Gospel Story Finder

Other milestones were trips to the Freiberg Germany Temple to be baptized for the dead in April and August 1994. Latter-day Saint youth from all over Hungary crowded onto buses to make the 22-hour journey. Then they returned home with a mission: to tell others about it so everyone could share in the power and beauty of the experience.
“I didn’t know who the people were who I was being baptized for—or when they lived,” says Somodi Zsuzsanna, 18. “About halfway through, without warning I suddenly felt the Spirit. I felt that perhaps that person had accepted the gospel in the spirit world and had been waiting for somebody to be baptized in her name. I have never felt such a wonderful thing, before or since.”
“When I was inside the temple,” says Borsos Péter, 18, “I had the sensation that the temple had no roof—that there was direct contact with heaven!”

“Let’s go! They’re waiting for us,” I said anxiously. I was nervous, the crowd was waiting, and I was ready to perform.
My friends Carson, Mark, Tyson, Bryce, and I had formed a dance group called Saturday Knights. After performing well in a competition, our group had become well known in the community. Tonight we were dancing during the intermission of a scholarship pageant.
As we were about to go on stage, Mark suggested we say a prayer. We always have a prayer before and after each performance.
“No, let’s just go,” I said. “They’re waiting for us. We don’t have time.”
Mark looked at me intently and said firmly, “There is never enough time to thank the Lord for all He has given us. We have time to pray.”
I was struck dumb. I stood there feeling terrible. Correcting myself, I knelt with my friends, said a prayer of thanksgiving, and then went on stage.
Mark’s comment gave me a new perspective on gratitude. He was right. There really isn’t enough time to thank Heavenly Father for all of His countless blessings. Because of Mark’s example, my testimony was strengthened. I have never forgotten his words, and my life has been greatly blessed because of them.

Missionary work is great! One of the reasons I decided to serve a mission is because of a missionary assigned to my branch at home. One time I asked him, “Elder, why did you serve a mission and leave your work and family?”
He answered, “Brother, there are two reasons I went on a mission. First, I love God. Second, I love the people who have not yet heard about the gospel of Jesus Christ.” (See Mosiah 28:3.)
Because of that missionary, I am now serving a mission.

In 1994, I was called to serve as a mission president in Manchester, England. In that mission, we had missionaries from all over the world. Many of those young missionaries had never seen the prophet or heard him speak, yet they loved and followed him.
One of these missionaries was Sister Kita, who was from Albania. When she heard that President Gordon B. Hinckley was planning to visit Liverpool, where she was serving, she begged me, “President Richards, please don’t transfer me until after the prophet’s visit.” When the prophet came, I remember watching tears stream down her cheeks as she reached out to shake his hand when he walked down the chapel aisle. Sister Kita truly loved and followed the prophet.

At the funeral services for a remarkable daughter of God, someone shared that this sister, as stake Relief Society president, worked with others in her stake to contribute quilts to give warmth to suffering people in Kosovo during the 1990s. And like the good Samaritan, she went out of her way to do more as she and her daughter drove a truck filled with those quilts from London to Kosovo. On her journey home she received an unmistakable spiritual impression that sank deep into her heart. The impression was this: “What you have done is a very good thing. Now go home, walk across the street, and serve your neighbor!”19

One day, I was leaving my office for an evening event for work. As I was driving along Ala Moana Blvd, it was the time of day that the sun was going to be setting within the next 15 minutes. The sky was clear and the ocean beautiful. Most times, I would hurry to my meeting, not taking time to appreciate the beautiful place in which we live. This particular day, I decided to pull off the road and into a parking lot where I could get out of my car and stand on the shore and watch the sun set. I stood there appreciating the beautiful place that we live in and gave thanks to my Father in Heaven for creating it. The picture is still as vivid in my mind today as it was when I originally saw it.

