Gospel Story Finder

I used to live in Tokyo, Japan, quite near the Tokyo Temple. Whenever I got in a taxi cab in Tokyo, rather than giving my home address, I would say, “Latter-day Saint Temple, please.” Usually, the first response from the cab driver would be a look of bewilderment. I would then say, “You know, the beautiful building across from the Arisugawa Park, the one with the gold statue of the angel on top?” Once they knew where to go, then came my next question: “You must know who the Latter-day Saints are; you see the missionaries on their bikes with helmets and white shirts all the time, don’t you?” Every cab ride led to a discussion about the Church.

But it was Debbie Hanson, 16, of the Crystal Second Ward, who harvested one of the sweetest fruits of sharing:

“My parents knew some people from the Orient, and we kept spending time with their family,” Debbie says. “They had a girl my age named Ting Ming. We talked a lot about the Church, basically a testimony sharing thing. When the missionaries asked me if I would befriend her, I had to smile. We had already become good friends. Six months later, when Ting was baptized, she told me, ‘Thank you for giving me this beautiful truth.’”

Tommaso Castro
In a dream, Tommaso Castro saw his mother, who had been dead for some years, and she made known to him that she was involved in the study of things important to eternity.
How could that be? he wondered. The religion he knew did not allow for such a possibility.
Then one of his young women friends invited him to help embarrass some American missionaries she had invited to her home. Tommaso went, but he didn’t feel good about participating in the taunting.
When the missionaries started talking about something called the plan of salvation, which would allow our dead loved ones to continue progressing after this life, they had Tommaso’s full attention immediately. He started seeing the missionaries on his own and was soon baptized.
Brother Castro, a stake high councilor, lives in Pavia, south of Milan.

The funny little woman in this 1973 Caldecott Award book likes to laugh, “Tee-he-he-he,” and make rice dumplings. One day when she runs after a rolling dumpling, she laughs at the wrong moment and is captured by the wicked oni. For a time she enjoys cooking for them with their magic paddle, but soon she becomes lonely and runs away. The wicked oni try to stop her—until they too laugh at the wrong moment!

My dad is taking me to the movies on Sunday. Want to come?
Sorry, Laura. We can’t. We go to church on Sundays.
Oh. OK.
But thanks for asking us!
Can’t you come after church?
Well, Sunday is a holy day for us. We use it to remember Jesus Christ.
But do you want to come to a Church activity with us next week?
We’re going to do crafts! It’ll be fun.
OK! I’ll ask my dad.
At the activity …
I’m glad you could come.
Me too! Thanks for asking me.

Back in Manchester, a young man named Oliver Cowdery was staying with Joseph’s parents. Oliver was a year younger than Joseph, and in the fall of 1828 he had begun teaching school about a mile south of the Smiths’ farm.
Teachers often boarded with the families of their students, and when Oliver heard rumors about Joseph and the gold plates, he asked if he could stay with the Smiths. At first he gleaned few details from the family. The stolen manuscript and local gossip had made them wary to the point of silence.15
But during the winter of 1828–29, as Oliver taught the Smith children, he earned the trust of his hosts. Around this time, Joseph Sr. had come back from a trip to Harmony with a revelation declaring that the Lord was about to begin a marvelous work.16 By then Oliver had proven to be a sincere seeker of truth, and Joseph’s parents opened up to him about their son’s divine calling.17
What they said captivated Oliver, and he longed to help with the translation. Like Joseph, Oliver was dissatisfied with modern churches and believed in a God of miracles who still revealed His will to people.18 But Joseph and the gold plates were far away, and Oliver did not know how he could help the work if he stayed in Manchester.
One spring day, as rain was falling hard against the Smiths’ roof, Oliver told the family he wanted to go to Harmony to help Joseph when the school term was over. Lucy and Joseph Sr. urged him to ask the Lord if his desires were right.19
Retiring to his bed, Oliver prayed privately to know if what he had heard about the gold plates was true. The Lord showed him a vision of the gold plates and Joseph’s efforts to translate them. A peaceful feeling rested over him, and he knew then that he should volunteer to be Joseph’s scribe.20
Oliver told no one about his prayer. But as soon as the school term ended, he and Joseph’s brother Samuel set out on foot for Harmony, more than 100 miles (160 km) away. The road was cold and muddy from spring rain, and Oliver had a frostbitten toe by the time he and Samuel arrived at Joseph and Emma’s door. Yet he was eager to meet the couple and see for himself how the Lord worked through the young prophet.21

