Gospel Story Finder

The sorrow Joseph felt at the deaths of these two beloved brothers was perhaps surpassed by another event involving another brother. After a seemingly trivial disagreement, Joseph’s brother William turned against him and became disaffected from the Church. Along with other apostates, he began publicly declaring Joseph a “fallen prophet.” The worst damage, however, was done within the family circle. Joseph describes William’s angry departure from the Church:
“He went home and spread the leaven of iniquity among my brothers, and especially prejudiced the mind of brother Samuel. I soon learned that he was in the street exclaiming against me, and no doubt our enemies rejoiced at it” (History of the Church, 2:297).
Despite the wound inflicted by a rebellious-yet-beloved brother, Joseph felt no vengeance, no hate, no bitterness—only patience and forgiveness. His actions toward William are a profound example of the Lord’s wise counsel to show “forth afterwards an increase of love toward him whom thou hast reproved, lest he esteem thee to be his enemy; that he may know that thy faithfulness is stronger than the cords of death” (D&C 121:43–44).
Daniel Tyler, who attended a meeting with Joseph Smith shortly after William’s apostasy and bitter denunciations of his brother, the Prophet, left us this touching account of Joseph’s anguish over his wayward brother: “I perceived sadness in his countenance and tears trickling down his cheeks. A few moments later a hymn was sung and he opened the meeting by prayer. Instead of facing the audience, however, he turned his back and bowed upon his knees, facing the wall. This I suppose, was done to hide his sorrow and tears.
“That prayer, which was to a considerable extent in behalf of those who accused him of having gone astray and fallen into sin, that the Lord would forgive them and open their eyes that they might see aright—that prayer … partook of the learning and eloquence of heaven” (Juvenile Instructor, 15 February 1892, page 127).
It was a measure of the greatness of the Prophet that he regarded the spiritual unity of the family so highly; thus, forgiveness and love prevailed. He patiently and lovingly helped his brother William again into the fellowship of the family and the Church, despite the damage he had done to Joseph and the Church.