It was about 25 years ago that I received the assignment to be chairman of the Missionary Executive Council. Christmas was approaching. It had been the practice to have a devotional at the Provo Missionary Training Center on Christmas morning with all the missionaries who were away from home; perhaps for most of them it was their first Christmas not being with family and friends.
We decided to take our turn and be the speakers at the devotional. Because it was Christmastime and Christmastime is a time of remembering families, we decided to take our children and grandchildren to the MTC with us. In those days, they didn’t have the fine facilities they have today for the devotional settings. They set up chairs in the cafeteria with a small, raised platform for those that were speaking. We were very close to the missionaries, and there were certainly not the numbers that we have today.
The theme we tried to carry into the setting with the missionaries was family traditions you can carry with you in the field. We tried to emphasize those basic values they would be able to teach their investigators from their own personal experience of living in a Latter-day Saint home—the values of family prayer, family scripture study, family home evenings, counsel with fathers and mothers, and so on.
The messages seemed to be appropriate and well-received by the missionaries as family members participated. The musical numbers were furnished by the grandchildren. We had two at that time who were without their two front teeth. They sang “All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth.” That was all we needed to gain the warm, loving appreciation of the missionaries that particular morning.
We decided to stay and have Christmas dinner with all of the missionaries. We wanted to scatter ourselves around them, so each of us, including the grandchildren, sat at a different table with these great young men and women and the couples. Conversations, of course, centered around being away from home and remembering Christmas traditions. We learned of the lessons their parents had taught to prepare them for being full-time missionaries and declaring the message of the restored gospel to the peoples of the world. It was a wonderful experience, one we’ll never forget.

Melissa White has loved dance ever since she was two, when she saw her first ballet on television. But she had no idea what that love would lead to. While dancing in a local dance group’s production of West Side Story, Melissa made friends with newly baptized Monica Hall, who introduced Melissa to the gospel. Melissa began attending the Biloxi Second Ward, Gulfport Mississippi Stake, reading the Book of Mormon, and taking missionary discussions. It wasn’t long before she was baptized.
Since then many good things have happened to Melissa. She was selected to compete in the prestigious International Ballet Competition, held in Jackson, Mississippi, and her mother has gained enough interest from Melissa’s example to take the missionary discussions. Melissa’s life hasn’t been easy—her parents are divorced, and she’s lived with both, but she’s grateful for the guidance and encouragement the gospel has brought her.