Lee W. Johnson, who was at the time Cubmaster of Pack 218, rescued his brother from underneath a fallen haystack. “My brother was covered by a haystack four feet deep and about 20 feet square. Where do you dig? In my mind a voice said, ‘Over here.’ I dug to within six inches of my unconscious brother, and the voice said, ‘Throw the pitch fork away.’ And there he was. You have to give somebody besides myself credit for something like that.” Brother Johnson is in the Benson Ward, Benson Utah Stake.

I have gone far in my family history, and the more I have been doing, the more I am dreaming about my ancestors. Let me share only two dreams.
First: I will never forget the dream I had about two years ago, about my paternal great-uncle Steven. In that dream, I traveled to my hometown and wanted to come back. I got to the market square, where I wanted to get a car back to my base. Then I saw a car and entered it. When we moved, I looked through the car window, and I saw Uncle Steven running after the car and stopping it. When the car stopped, he entered at the back, where I sat and started pointing at my face and said, “What did I do to you? Why do you not want to help me the way you are helping others?”
When I woke up, I was confused, so I narrated the dream to one of my sons. He told me that the dream I had was about doing temple work for our ancestors. I told him that I didn’t know how I would do this one because I don’t know much about Uncle Steven and I don’t know how I can trust his lineage. We are not from the same village.
My son told me to pray to our Heavenly Father for direction on what to do. So I prayed. One day our most senior brother, my first cousin Emeka, who wasn’t a Christian (he was a traditional man), called me to discuss something. We talked on the phone, and when the discussion was finished, I seized the opportunity to ask him about our Uncle Steven. He acknowledged he knew things about him, and he sent the information that he had to me. I kept on asking him about many people. He sent me information he had for about 15 people. I handed that information to my son to be doing temple work for them.
Second: I had another dream when I traveled home again. I was coming out from my father’s compound, and somebody called my name. I looked on my right side, and I saw Emeka’s stepmother, Virginia, and our uncle’s wife, Regina, and also Emeka’s senior sister, Victoria. All are dead. Emeka’s stepmother was the one who called me. As I was going towards them, Emeka’s sister backed me away, telling them something. Then I heard Emeka’s stepmother saying, “No, no. She is the one helping us.” Our Uncle’s wife was supporting her, saying, “She is the one helping us.”
These experiences taught me how close we are to our dead and help me understand that it is I helping them.

It was four days before Christmas, and the excitement in our family was almost tangible. Heidi was busy wrapping her gifts for Mom, while Erin was fascinated by the brightly colored lights twinkling in the window. I was excited because tonight the company John worked for was treating the employees and their wives to dinner and a show.
After dropping the girls off at the baby-sitter’s, John and I were on our way. We used the time as we drove to the company party to reflect on our many blessings.
The party was a huge success. It was well after midnight when we pulled into the driveway. John went ahead to open the door and turn the lights on, while I wrapped our two sleeping girls in blankets to protect them against the wintry night air.
Suddenly, John came running back to me, shouting, “We’ve been robbed!” With Erin in my arms, I felt a chill run through me. After checking the house, we discovered that all our Christmas presents were gone. The thieves had taken everything—even our tithing receipts and patriarchal blessings. We were devastated! What could we do? We felt so helpless.
Instead of enjoying the fun of customary family events connected with the celebration of the birth of our Savior, we struggled with a cold and empty feeling. The gifts could surely be replaced, but the love and care that went into each gift and its wrapping could not.
We held a family council and decided to stay indoors and celebrate Christmas quietly, keeping our focus on a celebration of the Savior’s birth.
That Sunday, news of the robbery spread. Sunday evening, as John and I sat in the living room with the lights out, we heard the sound of car doors slamming. We both jumped, thinking the burglars had come back. Quickly we dashed to the front door. We couldn’t believe what we saw.
Tiny reflections of lighted candles flickered in the frosty air as 25 ward members sang carols to brighten our spirits. It was hard for us to hold back our tears.
As they drove off, we felt joy replace the bitterness in our hearts. When we walked back into the house, the phone was ringing—the first of many phone calls that night from neighbors wondering how they could help us. We turned on Erin’s favorite twinkling lights and decided to have a Christmas celebration, no matter how small.
The following day was Christmas Eve. About 11:00 A.M. it began—visit after visit from Church members with presents and food. One sister was prompted to give us money, and it turned out to be the same amount that had been stolen. Boy Scouts came and made their contribution. Members from a neighboring stake heard of the robbery and sent Santa himself. Heidi could not believe her eyes. This parade of love and aid continued until about midnight.
By the time we went to bed that Christmas Eve, our hearts were filled with gratitude to others. Exemplifying the spirit of Christmas, those who responded to our need had turned a nightmare into a festival of Christlike love.

