. A companion of his in the mission field was Elder Bruce D. Porter of the First Quorum of the Seventy. Elder Porter described Elder Tingey as one of the most dedicated and successful missionaries he ever knew.

At the conclusion of his mission, Elder Tingey returned home, completed his studies at the university, married his sweetheart, and together with her reared their family. He served as a bishop and was successful in his vocation.

Then, without much warning, the symptoms of a dreaded disease struck his nervous system—even multiple sclerosis. Held captive by this malady, Paul Tingey struggled valiantly but then was confined to a care facility for the remainder of his life. There he cheered up the sad and made everyone feel glad. Whenever I attended Church meetings there, Paul lifted my spirits, as he did all others.

When the World Olympics came to Salt Lake City in 2002, Paul was selected to carry the Olympic torch for a specified distance. When this was announced at the care facility, a cheer erupted from those patients assembled and a hearty round of applause echoed through the halls. As I congratulated Paul, he said with his limited diction, “I hope I don’t drop the torch!”

Brethren, Paul Tingey didn’t drop the Olympic torch. What’s more, he carried bravely the torch he was handed in life and did so to the day of his passing.

Spirituality, faith, determination, courage—Paul Tingey had them all.

Kathy is a graduate from BYU’s College of Nursing and is a registered nurse. Years ago our daughter Sarah was a little under the weather and had a bit of a fever. There was really nothing to cause more than usual concern. But as Kathy walked past our bookshelf and saw her nursing books, she had a distinct thought, “I ought to read up on what to do if someone has a fever seizure.” Thankfully, she responded to the prompting and pulled out the book and reviewed the proper care for fever seizures. Not too long after Kathy finished the review, Sarah’s fever spiked and she started having seizures. Kathy was able to render the appropriate care until we could get Sarah to the hospital.

The day was not even close to Christmas. It was a summer day. My mother died in the early afternoon. My father, my brother, and I had gone from the hospital to our family home, just the three of us. We fixed ourselves a snack; then we talked with visitors. It grew late, dusk fell, and I remember we still had not turned on the lights.

Dad answered the doorbell. It was Aunt Catherine and Uncle Bill. I could see that Uncle Bill was holding a bottle of cherries. I can still see the deep red, almost purple, cherries and the shiny gold cap on the jar. He said, “You might enjoy these. You probably haven’t had dessert.”

We hadn’t. The three of us sat around the kitchen table, put some cherries in bowls, and ate them as Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine cleared some dishes. Uncle Bill asked, “Are there people you haven’t had time to call? Just give me some names and I’ll do it.” We mentioned a few relatives who would want to know of mother’s death. And then Aunt Catherine and Uncle Bill were gone. They could not have been with us more than 20 minutes.

Now, we can understand my theory best if we focus on one gift: the bottle of cherries. And let’s explain the theory from the point of view of the person who received the gift: me. That’s crucial, because what matters in what the giver does is what the receiver feels.

As nearly as I can tell, the giving and receiving of a great gift always has three parts. Here they are, illustrated by that gift on a summer evening.

First, I knew that Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine had felt what I was feeling and had been touched. I’m not over the thrill of that yet. They must have felt we’d be too tired to fix much food. They must have felt that a bowl of home-canned cherries would make us feel, for a moment, like a family again. Just knowing that someone had understood what I felt meant far more to me than the cherries themselves. I can’t remember the taste of the cherries, but I remember that someone knew my heart and cared.

Second, I felt that the gift was free. I knew Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine had chosen freely to bring a gift. They weren’t doing it to compel a response from me; the gift seemed to provide them joy in the giving.

And third, there was an element of sacrifice. Someone might say, “But how could they give for the joy of it and yet make a sacrifice?” Well, I could see the sacrifice. I knew that Aunt Catherine had canned those cherries for her family. They must have liked cherries. But she took that possible pleasure from them and gave it to me. That’s sacrifice. But I have realized since then this marvelous fact: It must have seemed to Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine that they would have more pleasure if I had the cherries than if they did. There was sacrifice, but it was made for a greater return to them—my happiness. Anyone can let the person who gets a gift know of the giver’s sacrifice. But only an expert can let you sense that sacrifice brings joy to the giver because it blesses the receiver.

One evening as I was taxiing my plane full of passengers to the runway, I had a feeling that something was wrong with the aircraft steering system. To confirm my spiritual impression, I pulled off the taxiway and did a few 360-degree turns. Nothing seemed out of order.
I wondered, “Should I take off and get the passengers to their destination on time, or should I return to the gate?” I knew returning would create a long delay. Taxiway runs are one way; I would have to wait for ground control to create a space for me to taxi against the traffic flow. Then we would have to wait for the maintenance crew to check out the plane. The delays could cause problems for the airline and for the passengers who had people to meet and connections to make. I also wondered how the maintenance department would react to my report that the plane had a problem when I had nothing to go on except a strong feeling.
As captain of the aircraft, I was responsible for our safety, so I decided to follow my impression and return.
When we arrived at the gate, I told the mechanic that I felt something was wrong with the plane but that I didn’t know what the trouble was. He did not believe there was a problem.
“It was probably just the wet taxiway,” he said. “You may have been slipping on the asphalt.” He agreed, nevertheless, to look at the steering gear on the nose wheel. After checking it, he asked me to off-load the passengers so he could take the plane for a test ride.
When he returned 30 minutes later, he was very concerned. During the test ride, he had heard an intermittent grinding sound. When he applied the brakes as he was turning around to return to the gate, he lost control of the plane and nearly ran off the taxiway.
A close inspection revealed that the brakes had undergone improper maintenance the previous evening. Had I landed the plane after our flight, the brakes would have failed, and I would have lost control of the plane.
I received another aircraft to pilot, and I safely delivered my passengers to their destination three hours late.
I am glad I listened to the whisperings of the Spirit. I know that the Spirit will direct us if we seek the Lord’s guidance and listen to the promptings that come.