The school bell rang as I finished copying the last spelling word from the board. I stuffed my books into my backpack. Kim, who sits between Eddie and me, left as Eddie rummaged around in his desk. Crumpled papers and books flew all over the floor.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“My spelling list for tomorrow’s test. My mom gets mad if I don’t bring it home. She says it’s the only way to keep making As, but it isn’t!”
I wish I always made As. I’m not very good at spelling. Dad helps me study every night, and I’d sure like to give him a 100 percent correct, A+ spelling test for Father’s Day, along with the shaving lotion I got him. He’d like that.
I laid my paper by my backpack and picked up a dirty, torn paper Eddie had stomped on. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” He shoved it into his pocket.
Erasing the board, Miss Clark said, “You boys had better get going.”
I helped Eddie stuff books and papers back into his desk, and we left. He lives next door to me, so we usually walk home together.
“Want to play a video game?” he asked. “Mom bought me a new one.”
“I’d like to,” I said, “but I have to study for the spelling test tomorrow. I don’t make As like you do, no matter how hard I study.”
Eddie looked at me funny. “You sit next to Kim. She always gets 100 percent.”
I wondered what that had to do with anything. “You sit next to her, too.”
He smirked. “Yeah, that’s the point.” He marched in the house and slammed the door.
When I got home I headed into the kitchen and tossed my backpack on the table. “I have some heavy studying to do to get that 100 percent on my spelling test tomorrow,” I said.
“Have a snack first,” Mom said. She placed a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk on the table.
“Thanks, Mom.” I gobbled up the sandwich and washed it down with milk, then dug around in my backpack for the spelling list. I couldn’t find it.
I dumped everything in my backpack out on the table. “Mom!” I said. “I can’t find my spelling list.”
Mom searched through the books and leafed through my notebooks. The list wasn’t there. She knew how much I wanted to give Dad a 100 percent correct spelling paper for Father’s Day, so she looked again. No list.
“Where do you remember seeing it last?” she asked.
“I laid it on my desk by my backpack while I helped Eddie find his list. Then Miss Clark said we’d better hurry.”
“Then it’s probably still on your desk. But you can call Eddie and ask him to give you the words.”
On the phone, Eddie started telling me the words, but he said the paper had gotten so dirty and torn that he couldn’t read most of it. “I told you, don’t worry about it,” he said. “You sit next to Kim.”
I hung up the phone. I had something to worry about, all right. I had trouble spelling. What difference did it make to me if Kim was a genius?
I told Mom all the words I could remember, and she wrote them down for me. I tried my best, but I couldn’t think of all of them.
“Don’t worry about it,” Mom said. “Remember, in our family we love each other no matter what. We care about making good choices and doing the best we can.”
When Dad got home, he helped me study. When I could spell all the words I had, he said, “Try to sound out the others. The important thing is to do your best.”
The next day, when time came for the spelling test, I sharpened my pencil and put my pink eraser by my paper. I wanted that 100 percent so much my hand shook.
I knew the first five words. The next one I had to sound out. I glanced past Kim to Eddie, wondering if he was having trouble, too. He was craning his neck, staring at Kim’s paper—cheating! So that’s what Eddie meant about sitting next to Kim! I kept my eyes glued to my own paper, afraid the teacher would think I was cheating, too.
Suddenly Miss Clark swooped behind Eddie. Without a word, she picked up his paper, crumpled it up, and threw it in the wastebasket.
Dad wouldn’t want a paper I had cheated on. He’d be disappointed in me, and I’d feel rotten about myself.
My back hurt from sitting stiffly while I sounded out words, erased them, and sounded them out again until they looked right.
I closed my eyes. “Please, Heavenly Father, help me keep my eyes off Kim’s paper and do the best I can,” I prayed silently.
Miss Clark called out another word. I felt more relaxed and could think more clearly. I finished my test and handed it in.
We got our papers back before the end of class. I covered mine for a minute, afraid to look at my score. Then I saw “100% correct, A+!” written in red ink. I couldn’t wait to get home to show it to Mom.
On the test I wrote, “To the best dad in the world, who helps me with spelling, and teaches me to choose the right and to do the best I can.” Then I put it with the shaving lotion.
I could hardly wait for Father’s Day.

A member wrote to me from England. When her bishop asked if she would accept a call to teach early-morning seminary, he told her she’d better pray about it before she accepted. She did. She accepted. When she met the parents for the first time, the bishop stood beside her. She announced that she felt the program should go to five days a week. Some parents looked doubtful. One person said, “They won’t come. They’ll vote with their feet.”
Well, the doubt was half right. The students did vote with their feet. But their attendance in those cold and dark morning hours is now above 90 percent. That teacher and her bishop believed that if the students would start to come, they would be strengthened by power more than their own. It came. That power will protect them when they go to places where they will be the only Latter-day Saints. They will not be alone nor without strength, because they accepted the invitation to gather with the Saints when it was not easy.
There is another simple thing to do. The Lord’s Church has been restored, and so any call to serve in it is a call to serve Him. That bishop in England was so wise. He asked the woman to pray about her call to serve. He knew what answer she would receive. It would be an invitation from the Father and His Beloved Son. He knew what she has learned by responding to the call from the Master. In His service the Holy Ghost comes as a companion to those who try to do the best they can. She must have felt that as she stood before the parents and when she saw the students vote with their feet. What looked hard, almost impossible under her own power, became a joy in the strength of the Lord.
When she reads and ponders over the scriptures and prays to prepare for those classes, she knows that the Savior has asked the Father to send her the Holy Ghost, just as He promised His disciples He would at the Last Supper, when He knew what trials they would face and that He must leave them. He did not leave them comfortless. He promised them the Holy Ghost, and He promises it to us in His service. So whenever the invitation to serve comes, take it. It brings with it help to pass tests far beyond those of that call.