The bishops of both wards suggested many people who would enjoy a visit, and five were chosen for the initial project. Youth leaders contacted each of these people to see if they would be willing to be visited. One elderly lady burst into tears and said, “Visit? With me? I’ve been so lonely.” Another replied, “The young people are so beautiful! I’d just love for them to come.” All five were eager to participate.
So the visits were scheduled, the preparations made.
Inside the house of the white curtains, the three young ladies complimented their hostess on her hand-painted china, broke the ice with a little small talk, and again explained their mission. Soon the tape recorder was set up, one young lady had her pen poised above a notebook ready to take notes, and the good sister started talking about her girlhood and her life. On the rare occasions when she ran dry momentarily, the girls were ready with well-conceived questions to start the flow again.
As they listened and the cassette turned, a wonderful thing happened. Years blurred and ran together, and the Laurels were no longer in the little house of sunlight and painted china. They were in Heber City, Utah, around the turn of the century, seeing life through the eyes of a young Mormon girl. They knew the bitterness of the winters, the headiness of mountain springs, the crushes, hopes, and secrets of being young. They met and loved all the old forgotten people, old and forgotten no more, who had filled a girl’s childhood. They visited a sawmill on the Utah-Wyoming border where she had spent some summers and smelled the sweetness of clean-sawed pine. They lived with her her first time away from home.
“It’s an awful thing to be homesick,” she said, closing her eyes and remembering, but with a smile. And then, in the present again for a moment, she leaned forward and asked, with a twinkle in her eyes, “Have you girls ever been homesick?”
Suddenly there was no generation gap—no time barrier between Utah then and California now—as the girls realized more fully than ever that people don’t stop being people just because they grow old. They forgot all about tape recorders and oral history for a while and talked friend to friend about homesickness, and family, and love, and all the other things that never stop mattering, and for a moment they glimpsed a more eternal perspective of existence and saw time as the sham it is.
Randy Tong, Gayle Allen, and Susan Langford visited Sister LaVern Brown who had suffered several severe falls and couldn’t get out much, and they presented her with a potted plant. The youth unanimously reported that it had been a delightful experience. Sister Brown later commented, “Oh, those young people were just so nice, but so quiet. I had to do all the talking.”
Sister Louella Norberg was visited by Kathy Peterson, Joele Chafant, Deanna Peterson, and Kiku Okauchi. Kathy said of the visit, “Joele, Deanna, Kiku, and I met outside her apartment and were standing there wondering how we should approach her when she stuck her head out and called, ‘Yoo-hoo, girls! Here I am!’ and invited us in to see her. It was fascinating. She told us things that happened over the years, and I really enjoyed it. I know she liked it a lot too because she kissed us all before we left.”
A kiss on the cheek in California—it’s a little thing, but it’s the sort of little thing that’s teaching youth all over the Church that service is truly its own reward.

Ten years later, I moved to the United States. There I found my brother Orlando. But I had yet to find the answers to my questions. I began seeking answers in various churches. But though each contributed bits and pieces, none of them had all the answers I needed. I prayed that God would help me come to know the truth.
Then one day in the spring of 1986, Latter-day Saint missionaries came to my house. They answered every question I had. And when I studied the Book of Mormon, I was moved to tears by the testimony I gained of its truthfulness. I was baptized in July. A little more than a year later, I arranged for Raúl’s vicarious baptism in the temple. Then he and I were sealed to our parents forever.