Recently, in fact last spring at the end of the school year, there was a high school graduation in a community here in the West. Several appropriate parties were planned for the graduates. However, there was one party that sort of sneaked into the lineup that was wrong. It was bad. In this case several shows of an immoral nature had been planned at a local residence. Not knowing beforehand the nature of the movies, a group of unsuspecting Latter-day Saint young people went to the home for the party. As soon as the film started to run and its vulgar message came to the screen, part of the Latter-day Saint young people got up and left, while others of the same group stayed in the home.

When outside, the few who were leaving met some of their friends just arriving. They told them of the nature of the show and recommended that they not go in. Part of this group then turned and left also; however, a few of the weak went into the home, there to have their minds saturated and polluted by the power of Satan. Yes, there are those who will do whatever they need to do to be right with the Lord, to do right. There are those who really believe that holding the priesthood is special, important, something really worth honoring.

Before their move to Broken Hill, the Kowalski family lived in Ipswich, Queensland, on Australia’s east coast. It’s a nearly tropical area, green and lush and close to some of the finest beaches in the world.
Then Jared’s dad took a job as a dentist for one of the mining companies, and the Kowalskis moved to Broken Hill. In the middle of nowhere. Or at least on the edge of nowhere. And Jared couldn’t be happier.
To some, the red, sandy soil of the outback may be a poor trade for the golden beaches near Ipswich. But to Jared, the snakes and odd lizards and other creatures of the outback are fascinating. In addition to the dogs and fish and other pets that any family might have, Jared has a small backyard menagerie with a bearded dragon lizard, a shingle-back lizard, turtles, finches, and quails—oh, and his carpet python, Monty.
Jared’s interest in animals goes even further. On some Saturdays, he helps the local veterinarian in his surgery, handing him instruments. “I thought it would be interesting,” he says, “so I asked if I could help.”
And if Jared could travel, where would he go? He doesn’t have to think that one over for long. “The Amazon rain forest,” he says. “There’s all those interesting plants and animals. That’s where I’d like to serve my mission, too. I think the people there would be interesting as well.” As much as Jared likes animals, you find when you talk to him that his greatest appreciation is for people.
A good prospector must look beyond the surface of the rocks to see the treasures they might hide. Jared’s that way with people. When you ask him if he feels isolated here in Broken Hill, he says, “I like it. There are some good members here. The best ones are old. They’ve got a lot to tell you. Most of them are really spiritual.”
The branch in Broken Hill is small, and Jared is the oldest Aaronic Priesthood bearer. He’s conscious of the example he has to set for the younger boys, to show his brothers and the other boys “the right things to do.” And the priesthood itself? “It just feels good. You feel special—a lot more confident when you have to do hard things, like tests at school.”
One of those right things to do is home teaching. “I like to home teach,” Jared says. With his senior companion, Lee Robertson, Jared visits five families, offering the prayer when asked. Jared likes people, and home teaching helps him get to know these families better. (It doesn’t hurt that Brother Robertson is also an outdoorsman. He and Jared sometimes talk about hunting wild pigs in the bush, and Jared is looking forward to getting his own compound bow, maybe doing some hunting himself.)
Jared has struck it rich in Broken Hill, all right, but he would also be the first to admit that he brought his greatest treasure with him. The Kowalski home on Cobalt Street is modest, but it’s filled with family and love. As Jared puts it, “We have heaps of fun. We have family home evening, go to the movies. I go camping with my dad.”
The family also reads the Book of Mormon together. Sometimes it makes Jared feel inspired; sometimes it’s hard to understand. But it does help contribute to his growing testimony. “I’ve already got a big testimony of prayer,” he says.
When Jared’s mission call comes a few years from now, it may not be to the jungles of the Amazon. But you know that wherever he goes, he’s going to be happy and successful.
Some people look at a place and think of it as nowhere. Then a guy like Jared comes along and turns it into his own personal somewhere. Like those first prospectors, Jared has found a vein of treasure. He’s rich in the best possible way.

Michael Garfield, a priest in the Plymouth Ward, stood his ground last summer when his soccer team was about to go into the state tournament. His coach wanted him to return the next season, but that would mean Sunday matches. The state tournament was also on Sunday. Michael had told his coach he could not play on Sundays already, and he was about to explain to him the importance of the Sabbath day. But before he could explain, one of his nonmember teammates, whom Michael had explained the Sabbath to before, jumped in and told the coach about the importance of the Sabbath day. “My coach understood better because he heard it from someone else,” Michael says. He was glad he had explained to his friend the sacredness of the Sabbath.
Michael has decided not to continue playing on the soccer team because of all the Sunday games. Keeping the Sabbath holy and having family time is more important to him, he says.