A few weeks later I called my friend’s mom again. This time it was to invite her and her family to my baptism. Along with the other books I’d read, I had now read the Book of Mormon and gained a testimony of its truthfulness. I invited my own family to attend my baptism as well. My twin brother came into town the night before. He didn’t understand why I wanted to get baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He asked a lot of questions, especially about the Book of Mormon. The only things he’d ever read about the book were false and negative. I stayed up most the night attempting to answer his questions.
The baptism was beautiful. This time I didn’t show up in a T-shirt and cargo pants. This time I was in a white shirt and tie, and I felt totally comfortable and at home.

One of the great spiritual events in our family occurred in the life of our youngest daughter, Barbara, who was born with a defective heart. Then five months after she was born, she had heart failure and was taken to the hospital. Because she had a very serious type of heart ailment, the doctors had given up on her. Our bishop and I administered to her.
After that blessing, I had a total peace about her. Even though Barbara became very ill with pneumonia and went into a relapse, I knew that she was going to be all right.
She was in the hospital almost three months. At that time, although she was recovering from her problems, I could see that she was losing her will to live, and I was prompted to take her home, even though her doctor was very much against it. When we got home and laid her on the couch and the children all gathered around her, Barbara broke into a smile, her first in months. Taking care of this critically ill baby was a great concern to my wife, so this good doctor came to our home about every two days and checked her.
There have been very few cases of children with this type of defect who have lived into their teens. Barbara was blessed with amazing health, even though her heart wasn’t functioning normally. She took piano and swimming lessons, enjoyed limited activity in sports, and attended college. She actually had fewer health problems than the rest of the family, and she is now twenty-nine years old. There is no doubt in my mind that this resulted from our faith in the Lord and in the power of the priesthood and from following the promptings of the Spirit.

When I was serving as a young bishop with only limited experience in Church leadership and lacking much in the way of practical experience as well, I was approached by an elderly couple in my ward. They were old enough to be my grandparents. For years they had successfully farmed a piece of ground. They had been blessed in many ways and had reared a fine family. None of the children had showed an inclination to follow in their father’s footsteps as a farmer. Increasing age and declining health had brought the couple to a point of decision as to what should be done with their farm. They were reluctant to have it pass from their hands after so many years of labor and careful improvement. The children could not agree on a plan of action. Some wished to keep the farm in the family and lease it for an income to be shared among the family members; others didn’t care what decision was made.

One Sunday afternoon the couple appeared at my office in the ward chapel and asked to consult with me. They explained their dilemma and their reluctance to make a decision that might divide the family and jeopardize their own welfare for the remaining years of their lives. “We have come to you, bishop,” the old gentleman said, “to ask you to find out for us what the Lord wants us to do.”

I was humbled by the sincere trust that the couple were willing to place with me, but I sensed that the decision they were attempting to lay upon me and upon the Lord was not ours to make. I counseled them in the best way I could, tried to help them weight the alternatives, and then recommended that they prayerfully reach a decision themselves and ask their family to sustain them. They left my office in great disappointment, making it quite clear to me that they felt I was not fulfilling my responsibility as a bishop.