There were only six days until Christmas of 1991, and weather forecasters were predicting snow and bad road conditions for Eastern Europe. Traveling was not advisable. But Johannes Gutjahr had a promise to keep, and a lot of Christmas presents were depending on him.
Several months before, Brother Gutjahr, a Church translator in Friedrichsdorf, Germany, had promised President James L. Wilde of the Hungary Budapest Mission that as soon as copies of the long-overdue Hungarian Book of Mormon arrived in Germany, he would load his car with as many copies as would fit and would take them to Hungary. So now, Thursday afternoon, Brother Gutjahr—who says he has a “soft spot” in his heart for Hungarians since he has some Hungarian ancestors—was trying to fulfill his promise and deliver the new books before Hungarian customs offices closed on Friday for Christmas. He and President Wilde shared a common goal in this effort: To give the Hungarian Saints a Christmas present they would never forget. And it was a Christmas present they didn’t know was coming. President Wilde hadn’t told the members—or many of the missionaries—that the Hungarian Book of Mormon was finally ready.
Originally, Brother Gutjahr thought he would be making this trip in September. But, he says, “Come September, the Book of Mormon still was not around.”
By the time the book finally did arrive—Christmas 1991—the Church had been officially recognized in the country for three and a half years, and the Hungary Budapest Mission had been open for almost a year and a half. It had been a long wait.
However, despite the limitations of not having the complete Book of Mormon, many members in Hungary, through great faith, had gained strong testimonies of the book.
The Hungarian members of the Church had manifested their faith. The Book of Mormon had finally been translated and printed in Hungarian. Now it was up to Brother Gutjahr to get the books from Germany, through Austria, and into Hungary—a trip of about 1,000 kilometers.
So at about 3:00 P.M. on Thursday, Brother Gutjahr loaded 1,600 copies of the new Hungarian Book of Mormon into a van and started his journey. Passing the Austrian border at about 9:00 P.M. and the Hungarian border at about 3:00 A.M., Brother Gutjahr arrived at the city of Györ in good time early Friday morning. But then the difficulties started.
At the Hungarian border, officials had told Brother Gutjahr he could pass customs in Györ, but officials in Györ said he couldn’t. So in the early afternoon, after hours of unsuccessful efforts by Brother Gutjahr and two missionaries who were serving in Györ, Brother Gutjahr drove on to Budapest, hoping to find some help there. But help was not quick in coming.
First, the weather forecasts finally came true. “All the way down Germany and through Austria, I had not seen a single snowflake,” remembers Brother Gutjahr. “But between Györ and Budapest, especially on the autobahn, it started to snow very heavily.” Braving the storm, which did not last very long but was enough to slow him down, he pressed on to Budapest, where he encountered his second obstacle: By the time he arrived at the mission office, it was past closing time, and it was the Friday before the long holiday weekend. The customs office would not be open again until January.
Fortunately, Elder Sipos and his companion, Elder Kuen Damiano, were waiting in the mission office when Brother Gutjahr arrived. Then serving as zone leaders in Budapest, the two missionaries were determined to help Brother Gutjahr get the Book of Mormon distributed before Christmas. But when they asked a customs officer if there was anything they could do, the response was, “Absolutely not. Come back in January.”
But January was after Christmas! Elder Sipos, who is from Morgan, Utah, but grew up speaking Hungarian with his native Hungarian parents, persisted. He explained the situation. These were religious books; they were very important. “We’d really like the people to receive them by Christmas,” he said. “We’ve all been waiting years for this.”
The customs officer continued to say no, but the missionaries—offering many silent prayers—continued to urge him to make an exception. Suddenly he changed. “Something finally touched him,” recalls Elder Sipos, “so he said, ‘Okay, I’ll do it.’”
What did Elder Sipos say to change the customs officer’s mind? “Oh, I don’t think I’m the one who did most of the convincing,” he says. “The way he turned around, it seems there was something else. I think the Spirit made the difference.”
The customs officer turned from impatient, says Elder Sipos, to so willing to help that he not only told them they could distribute the books, but he also said, “I will take personal responsibility for everything that happens to that shipment of books.”
Brother Gutjahr had kept his promise; the 1,600 books were now in Budapest, Hungary. But copies still needed to be distributed to the other 10 cities where members met regularly. And there was only one day, Saturday, to deliver them so the members would receive their surprise Christmas present on Sunday, three days before Christmas. Friday evening, missionaries met Brother Gutjahr in a hotel parking lot, loaded their cars with copies of the Book of Mormon, and headed east, south, and west to deliver the books to other missionaries who would then make the surprise announcements in Church meetings on Sunday.

One of America’s most gifted writers, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, wrote of this after his wife had died three years before; he longed for her still. Time had not softened his grief nor eased the torment of his memories. He had no heart for poetry those days. He had no heart for anything, it seemed. Life had become an empty dream. But this could not go on, he told himself. He was letting the days slip by, nursing his despondency. Life was not an empty dream. He must be up and doing. Let the past bury its dead.
Suddenly Longfellow was writing in a surge of inspiration, the lines coming almost too quickly for his racing pen; and I will read only three verses of this immortal and inspired message to those whom he loved:
“Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
“Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
“Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.”
Longfellow wrote these verses, “The Psalm of Life.” He put the poem aside at first, unwilling to show it to anyone. As he later explained, “It was a voice from my inmost heart, at a time when I was rallying from depression.”

Soon after the march of Zion’s Camp, young Wilford began his great missionary career by serving in the southern United States, Canada, and the northeastern United States. As a missionary, he often experienced the guidance of the Spirit. At the time of his departure from the mission field, as he was helping groups of converts gather to Zion, he wrote:
“After spending two years and a half in New England and Canada, getting the Saints out, I started back with the last lot, about a hundred from Boston. We landed in Pittsburgh at dusk. We were anxious not to stay there, but to go on to St. Louis. I saw a steamer making steam ready to go out. I went to the captain and asked him how many passengers he had. ‘Three hundred and fifty.’ ‘Could you take another hundred?’ ‘Yes.’ The Spirit said to me, ‘Don’t go aboard that steamer, you nor your company.’ All right, said I. I had learned something about that still, small voice. I did not go aboard that steamer, but waited till the next morning. In thirty minutes after that steamer left, it took fire. It had ropes instead of wheel chains, and they could not go ashore. It was a dark night and not a soul was saved. If I had not obeyed the influence of that monitor within me, I would have been there.
“I have been governed and controlled by the Spirit. I have been acquainted with this Spirit. It was not the blow of trumpets nor thunder and lightning; it was the still, small voice to me.”