My father practiced what he preached. He didn’t just tell others to be self-reliant; we were taught to exemplify it as a family. We raised almost all of our own food. He always wanted a garden—he wanted a garden to eat from and a garden to smell. I used to pump the water by hand to water the garden, and also I learned to milk the cows, prune the fruit trees, mend the fences, and all the rest. I had two older brothers, who, I was convinced, took all the easy jobs and left me all the hard ones. But I don’t complain; it made me strong.

As I walked to teach my Primary class, I remembered my new goal. I greeted each child at the door. Each smiled back, radiating the sweet spirit each one has. I wanted now to teach the gospel, which I know is true, to each child—not to the whole class. I wanted each four-year-old to feel important, to feel the love I had for him. When Primary was over, I felt my relationship with each child had improved; I had felt a little of the beauty each held. Longfellow and the missionaries were a little smarter than I thought.

Not all battles are waged on foreign soil. Nor do the participants always bear arms, throw grenades, or drop bombs. I witnessed such a conflict on the fourth floor of a California hospital. There were no shrill sounds of mortar fire to be heard, no fields of men or equipment to be seen. Yet a life or death struggle was in progress. Happy, handsome Paul Van Dusen, age fifteen, had just lost the first fight with the feared enemy called cancer.

Paul loved life. He excelled in sports. He and his parents hoped, then prayed that the doctors” fears would not be confirmed—that his precious right leg would not be amputated. Devastated, they accepted the sad news. To save his life, he must lose his leg.

The surgery completed, Paul rested.

Entering the room after Paul’s surgery, I was attracted immediately by his cheerful smile. He radiated a spirit of hope and goodness.

The crisp, white sheet lay noticeably flat where once there had been a leg. Flowers from friends surrounded his bedside. Parents, grateful for his life, stood close by.

Paul invited me to read the get well cards he had received. One carried the message: “We love you, Paul. We’re praying for you.” It was signed by members of his Sunday School class. From his classmates at school, “May you get well soon. We think you’re great.” Still another from home teachers had the inscription, “May god bless you. Tomorrow we’ll visit you again.”

What did the Carpenter from Nazareth say of such people? “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matt. 25:40.)

The spirit of prayer came easily that day. A perfect peace filled the room. Smiles of confidence crept across lips moist with tears. From distant Capernaum we seemed to hear the echo, “Be not afraid, only believe.” Then Paul said, “I’ll be all right.”

We beheld a faith-filled heart and a countenance that reflected gratitude. Faith in whom? Gratitude for what?

Jesus of Nazareth,
Savior and King!
Triumphant over death,
Life thou didst bring,
Leaving thy Father’s throne,
On earth to live,
Thy work to do alone,
Thy life to give.
(Hymns, number 86.)

Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?
From Nazareth came example.
From Nazareth came sight.
From Nazareth came strength.
From Nazareth came life.
From Nazareth faith.
From Nazareth came peace.
From Nazareth came courage.
From Nazareth came Christ.
To him Nathanael declared, “Thou art the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel.” (John 1:49.) I testify that he is Lord of Lords, King of Kings, precious Savior, dear Redeemer. Jesus Christ of Nazareth. There is no other name under heaven given among men whereby we can be saved.

May we live his teachings, may we emulate his example, may we follow in his footsteps to life eternal.

I recall a few years ago seeing a drama enacted at the Salt Lake International Airport. On this particular day, I got off an airplane and walked into the terminal. It was immediately obvious that a missionary was coming home because the airport was full of conspicuous-looking missionary friends and missionary relatives.

I tried to pick out the immediate family members. There was a father who did not look particularly comfortable in an awkward-fitting and slightly out-of-fashion suit. He seemed to be a man of the soil, with a suntan and large, work-scarred hands.

There was a mother who was quite thin, looking as if she had worked very hard in her life. She had in her hand a handkerchief—and I think it must have been a linen handkerchief once, but now it looked like tissue paper. It was nearly shredded from the anticipation only the mother of a returning missionary could know.

Two or three younger brothers and sisters were running around, largely oblivious to the scene that was unfolding.

I found myself wondering as to who would be first to break away from the welcoming group. A look at the mother’s handkerchief convinced me that she would probably be the one.

