It's always refreshing to meet someone who is passionate about something.  It's interesting to hear him or her discourse on what he's excited about.

Today we met a young man who attended our ward for the first time with his wife, two little boys, and his mother.  He has taken a job at our local car dealership.  His mother explained that he is passionate about cars.

“You are like my brother,” Marjorie told him.  “Cars are all he could think about.  He'd beg me to come play with him, but it was always cars.  I didn't know how to play cars.  All we would do is crawl around on three legs, push a toy car, and make motor sounds.  Where was the fun in that for me?  That would be like me asking him to play dolls, except that I never liked to do that, either.”

She said later that she was excited to get her first doll for Christmas.  She made beds for it, but that got old after a couple of months.  She also remembers getting a little baby buggy.  She might have been five years old.  Her mother let her push her baby buggy up the street to Aunt Florence's house.  Aunt Florence raved over how beautiful her babies were.

“That was an exciting adventure,” Marjorie said.  “I never got a passion, though, until I started piano lessons.”

The gospel of Jesus Christ became my passion.  I couldn't learn enough.  As a single man, a sailor in the U.S. Navy, I gravitated to the bookcase of every home into which I was invited.  I'd always leave with a borrowed book.  I read them all.  I must have reached a point where I was no longer getting much from them because I rarely pick up a Church book now.  My passion, instead, is to get a thought, develop it in my head, and to write about it.  A year or more ago I counted 700 articles that I'd written.  I've surely written a hundred more since then.  I hope that someday someone somewhere will be blessed by my passion.