Primary children in this ward in Ile-de-France, France, were challenged to read the Book of Mormon each day. They got a certificate for reaching their goal!

When I was 20, the missionaries baptized my girlfriend and her family. The missionaries taught me too. After I read the Book of Mormon, I received a testimony and was baptized. When I was 23, my girlfriend, Walkyria, and I were married. Several years later, we traveled to the Los Angeles California Temple to be sealed together. We couldn’t afford to take our children with us, so they were sealed to us when the first temple in Brazil, the São Paulo temple, opened.

Permit me to read a letter which came the other day in response to a call to a young man to serve a mission. It reads:
“Dear Brethren:
“Gregory was killed in an accident two days before his call arrived. We feel Greg’s talents, abilities, and testimony are now being used on life’s other side.
“He died Saturday, June 19.
“We are enclosing a check representing his mission savings and are donating it to the International Missionary Fund with a request it be used in the Dominican Republic, if possible. We feel we would like to see it used by those Saints less fortunate and unable to normally serve a mission. We leave it to your discretion.
“Greg saved all this money himself. From the time he earned his first money he saved 50 percent for his mission, 10 percent for tithing, and the rest was … to supply his needs. This money [the mission portion] was dedicated to the Lord’s work, so we are sure he wants it to be used for this purpose.
“We love you and know the work is true—we know without a shadow of a doubt that Greg is about his Father’s business. We are grateful for our blessings.
“May the Lord’s work continue to spread in the world.
“Signed,
“Greg’s mother”
With the letter was a check for nearly nine thousand dollars.

This typical tendency of children to love became especially apparent to me on my first visit to Romania. I remember it vividly. Sister Choules and I went to various institutions with our humanitarian missionaries who were serving there. At an orphanage we saw a rather long, narrow, glass-enclosed room where twenty or so children were playing. They were about three years of age. Most of their daytime hours were spent entertaining themselves and each other, apparently with very little adult care. I asked the supervisor if I could open the door and take some pictures. She agreed. When I opened the door, many of the children rushed out. I was reminded of days in my youth, when in like manner I saw cattle and horses rush to freedom when a corral gate was opened. These children, however, were not rushing to be free. They hungered for love. Soon we had one or more grasping at each of our legs, reaching up for the love for which they were so starved. I’ll forever have in my mind the picture I took of Sister Choules holding one of these children with their arms tightly wrapped around each other. These children just wanted to be loved and to give love in return. These little ones and other children seem to be born with that unrestrained desire and capacity.

Kelly Ricketts, president of his teachers quorum in the Courtenay Branch, Victoria British Columbia Stake, steadfastly refuses to box on Sunday, although it is one of the busiest days for the boxing club he belongs to.
Instead of training on Sundays, Kelly chooses to practice at other times with both his father and his younger brother. Despite this sacrifice, Kelly has had much success in boxing. He won a bronze medal in the Canadian Junior National Amateur Boxing Championships and is both the provincial and Golden Gloves champion.
Kelly also enjoys wrestling and is on the merit list at his high school.

I remember a faithful and devoted member of the Church who was always in a good mood and always smiling. But one day I saw him crying. He told me the reason he was sad was because, at the age of seventy, he saw himself as a failure for having never been able to give his family the material comforts he felt they deserved.

I asked him, “How many children do you have?” He answered, “Four.” I continued, “How many are members of the Church?” He said, “Four.” I asked further, “How many are faithful members of the Church?” His answer: “Four.” “How many are sealed to you?” “Four.” “How many have married in the temple?” Again his answer was “Four.” Then, moved by the Spirit, I told him that the success he had achieved in his life was one of the greatest success stories I had ever heard.

