Because my daughter was a Sharing Time teacher in Primary, my son-in-law, Steve, always took their ten-month-old son to priesthood meeting with him. One day Tyler, an active and curious little boy, got hold of Steve’s scriptures and was chewing on them energetically. As my son-in-law reached to rescue his scriptures, I leaned over and whispered, “Don’t stop him, Steve. He’s just trying to partake of the word.”

Tom Furber
Arvada, Colorado

As I stood in a line at the Salt Lake Temple, I glanced down to see a large black spider meandering across the carpet. Several of those in line also saw it, and a few backed away. But one of the temple workers came over and gently gathered the spider in a tissue, saying softly, “You can’t be in here. You don’t have a recommend.”

Clara J. DeGraff
South Jordan, Utah

We use a large calendar in the kitchen to keep track of coming events, as well as to record occurrences in our lives so they can be added to our family history later. My wife, Cynthia, was serving as Relief Society Spiritual Living instructor at the time our ward was divided, and I was called into the bishopric of the new ward. Later, I noticed how she had entered the title of her Relief Society lesson on the calendar, then written the information about my calling above it: “Pat called as first counselor in the bishopric, Burnsville First Ward,” and below that, “The Great Apostasy.”

Pat Anderson
Apple Valley, Minnesota

During our family home evening lesson on appreciation, each family member was describing why he appreciated the others and himself. When it came to our five-year-old boy’s turn he said he appreciated himself because “when I need me I’m always there.”

Gordon Fredrickson
Riverton, Utah

My missionary companion really loves the scriptures. Every time I ask her a question about the work, she refers me to them for an answer. One day as we were cooking lunch, I asked her if she thought the pudding was done. Without thinking, she answered, “I don’t know. What do the scriptures say?”

Sister Nina Wadsworth
Palma de Mallorca, Spain

It was apparent that our children were understanding some things about the Church in their own way when our four-year-old daughter, Amy, started asking how soon we could again hold “family home believening,” and our five-year-old son, Jim, asked when he could take his lunch to “belief society” again.

E. Lucille Washburn
Great Falls, Montana

One day, not long after a home evening lesson on premortal existence, our six-year-old daughter came into the room where her father was reading. “Daddy,” she said, glancing at her older sister, “Maureen’s body is only eleven years old, but her spirit is old and crochety and has a wrinkled face!”

Kathy McCain
Mesa, Arizona

At a recent stake conference, our young son kept raising his left hand to sustain the Church leaders. I whispered to him to use his right hand. He replied that the stake president had said, “Please show by your upLEFTed hand …”

Judith Hyde
Boulder City, Nevada

My husband and I were discussing the various virtues of our children—supposedly in private. “And I feel the Lord has something special in mind for Johnny,” I said. Suddenly a little voice from the back bedroom chimed in eagerly: “Can I have it now?”

Pamela C. Johnson
Pocatello, Idaho

Dad had the family gathered around to teach a home evening lesson on obedience and not making excuses. The opening question to our four-year old was, “Ben, what do we usually do when we break one of Heavenly Father’s commandments?” He answered confidently: “We clean up the mess.”

Steve Mayne
Magnolia, Arizona

The night before our Saturday morning fishing trip, I tried to confirm arrangements with my former roommate Steve. (Both of us were Brigham Young University students at the time.) His roommates said he was still out on a date, so I went to bed, thinking I would call him in the morning.

But I was awakened at 2:00 A.M. by a deep, reverberating, “Richard!” I sat up, looked around, checked in the closet, then the living room. No one was there. I had barely laid my head on my pillow when the voice came again: “Richard!” This time, I checked throughout the house. My roommates were sleeping peacefully.

As I walked through the bedroom door, I heard my name a third time: “Richard!” It was deep, sonorous, and solemn. I sat on my bed in bewilderment. The voice came again.

“Richard, are you still going fishing this morning?”

I looked around in exasperation. “Who is this?”

“It’s Steve.”

“Steve! Where are you?”

“I’m speaking into the mail chute that opens out at the top of your bed.”

Richard Tice
Sandy, Utah

Illustrated by Richard Hull