When I was a young girl, my family had a huge furnace in the living room, which made heat by burning coal. Every day one of us had the responsibility of going out to the coal shed behind our house and bringing back a bucket of coal. Then the small bits of coal were poured into one end of the furnace. Throughout the day the bits of coal slowly fed the fire.
Our coal shed held about five tons of coal, and, depending on how cold the weather was, we’d use a ton or a ton and a half every month in the winter. Anytime our coal shed became low, we knew that it was time to call the coal man to deliver more.
One year, however, we did not have enough money to pay for coal, so we didn’t order any. The weather had not yet gotten very cold, and we decided that we could keep warm by wearing our coats around the house during the day and by sleeping under a lot of blankets at night. I still remember how odd it seemed to be able to see our breath inside the house as we talked to one another.
Wearing our coats in the house worked well until the weather suddenly turned really cold. One morning, when we were wondering what we should do, we heard a familiar sound. The coal truck was coming down our street. Everyone looked out the window as it pulled into our yard and began filling up our shed with rich, dark coal.
My mother quickly ran outside to explain that she had not ordered any coal and could not afford the fuel that the man was shoveling into our little shed.
The man just smiled and said, “I know,” and continued to fill our shed with five tons of coal—enough to last the rest of the winter. Then he drove away without saying another word.
Fast offerings had paid for the coal that day. Even now, whenever I see a bit of coal, I remember that others had fasted so that we might be warm that winter.

Several years ago I taught a beautiful dance education student named Michelle. Michelle had a difficult home life. Her parents had divorced, her father had not maintained contact, and she and her mother had a tenuous relationship. Sometimes Michelle confided in me, expressing deep yearning to feel her parents’ love. As if these challenges were not enough, Michelle was diagnosed with a relentless form of cancer, and the crucible of illness took command of her body. The cancer treatments robbed Michelle of her beautiful, white-blond hair, and, in spite of aggressive treatments, she grew steadily weaker.

But even as her physical body weakened, a transformation of another kind was taking place: Michelle’s very countenance began to change. Although she had previously been reserved and shy, Michelle began to radiate joy and goodness. It was not uncommon to see her somewhere within the halls of the Richards Building, her shiny bald head tied with a big pink bow and her smile the size of Texas! Rather than succumbing to self-pity and fear, Michelle chose to fill her days with joy and laughter, surrounded by those she loved most.

Not long before her death, she told me that, to her amazement and joy, the circumstances of her illness had initiated a healing process for her fractured family. Michelle had placed her trust in the hands of God and was rewarded with the ability to live out her remaining days with a heightened sense of happiness and love. Though she did not find physical healing, Michelle found the spiritual healing and profound joy that come only through Jesus Christ’s healing Atonement.

Nancy Lovern was excited. It was June 27, and today she turned five years old. In some ways, the day had been just like any other. She’d fed the chickens and collected their eggs, slopped (fed) the pigs, and helped Mama clean the house. But in some ways, it was different. Everyone had sung “Happy Birthday” at breakfast and paid extra attention to her all day long.
Now it was late afternoon, and Nancy couldn’t help peeking out the window every few minutes. Papa had promised to bring her a surprise from Nauvoo. Mama was making a special dinner and a dried-apple molasses cake. There would be a grand birthday party.
The hour grew late. Long shadows spread across the barnyard, and still Papa didn’t come. Nancy thought that she would burst. Mama just laughed and said, “Staring out the door won’t make Papa get home any sooner.” When Nancy could wait no more, she went out to the road that led to Nauvoo. She was swinging on the gate when she finally heard the clippety-clop of horses’ hooves and the rattle of wagon wheels. She saw a lone figure driving slowly down the dusty road. It was Papa! He must be dawdling to make me wait longer for my birthday surprise, she thought, running to meet him.
She was stopped short by the sadness on his face. And he was crying! Nancy didn’t know what to do. Papa never cried except when he bore his testimony. She was surprised to feel tears in her own eyes. “What’s wrong, Papa?”
He climbed down from the wagon and held her close. “They did it, Nan—they killed Brother Joseph!”
Nancy completely forgot her birthday. She loved the Prophet. He always took time to talk with her whenever he visited her parents. She truly felt that he was a prophet of God.
Sorrow was thick in the house as Papa gathered the rest of the family around him and told how an angry mob had stormed the jail in Carthage, killing their beloved prophet and his brother Hyrum, and seriously wounding Brother Taylor.
The next day Nancy’s family filed through the Mansion House to pay final respects to the slain leaders. Later they listened to Brother W. W. Phelps preach the funeral sermon. Sorrow hung like a heavy fog over the whole community.
Nancy celebrated seventy-nine birthdays after that eventful day, but never without some melancholy recollection of her birthday in 1844.
More than one hundred fifty years have come and gone. Nancy has thousands of descendants, most of whom faithfully sing praises to “the man who communed with Jehovah”*—the prophet and martyr who was killed on her fifth birthday.
Nancy Francis Lovern Oliver was a real person! She was my great-great-grandmother. When my grandmother, Lenna Kathryn Bryce Blain, was a little girl, she sat by the fireplace on cold winter nights and listened to pioneer stories told by her Grandma Nancy. Grandma Lenna said that she couldn’t remember all the stories, but she would never forget the one about the death of the Prophet. This fictional account is based on that true story.