As well-known events of his life are recalled, one young man will undoubtedly remember the cold, windy day when, with a group of Primary boys, he was invited to have a picture taken with Joseph Fielding Smith, who was then president of the Council of the Twelve. This picture was to be posed in front of a pine tree on Temple Square in Salt Lake City.
The boys and their leader met at the Bureau of Information building. As they left to walk over to the tree for the picture, President Smith turned to one of the boys who had on only a light sport jacket and said, “Son, it is cold out here. You’d better put on your coat.”
The boy looked up at the gentle man beside him and said, “I don’t have a coat.”
President Smith unbuttoned his heavy overcoat and encircled it around the shivering boy. He smiled invitingly as he said, “Get inside my coat with me then, son. We can walk together.”

The binding and strengthening power of covenants in our lives became very real to me recently as our dear friends experienced a tragic loss in their family. While Catherine and Kimball Herrod and their four young children, ages nine months to seven years, were driving home from a family dinner at their grandparents’ place, a double wheel from a huge semitruck on the opposite side of the freeway suddenly sprang loose, flew across the median, and pounded into the driver’s side of the family van. Kimball, the driver, husband, and father, was severely injured and unconscious. Catherine somehow guided the car to the shoulder and called for emergency help. While she watched the paramedics work on her husband and two older children, she sat in a police car with her two little ones on her lap and prayed vocally, “Heavenly Father, we know that Thou hast the power to heal Kimball if it is Thy will, but if not, we have faith that somehow Thou wilt sustain us through this.” Kimball was life-flighted to the hospital, but he did not make it there alive.
After the children were treated for cuts, bruises, and other minor injuries, dismissed from the hospital, and safely home in bed, Catherine returned to the hospital to say her final earthly good-bye to her husband. As difficult as it was, she declared to her parents, who were with her, “I know that Kimball and I are sealed by our temple covenants, and we will be together again someday.” In the most terrible trial of a young mother’s life, her covenants sustained her.
At the funeral, we were reminded of the power of covenants to sustain us in moments of distress and grief. As we joined in the closing song, we all heard above the crowd the voice of Taylor, the five-year-old son, loudly singing, “Families Can Be Together Forever” (Hymns, no. 300). It was joyous for the congregation to know that a child had been taught of the sealing covenants that would bind him to his father and mother.
We were also taught the power of covenants in the sermon offered by Catherine’s father. He quoted a scripture from the precious record that Moroni had sealed up and then brought forth to the Prophet Joseph, reminding us that the gospel promises us a rock in the storms and whirlwinds, not an umbrella:
“Remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, … it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery … , because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation” (Helaman 5:12).
The profound strength the family exhibited comes from the knowledge that they are eternally bound to each other as a family, and they are bound to Heavenly Father and cannot be separated from Him.

I watched bicycles wobble and weave along the road, noticing that this was a first attempt for some! Some were even riding bicycles built for two!
“It is hard to ride a bicycle built for two because we can’t talk—and if we turn around to sign, well, that could be dangerous. So it’s concentration, cooperation, and full speed ahead!” commented Melanie Hansen from Orem.

“Can we visit Heavenly Father?” Tara asked Dad as she got ready for bed.
“Probably not for a long time,” Dad answered.
“Last summer we flew on an airplane to visit Grandma Hill. We could fly on an airplane,” Tara said.
“We can’t get there on an airplane,” Dad said.
“At Christmas, we went by train to see Papa and Nana Flowers. Maybe we could go by train,” Tara said hopefully.
“I’m afraid a train can’t take us there, either,” Dad said.
“Sometimes we drive in our car to visit friends,” Tara told father. “Let’s go by car. Or, I know, we can go by boat.” Tara was remembering the boat ride they had taken across the river.
“I’m sorry,” Dad said. “Not even a car or a boat can take us to Heavenly Father.”
Tara felt sad. She wanted to visit Heavenly Father. Daddy pulled her onto his lap and kissed her forehead. “We can’t visit Heavenly Father, but you can talk to Him,” Dad said.
“You mean I can call Him on the telephone or send Him a letter?”
“No, but there’s something else you can do. Think about it.”
As she got ready for bed, Tara wondered how she could talk to Heavenly Father. She still couldn’t figure out what Dad had meant.
When Dad came into her room to listen to her say her prayers, she knelt, then jumped up and hugged Dad. “I know—I can talk to Heavenly Father by saying my prayers!”
“That’s right,” Dad said, hugging her back. “And He will always listen.”