As I sat there, I saw the returning missionary appear. I knew he was the one by the squeals of excitement from the crowd. He looked like Captain Moroni, clean and handsome and straight and tall. Undoubtedly he had known the sacrifice this mission had meant to his father and mother.

As he neared the group, sure enough, someone couldn’t wait any longer. It wasn’t the mother, and it wasn’t any of the children. It was Father. That big, slightly awkward, quiet, and bronzed giant of a man ran out and swept his son into his arms.

The missionary was probably 6?2? (188 cm) or so, but this big father grabbed him, lifted him off the ground, and held him for a long, long time. He just held him and said nothing. The boy put both arms around his dad, and they just held each other very tightly. It seemed like all eternity stood still. It was as if all the world had gone silent out of respect for such a sacred moment.

And then I thought of God the Eternal Father watching His Son go out to serve, to sacrifice when He didn’t have to do it, paying His own expenses, so to speak, costing everything He had saved all His life to give. At that precious moment, it was not too difficult to imagine that Father speaking with some emotion to those who could hear, “This is my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17). And it was also possible to imagine that triumphant returning Son saying, “It is finished” (John 19:30). “Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit” (Luke 23:46).

Even in my limited imagination, I can see that reunion in the heavens. And I pray for one like it for you and for me. I pray for reconciliation and for forgiveness, for mercy, and for the Christian growth and Christian character we must develop if we are to enjoy such a moment fully.

I stand all amazed that even for a man like me, there is a chance. If I’ve heard the “good news” correctly, there really is a chance—for me and for you and for everyone who is willing to keep hoping and to keep trying and to allow others the same privilege.

I marvel that he would descend from his throne divine
To rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine. …
I think of his hands pierced and bleeding to pay the debt!
Such mercy, such love, and devotion can I forget?
No, no, I will praise and adore at the mercy seat,
Until at the glorified throne I kneel at his feet. …
Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!5

Fredrick A., 17, says that when his friend Robert invited him to church, he felt the Spirit so strongly that he couldn’t deny it.
“When I got to church, the Spirit of God was sent upon me,” Fredrick says. “As I was given the Book of Mormon, I started reading it. If I don’t understand, I always ask my branch president and pray.”
Robert (left) and Fredrick have remained friends since Robert introduced him to the gospel.

Q: You surprised a lot of people when you joined the Church. Could you tell us something about your conversion?
Kresimir: I had never heard about the Church before I came here. In Yugoslavia most of the young people are completely atheistic, and that’s the way I lived. When I came to Provo I didn’t change. I was an atheist for two years while I was in Provo. Nobody was farther from becoming a Mormon than I was. I just lived my way, and people lived their way. I obeyed all the rules of BYU, tried to be as good as I could, and tried to play ball and do my studying and other things. When I was a junior, I decided to figure out a few things. I had things I wanted to know.
I didn’t decide to join the Church because of any one thing. There were some things that I wanted to know. I had a few questions that no one could answer. It just happened. We as Mormons believe in personal things everyone can know by himself. It all depends on how bad you want to know something. That’s the whole point. If we have a desire in the Church to know something, we will know it; there’s no question about that. If something is really bothering you, you probably go to somebody for advice. If it’s football you want to know about—what kind of a play you are going to play—you can ask me, and I don’t have any idea. I just can’t help. It’s the same if you’re going to the wrong church. They can’t give you an answer. So you ask, and find out, and you join the true church. So I just decided to join the Church.
Q: I’ve heard that the Book of Mormon impressed you very much when you were studying the Church. Is this true?
Kresimir: Of course. You just read the book and want to get baptized—and that’s it.
Q: Who gave you the book?
Kresimir: You can buy those books for 50 cents.
Q: What impressed you about the Book of Mormon?
Kresimir: Well, it’s certainly the best book I have ever read. There’s no question about that. The book applies to today’s people much more than in the days when Joseph Smith translated it, because it speaks about the way it is now. I was traveling all over the world, and I saw many places, and I saw most of the prophecies being fulfilled; it’s amazing. That really is a good book. There are many things in it that are coming true now.
Q: Were your friends in Yugoslavia surprised when they learned you had joined the Church?
Kresimir: You bet they were surprised. That’s the last thing they thought was going to happen.
Q: Did joining the Church change your goals in life?
Kresimir: Of course. We talk all the time about being born again. Especially if you have lived the way I did, you better be born completely. You don’t just get in the middle. You’ve got to change all things.
Q: Have you been happier since becoming a member of the Church?
Kresimir: Of course. And if I hadn’t known I would be, I wouldn’t have been baptized.