The second story is not quite so dramatic, but it is an excellent example of what can happen when people choose to serve each other. In an area largely uninhabited along the banks of Utah’s Jordan River, a new community began—first a home here, then a home there. The people who came to this community had a variety of backgrounds. They came from many places and ranged in age from newlyweds to some who were considerably older who had lived in their previous homes for up to 40 years. Stepping out of their comfort zones, they left their former friends and associates behind and formed new relationships. They helped each other build houses; they helped put in sprinkler systems and yards; they worked together to decorate the interiors of their houses. They shared in births, weddings, tragedies, and deaths. Most of them also worshiped together, which helped them unite even more. Through their service to each other they became very close. In fact, one of them called their settlement “The Magic Kingdom,” and the name stuck because of the spirit of unity the inhabitants felt.

As the tide of new homes and new arrivals began to ebb, the people began to turn their attention to outside activities. A wise Relief Society president guided them to extend their service to other people far away. They sent clothing and supplies with a missionary couple from their midst to Primary children in Africa. They provided fruits and vegetables, paper, crayons, and toys for children in a Palestinian refugee camp in Jordan. Numerous Eagle Scout projects provided supplies to citizens in far-off lands.

The entire ward participated in a yearlong humanitarian project. Each month they gathered materials for hygiene kits. The Primary children gathered toothbrushes. The Young Men and Young Women gathered combs. The high priest and elders quorums gathered toothpaste. Each month during Home, Family, and Personal Enrichment evening, the sisters made quilts, hats, mittens, dolls, balls, and tropical bandages. Just before Thanksgiving last year, the Relief Society sisters gathered to assemble the hygiene kits. They discovered they had produced 1,001 hygiene kits, 25 quilts, and untold numbers of dolls, balls, books, and tropical bandages. Their feelings of love and unity in their magic kingdom—i.e., Zion—swelled to a powerful spiritual experience as they rejoiced in their ability to love and serve others. Not only had they begun a Zion society, but they helped others experience it also. Even at this very moment—as we’re in this devotional—they are supporting a member of that ward through the loss of a dear one and the funeral.

Mike and Lynn are a young married couple with two young children. They especially wanted to share this day with their children and make it special for the whole family. Their entire family worked hard that day to be nicer to each other. They spent the day in the canyons learning about each other and our Father in heaven. As Mike said, “You cannot have a perfect day and not improve your family life. It was wonderful.”
Lynn shared another experience that had happened to her. “Early that morning I arose and decided to fix a good breakfast. I started making pancakes first. I was whipping up the pancakes with a wire whip a little too vigorously, I guess, because suddenly the batter splattered all over everything—the cupboards, the floor, me. Then I looked down at my son and his face had dozens of tiny pancake batter specks on it, and his eyes were big as saucers. When I looked at him, I began to laugh. Usually I would have become very irritated in that kind of a situation.
“And just after breakfast, I received a call from my mother asking if I could give my sister a ride to work that morning. I bundled up the kids, warmed up the car, and drove out to mother’s. By the time I got there my sister had found another ride to work. Again I was able to accept the situation instead of becoming angry or disgusted.
“As I was driving home from Mother’s I began to cry. My son asked what the matter was, and all I could say was, ‘We are going to have a perfect day.’