Frank Calio is a band teacher now. He lives in Idaho. When I called him to let him know I’d written his story he laughed. “Call the story ‘Fish Sticks,’” he said. “The kids at my school call me Old Fish Sticks. Every year I play a little at our school recital. I’m better than I was in college, but I still make mistakes and the kids get a good laugh. But they all know in my class it’s okay to mess up while they’re learning. I just want them to play music and to try hard. That’s all.”

When Paul H. Dunn of the First Quorum of the Seventy was eleven years old, baseball was an important part of his life. Paul’s parents permitted his team to use their large backyard to play baseball. The yard was completely fenced in, with a pathway beyond the rear fence. On the other side of the pathway was a large church with a beautiful stained glass window that faced the fence at the back of the yard.
One hot summer evening an exciting baseball game was in progress in the Dunn backyard. It was Paul’s turn to bat, and he hit the ball so hard that it went over the back fence, over the pathway, and then, to everyone’s dismay, through the large stained glass window in the church. It seemed to young Paul that the broken glass fell for hours. The players ran away in every direction.
When Paul got up the courage to return home, he discovered that his father had two visitors. They were both ministers from the neighboring church. To Paul’s surprise, they seemed to know from which house the baseball had come. Paul admitted to the ministers that he had hit the ball that had broken the window and told them that he was very sorry.
Paul’s father put his arm around his son’s shoulder, patted him on the head, and said, “This is a good boy.” He, too, apologized for the accident and asked how much it would cost to replace the stained glass window. They told him that it would be about $500.
It was then that his father taught young Paul a great lesson. He asked the ministers if they understood the principle of Christ’s atonement. They seemed a little puzzled. His father said, “In our Church, we believe that ‘through the Atonement of Christ, all mankind may be saved by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel’” (A of F 1:3). He explained that the atonement allows each of us to be forgiven of our sins if we repent. Jesus paid for all our sins when He suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane. As the only perfect person who ever lived on earth, he was the only one who could do this for us. We could not do it for ourselves. Without His sacrifice, we could never be forgiven of our sins and would not be able to live with Heavenly Father and Jesus again.
Paul’s father pointed out that although Paul had broken a window, he would never have the money to pay for it himself. Then he said, “As Paul’s father and because I love him, I will pay the price that he cannot.”
This experience helped Paul understand what Jesus did for us when He atoned for our sins. At this Easter time we can be thankful that Heavenly Father loved us enough to send His Son so that we can be forgiven when we do something wrong.

We are lifted by the witness of the modern prophet, Joseph Smith, when he reassures the people of the resurrection. Elder George A. Smith quotes the last public address of Joseph Smith in June 1844, only days before his cruel assassination:
“I am ready to be offered a sacrifice for this people; for what can our enemies do? Only kill the body, and their power is then at an end. Stand firm, my friends; never flinch. Do not seek to save your lives, for he that is afraid to die for the truth, will lose eternal life. Hold out to the end, and we shall be resurrected and become like Gods, and reign in celestial kingdoms, principalities, and eternal dominions.” (History of the Church, 6:500.)

