Moroni lived a long time by himself with his father’s books. And he learned to love his books like people. Because they were like people, in a way, because they carried hope. And Moroni had read the stories so many times they were familiar to him like people, and he could sit with them and they could be together without even opening the cover.

But before Moroni died, he sat down to read his father’s book one last time. He picked it up, and brushed the dust off the cover. And the dust rose into the air and turned gold in the light of the evening sun which was just shining in through the opening of the cave.

Listen on for the full story.