Louis ran shouting down the hall. “Mommy! Mommy! Guess what!”
“What?” Mommy bent down and hugged him.
“I’m supposed to give a talk next week in Primary. Just like the big boys and girls!”
“Your very first talk!” Mommy said. “You certainly are growing up!”
“Let’s work on it today, OK?” Louis asked.
“OK.”
When lunch was over and the dishes were washed, Mommy and Louis sat down at the table.
“What do you want to talk about?” Mommy asked.
Louis thought hard. He remembered some of the things that he learned in Primary. He remembered some of the stories that Mommy told him. “I know!” he said. “I’ll talk about the prophet Abinadi warning the people and about wicked King Noah.”
“That would be a good story to tell the other Primary children,” Mommy said. “Let’s read the story again, and maybe we can draw a picture for you to show the children while you tell the story.”
“Yes! Let’s do,” Louis said happily.
After they read the story in Mosiah in the Book of Mormon, Mommy got a large piece of paper and the crayons. She and Louis drew a picture of the brave prophet Abinadi standing before King Noah. Louis used lots of red and blue, his favorite colors.
“There!” he said when he had finished.
“That’s a good picture,” Mommy told him. She propped it up on the windowsill, where Louis could see it every day.
Louis practiced telling the story of Abinadi all week long. On Saturday he stood straight and tall in the living room and held up the picture, as if he were already giving his talk in Primary. Mommy sat in front of him on a chair, pretending to be all the Primary children.
Louis used a good, loud voice. He held the picture high. He told the whole story, and he remembered to say “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen” when he finished.
Mommy kissed him. “That was wonderful!”
On Sunday Louis sat up in front in Primary because he was giving a talk. He held his picture carefully. Mommy sat in the back row. She had come to Primary especially to hear him.
Finally it was his turn. Louis got off his chair and stood up. He held up his picture, just as he’d practiced at home. He looked at all the boys and girls. They all looked back at him. Louis looked at the picture. Then he looked at the boys and girls again. He opened his mouth but couldn’t remember how the story began.
“Louis!” someone whispered. It was Mommy. She gave him a big smile. Louis smiled back. He held the picture up again so that everyone could see it, and he talked in a loud voice so that everyone could hear him. He told the whole story exactly right.
When he finished and sat down, the Primary president stood up and said, “Thank you, Louis. That was an excellent talk.”

Life is a wonderful adventure, and working with the Primary children has brought back into my life a renewed enthusiasm for living. Children have a simple way of dealing with life. It is an approach that should not be lost. A child learns most when he or she is taught how to apply a moral teaching. Let me share with you an experience of my childhood. It made one of the ten commandments forever a part of my life. I speak of the commandment, “Thou shalt not steal.” As a little girl, I worked in a small grocery store that my father owned and operated. One day while I was stocking the shelves, I noticed some little candies called “Guess-What’s” on the counter. There was penny candy on the counter every day, but on this day which I shall never forget, I found myself wanting to have one of those little “Guess-What’s,” but I had no penny to pay for it. Somehow the wanting got the best of me, and although I knew it was not right, I picked up one of those little tempting candies and walked away. I cannot tell you how dreadful I felt. I knew I had done something wrong. I knew that ‘because I was nine years old’ my baptism would not cancel out this wrong deed. I felt terrible. I made up my mind I would never, ever take anything again which did not belong to me. I had been taught about honesty, and in that moment the Spirit confirmed the truth of that teaching by the terrible, disquieting spirit which raged within me as I violated that law. Children learn very rapidly, and what they experience stays with them a very long time.