Katy and her brother Christian set their bikes on the grass.
“Want to get ice cream at the store?” Christian asked.
“Yes!” Katy said. It was hot outside, and biking was hard work. Ice cream sounded perfect!
Katy ran inside. She found the little bag where she kept her money. When she opened it, she frowned. She didn’t have enough money for ice cream.
Then she glanced at the jar of money on her shelf. She kept her tithing money there to give to the bishop. There was enough money for ice cream in there!
Katy took some money from her tithing jar. Then she and Christian hurried to the store and picked the flavors they wanted. Katy felt a little guilty as she licked her chocolate ice-cream cone. But she hadn’t taken very much money. She could pay it back later.
A few weeks later, Katy went to get ice cream again. She still didn’t have enough money, so she took a little more from her tithing jar. I’ll pay this back too, she told herself.
Katy kept taking money from her tithing jar. She always promised to pay it back. But it got hard to remember how much she had taken. And she didn’t have enough money to replace it.
Soon it was time for her family’s tithing interview. They would meet with Bishop Leavitt. He would ask each of them if they had paid a full tithing on all the money they earned that year.
That Sunday, Katy put the rest of her tithing money in an envelope and gave it to the bishop. But she knew it wasn’t enough. Her stomach felt sick.
Later, Katy’s family sat together in Bishop Leavitt’s office.
“Are you a full-tithe payer?” Bishop Leavitt asked Christian.
“Yes!” Christian said.
Katy shifted in her chair. Would it be OK to tell him that she was a full-tithe payer too? She hadn’t paid all her tithing yet, but she was going to!
“Are you a full-tithe payer?” Bishop Leavitt asked Katy.
Katy looked down. It would be wrong to lie.
“No,” she said quietly. “I used some of my tithing money to buy ice cream.”
“I know Heavenly Father is grateful for the tithing you did pay. And when we make a wrong choice, we can repent and try to do better.” Bishop Leavitt smiled at Katy. “I know you will try to pay all your tithing in the future.”
Katy nodded. She wanted to be a full-tithe payer!
The next time she earned some money, Katy put 10 percent in her tithing jar. Then she put in a little more. Is this enough to replace what I took? she wondered. She added even more, just in case.
But she still felt guilty. Maybe she could pay even more tithing until she felt she had replaced it all. She put her head in her hands.
Mom came into the room. “What’s wrong?”
Katy sighed. “I don’t know how much tithing I need to pay to make up for what I spent.”
Mom gave Katy a hug. “I’m glad you want to fix your mistake,” she said. “But sometimes we just need to start where we are and try again. Heavenly Father will forgive us when we do our best to repent.”
Was that true? Even for her tithing mistake?
When Mom left, Katy prayed. “Heavenly Father, I’m sorry that I didn’t pay all my tithing. I want to pay it back, but I don’t know how much I owe. Will You forgive me and let me start over and try again?”
Katy felt peaceful. It felt good to ask for forgiveness. She knew that Heavenly Father would help her do better from then on!
Illustration by Matt Smith