I recently went to the Belém Brazil Temple with other Church members from Suriname. This was my first visit and when I approached the temple, I was restless and nervous. As I entered that sacred house of the Lord, I felt its warm embrace. The Spirit was so strong. When I approached the recommend desk, I saw a picture of the Savior with two children by His side. My nervousness disappeared. The scripture from Matthew came to mind, “But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 19:14).
This scripture gave me strength for I was a little child coming into His sacred house.
That day I was washed and anointed and received the power of the endowment. This is an experience I will never forget, and I want to return to the temple as often as I can.

The sun was shining and the birds were singing as Johnny skipped alongside his family on the way home from church one Sunday afternoon.
“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” Mom asked, taking a deep breath.
“The blossoms on the trees smell wonderful,” Dad said as he ruffled the top of Johnny’s short brown hair. “What did you learn in Primary today, pal?”
Johnny thought for a minute. “I learned that if I don’t know the right thing to do, I should ask myself the magic question.”
“What’s the magic question?” Mom asked.
Johnny grinned at Mom and Dad. “What would Jesus do?”
“That is a magic question,” Dad agreed. “Did you hear that girls?” he called to Katie and Kristen, who were a bit ahead of them.
“What, Dad?” Katie asked as she and Kristen waited for them.
“Johnny learned a magic question in Primary today. He learned that if we are having a hard time trying to decide what’s right and what’s wrong, we should ask ourselves the magic question. Tell them what it is, Johnny.”
“What would Jesus do?”
“I think that’s a very good idea,” Mom added. “I think we should all try it. Then we can talk about our experiences in family home evening tomorrow night.”
The next day after school, Johnny’s friend invited him to go to the store. Johnny went in to ask his mother for permission.
“Do you have any money?”
“I have two quarters that Grandpa Green gave me.”
“OK, have fun. Remember to be careful and watch for cars!” she called as he ran for the door.
“I can go!” he yelled to Jason, who was waiting on the front lawn.
On the way, they tried to decide whether to get a sack of penny candy or a candy bar or a Popsicle. When they got to Mr. Johnson’s store and looked at all the candy, they still couldn’t make up their minds.
Then Johnny noticed that the candy bars were fifty-five cents. He only had fifty cents, so he knew that he would have to buy either penny candy or a Popsicle. When he started toward the case of frozen treats, he saw Jason sticking a candy bar in his pocket. “What are you doing?” Johnny whispered in a scared voice.
“I only have thirty-two cents,” Jason whispered back. “I want a candy bar and some penny candy, so I’m going to sneak out the candy bar and pay for my penny candy with my money. What kind of candy bar do you want? I’ll stick it in my other pocket.”
Johnny remembered the magic question he’d learned in Primary the day before. He knew that Jesus would never steal. “No,” Johnny told Jason firmly. “It isn’t what Jesus would want me to do.”
“Oh come on, you big baby—no one will ever know.”
“But I’ll know, and so will Jesus.” A happy thought came to him. “I know—let’s put our money together. Then we can buy a candy bar and some penny candy, and we won’t have to steal anything!”
Jason thought about it for a minute. “OK,” he said. “We won’t have as much that way, but I feel better about doing it your way.”
The boys picked out their candy and paid Mr. Johnson for it. He smiled at them and said, “Thanks for coming in, boys.”
That night in family home evening when they talked about the magic question, Johnny told them what had happened at the store. They were all very proud of him. He felt good inside because he knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus were proud of him too.