Juliana was a little bit scared to give a talk in Primary.
Grandma gave Juliana a hug. “Heavenly Father will help you,” she whispered.
When it was her turn, Juliana saw her friends, her teacher, and Grandma and Grandpa all smiling at her. Then she gave her talk.
“I am a child of God. I show that I love Heavenly Father by learning about Jesus, saying my prayers, and helping my family. I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus love me too. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
After Primary, Juliana gave Grandma a big hug. “I wasn’t scared,” she said. “I knew that Heavenly Father was helping me.”

I remember a missionary who had just recently returned from the mission field who came into the Institute of Religion when I was there. He had committed a grave mistake that caused him to think that his life was ruined forever. And I said to him, “God loves you just as much today as he did last Thursday,” and he couldn’t believe it. The thought had never occurred to him. He wept like a child. You know, sometimes we think that God loves us to the extent that we please him, to the extent that we’re good boys and girls, good men and women. Love from God is not earned. It is not merited; if it is, it is justice and reciprocity and reward. Love comes from a loving heart, and God’s love is unconditional. And he loves the worst of us and the best of us equally, I believe. We cause him to suffer when we do wrong, when he sees us live our lives in ways that destroy us, and when he sees us hurting other people—this must cause him pain.

Renee Holloway, a member of the Bonifay Ward, Panama City Florida Stake, is a goal setter.
At the beginning of her senior year she set several goals that helped her throughout the year. She decided she would read her scriptures every night and devote time to seminary study. She also achieved a goal to complete her Young Womanhood Recognition.
Renee received an award as the outstanding senior band member at her high school. She also received an award for being the most outstanding senior in her graduating class, an accomplishment she believes she couldn’t have achieved without setting goals. Renee said she was often inspired by the many faithful Latter-day Saint teenagers she read about in the New Era.

In 2021, the service-mission programme started in the UK. This led me to look at serving again. I am now two months into my service mission—it is the best decision I have ever made. I was set apart at the same time as my younger brother, Elder Joseph Peedle, who is serving in Helsinki, Finland. It was amazing to be set apart on the same day! During my preparation for starting my mission, I learnt a lot about being patient and how things are done in the Lord’s timing.
My service mission has saved me. It has given me purpose and focus. I felt lost for a long time and this mission ‘found’ me. I love the gospel and I love our Saviour and our Heavenly Father. Trust in the Lord, everything will work out!

Beatrix Potter was born on July 6, 1866, in London. Her parents were strict and had little understanding of children. She had no brothers or sisters until she was six years old. Instead of attending public school, her wealthy parents hired a governess and tutor to teach her. Timid and lonely, Beatrix spent most of her time in the top-floor nursery of her home. Here she created a fantasy world. Rabbits, toads, and frogs were her friends. When her brother, Bertram, was born, he became her playmate.

Beatrix did enjoy the family holidays in Scotland every summer. It was here that her creative ability grew. She loved to see the frogs leaping, rabbits hopping, and little wood mice playing. She would hide in the fields for hours at a time, sitting in tall weeds as she watched and dreamed. The simple cottages where the Scottish families lived appealed to Beatrix. She was amazed at the love and affection Scottish parents showed their children.

Farmers allowed Beatrix to feed their small animals. She gave bread to the ducks, corn to the chickens, lettuce and carrots to the rabbits. It was as though she suddenly lived in a magical world, and Beatrix was spellbound. She and little Bertram sketched everything in sight.

The fantasy world mixed with the real world for Beatrix. In the pictures she drew, rabbits walked upright like humans. They wore clothing and carried umbrellas. Some of the female rabbits wore hats that looked like the girl’s mother’s.

Beatrix enjoyed inventing stories about small animals and drew pictures to illustrate them. She used a paintbrush or pencil like a magic wand. And the many animals that were kept as pets became her models.

While still living at home, Beatrix began sending illustrated letters to Noel, the son of a former governess. He read the letters with such delight that Beatrix decided to make a book. She lengthened the Peter Rabbit story and submitted it to Frederick Warne & Co., a London publisher. Although it was rejected, Miss Potter had faith in her rabbit story. She felt so strongly that children would like it that she had it published privately. The book sold quickly for one shilling and twopence a copy. During the next eighty years, over twenty million copies were sold!

The Tale of Peter Rabbit has been translated into thirteen languages. Sightless children can also enjoy the book in Braille.

After Miss Potter published her own book, she again showed it to Frederick Warne & Co. The editor now saw possibilities in publishing it, and he accepted the Tale of Peter Rabbit. Its success gave Miss Potter encouragement, and in the next eight years she wrote thirteen children’s books. In all, twenty-three were written and published, the last one in 1930. Beatrix Potter’s Peter Rabbit books are enjoyed today just as much as when Noel received his first illustrated letter in 1893.