Mom, why do we have to pull these old weeds, anyway?” Vanessa whined, pushing back the hair from her sweaty forehead. “Weeds, weeds, weeds! It’s such a waste of time. They’ll just grow again next week, and I’ll have to pull them up all over again.” She stabbed the trowel into the dark brown soil for emphasis.
Her mother smiled at eleven-year-old Vanessa’s impatience.
“I wish that the garden plants would grow but not the weeds,” Vanessa said. “Wouldn’t that be easy?”
“It would be easy,” Mom agreed, “but where’s the challenge? What could we learn from that?”
“What do we learn now, except how to get bug bites, sunburn, and blisters?”
“Actually you’ve learned a great deal. For example, you know that things must happen in proper order. We must plant seeds when and where they’ll be able to do their best,” Mom explained.
“I wonder if Heavenly Father ‘plants’ our spirits in certain bodies, at certain times, in certain places, so that we can do our best?” Vanessa wondered aloud.
“That’s an interesting thought. I’ve pondered things like that, too,” Mom said as she planted peas neatly in a row.
“Maybe I had to be born to this particular family, in this place, at the exact time that I was born, in order for me to develop and reach my full potential,” Vanessa said thoughtfully. “OK, we do learn things from gardening,” she admitted. When she saw the triumphant look on her mother’s face, she added, “But I still don’t understand why we have to go to all this trouble to have homegrown vegetables. Store-bought ones are just as good if you ask me.”
“A half hour a day isn’t much time to spend when you consider all the rewards,” Mom said. “By the end of the summer you’ll see what I mean.”
Each day after school, Mom and Vanessa got on their gardening clothes and worked side by side in the garden. One afternoon in late spring they transplanted tomato seedlings. After working in silence for some time, Vanessa said, “Plants need sun, air, water, and nutrients from the soil. We need sun, air, water, and nutrients from food. Mom, would we die without the sun?” They talked for twenty minutes about the similarities and differences between plant needs and human needs.
During other gardening sessions, Vanessa told her mother about school, her friends, her hopes and plans for the future, her worries and fears. She began to look forward to these talks.
Sometimes while they gardened, Mom told Vanessa stories about what it was like to grow up on a farm. One day she said, “My mother used to tell me: ‘You reap what you sow. If you plant cucumber seeds, you get cucumber vines and cucumber blossoms, and, eventually, cucumbers. You’ll never get cauliflower from cucumber seeds. If we sow acts of kindness, we reap friendship and happiness.’”
“But if we sow evil and unkindness, then we reap the consequences—unhappiness and sadness,” Vanessa added. They were silent for a few minutes before Vanessa asked, “It can take a long time to see the results of what you’ve sown, can’t it, Mom?” She was thinking of a girl who had started at their school before Christmas and was extremely shy. Vanessa had been nice to her, but it had taken until February to get the girl to respond. But Vanessa’s persistence paid off; the girls were now good friends.
One day in June, after three days of rain, the weeds suddenly shot up tall. “We have to pluck out the bad plants so that the good ones won’t be robbed of the nutrients, moisture, and root space. Does that remind you of a scripture story?” Mom asked.
“You mean when Christ will take all the wicked and burn them as stubble, and the good people won’t be bothered anymore by their evil influence?”
“Good! You’ve been reading,” Mom said, nodding approvingly.
“It also reminds me of the parable about the seed falling on the rocky soil, getting choked by weeds, or growing in good soil,” Vanessa continued. “We have to try to get sin out of our lives so that the seed of faith can grow in good soil within us.”
“I think she’s got it!” said Mom, laughing along with her daughter.
Once when Vanessa complained about all the work, Mom said, “It’s not much different from having neighbors or friends.”
“I don’t see the connection,” said Vanessa.
“If someone has a need, we serve them. Later, they—or someone else—may help us. Right now it’s our turn to help the vegetable plants. But in a few months, they’ll be serving us—on our dinner table!”
In July there were two weeks with no rain. Vanessa’s arms became stronger and stronger from carrying buckets of water. She prayed for rain and hurried out early each morning to check the plants. When it finally did rain, she danced barefoot in the backyard.
Late in the summer, Mom said, “Vanessa, have you noticed what a trim figure and lovely, healthy glow you have? It couldn’t possibly be from working in the garden, could it?” Her eyes twinkled merrily.
Vanessa realized that her mother was right. She felt prettier, healthier, and stronger than she’d ever felt before. Mom’s right, she thought. You do get a lot from gardening—more than just vegetables.
By the end of August the whole family was involved in canning and freezing the garden’s harvest. Still, there were more vegetables than they could possibly use. “Dad, wouldn’t someone at your work or one of our neighbors love a basket of fresh zucchini or tomatoes?” Vanessa suggested.
They canned spaghetti sauce, and Vanessa could hardly wait to invite the new neighbors for dinner. When they arrived, Vanessa sat down with them and told them all the wonderful benefits of gardening.
Mom winked at Dad as Vanessa enthusiastically added, “Tonight we’re having spaghetti with sauce made from our own vegetables. And salad and zucchini, all from our garden. Mmmm! You’ll love them. They’re lots better than store-bought vegetables!”

During a visit to a Church meetinghouse, President Kimball noticed some paper towels on a restroom floor. He threw them away and then cleaned the sink. A local leader was so impressed by this example of care and respect that he subsequently taught others to show more reverence for Church buildings and other sacred things.10