For as long as Marie could remember, the big vacant lot next door to her house had been an ugly sight. So she was very surprised when she arrived home from school one day and saw how it had changed: All the tall weeds and broken bottles and torn newspapers were gone. The ground had been plowed too. That’s the cleanest dirt I’ve ever seen, she thought.
A man wearing baggy overalls was putting a sign up in the middle of the lot. In large letters it read:
BIRCH STREET COMMUNITY GARDEN
RESERVE YOUR PLOT NOW!
“Excuse me,” Marie said to the man. “What’s a community garden?”
“Anyone in the community—the neighborhood—may use part of this lot to grow his own garden,” the man replied. “Would you like to sign up for a plot?”
Marie had never seen a garden in her neighborhood before—only buildings and sidewalks and streets.
“A garden would be great,” she said. “I’ll ask my brothers and sisters if they’ll help me. Thanks.”
When the family sat down to supper that evening, Marie told them about the new community garden next door. “We can have fresh vegetables all summer,” she said. “It’ll be a very big garden. I’ll need help taking care of it, but we’ll have lots of fun.”
“Sorry, Sis,” said Joe, the oldest. “I need to find a summer job. I’ll be too busy to help.”
“Me, too,” said Rose. “I have a paper route. Besides, vegetables are all right, but I like flowers better.”
Marie was a little disappointed, but she still had four other children to ask.
But Flo said, “I have to take care of my rabbits. I won’t have time to garden.”
“Count me out,” Peter told her. “I hate vegetables. Yuck!”
The twins were Marie’s last hope, but before she could ask them, Mike said, “We don’t like vegetables, either.”
“We definitely hate vegetables,” Ike agreed.
After supper Marie went outside and stared at the vacant lot. It was all ready for planting, but no one would help her with the work.
A few minutes later Papa came out and stood beside her. “Marie, I’ll help you with the garden after supper every night,” he said.
“No, Papa,” Marie replied. “Thanks, but you work hard all day. I’ll just plant a small garden and take care of it myself.”
“Well, I’ll help when I can,” Papa said. “We’ll go together Saturday to reserve a little garden plot.”
Then Papa took Marie’s hand in his, and they walked back to the apartment.
At supper the next evening Marie turned to Joe. “It’s hard to find a job, isn’t it?”
“It sure is!” he answered. “I’ve been looking for weeks and still haven’t found one.”
“Nearly everyone likes corn on the cob and watermelon,” Marie pointed out. “I’ll bet that you could grow some in the garden and sell them to make money—after all, you’d have the freshest vegetables in town. You could grow enough for the family too.”
Joe’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea, Sis. I’ll give it a try.”
Then Marie looked across the table at Rose. “Your paper route won’t keep you busy all day,” she said. “Since you like flowers, you could grow sunflowers and scarlet runner beans. The beans have beautiful blossoms, and we can eat the beans and the sunflower seeds.”
Rose grinned. “Sure. That way I can grow flowers and food.”
Now Marie turned to Flo. “You could grow carrots and lettuce and radishes, couldn’t you? Then you wouldn’t have to spend your whole allowance on rabbit food, your pet bunnies would be happy, and there would be plenty for us too.”
“The bunnies will love it!” Flo exclaimed. “When do we start?”
Pete had figured out what Marie was up to. “Don’t look at me,” he said stubbornly. “I still hate vegetables, and nothing you say is going to change my mind.”
“You don’t hate all vegetables,” Marie answered. “You like popcorn. That’s a vegetable. And you’re crazy about pickles. They’re made from cucumbers, you know.”
“I never thought of it that way.” Pete laughed. “OK. It looks like I’m in charge of the popcorn and pickle patch.”
“What can we grow?” asked Mike. “We don’t want to be left out.”
“We hate vegetables, but we want to grow something,” said Ike.
Marie smiled. “Well, you boys like chili better than just about anything else, so you can plant a chili patch.”
“A chili patch? How do you grow chili?” asked Mike.
“Just think about what’s in chili,” Marie said. “There are beans and tomatoes and peppers, right?”
“Yes!” cried Ike. “We’ll plant our very own chili patch!”
Then Mama, who had been listening the whole time, spoke up. “Marie, is there enough room for a patch of the other vegetables that we like? I’d like to plant some spinach, broccoli, cauliflower, and peas. We all like these, especially when they’re raw.”
“Of course, Mama! You can plant anything that you want,” Marie answered.
“What am I going to help you grow?” Papa asked Marie.
“We’ll plant an enormous dessert patch!” she said. “It will be full of sweet things like strawberries and cantaloupes to thank everyone for helping with the garden.”