Gospel Story Finder

On my mission, rejection and failure were as much a part of our everyday lives as eating and breathing. It was easy to expect rejection and anticipate that our investigators would lose interest in our message. But five weeks in one particular city taught me a valuable lesson. It was a city where no one had ever had much success. But someone forgot to tell my companion or me. We got along famously. We worked hard. And we had fun. We met lots of people interested in our message. We had a thriving investigator class each Sunday in this tiny branch. Miracles were happening in people’s lives. And we felt we were just scratching the surface of this golden city.

Why did we have so much success there? I believe the Lord blessed us with success because of our attitude. My companion and I loved working together. We were united. We worked hard. We honestly believed the city was a gold mine just waiting to yield up its treasures. Attitude has a lot to do with faith. Faith has everything to do with success. And faith is contagious.

Unfortunately, I was late in understanding this lesson. I failed to make the connection between the fruits of our labors and the way we labored. Consequently, I was not able to apply this principle as successfully in my next two assignments.

There are probably many other things I would do differently if I had the chance to serve my mission over again, but these four stand out in my mind. If you look at these ideas carefully, you’ll see that they fall within the qualifications the Lord Himself outlined for His servants: “And faith, hope, charity and love, with an eye single to the glory of God, qualify him for the work. Remember faith, virtue, knowledge, temperance, patience, brotherly kindness, godliness, charity, humility, diligence” (D&C 4:5–6).

In the small room of the Murphys, who immigrated from Ireland, a bright wreath of holly with its shining leaves and red berries makes the walls look cheery. Colleen and her sister, Mary, help set the table, even though they have just finished their dinner. They place a loaf of bread and a pitcher of milk on the clean table, along with a large candle.
The girls’ grandmother smiles at them. “Since you have been blessed with the name Mary, you may light the candle, my dear,” she says. There is a deep hush as Mary solemnly lights the candle.
Colleen, who feels a bit left out for a moment, runs to the door to make sure that it is unlatched. The Christ Child, or any lonely wanderer, might see the Murphys’ lighted candle and know that He/he is welcome in their home for food and friendship.

Hannah (name has been changed) experienced sexual abuse early in her childhood. Like other victims, she grew up feeling like she was a terrible person who had no worth. She spent most of her life trying to serve others enough to make up for her feelings of not being “good enough” for Heavenly Father or anyone else to love. In her relationships, she feared that if anyone truly knew her, they would think she was as awful as she believed she was. She experienced an intense fear of rejection that led to being afraid of trying new things in life or doing simple tasks like calling someone on the phone. She was blessed with a talent for artwork but gave up on it for fear of not being able to handle criticism.
For over 50 years her feelings of helplessness, powerlessness, fear, anger, confusion, shame, loneliness, and isolation guided her daily decisions.
For Hannah, her life had become so uncomfortable that she sought help. She knew from her testimony that she could feel peace and contentment in life but did not feel them on a consistent basis. Through prayer and talking with her bishop, she was guided to counseling, where she was able to gain the tools she needed to bring the truth out of darkness and share the awful burden she had been carrying alone. In doing so, she was able to release the pain and find the peace promised by the Savior (see John 14:27). Along with this peace and comfort came the desire and ability to forgive.
Hannah eventually found that she could turn the need for justice over to the Savior and in return find a feeling of peace in her life as she had never before experienced. Previously, she had feared attending family gatherings where the abuser would be present. Now, due to her willingness to face difficult emotional wounds on her way to healing, she no longer fears being in his presence and can even have compassion for him in his old age.

I am the only member of the Church in my class at school. One day I had a substitute teacher, and she asked a question about a Christian religion in a different country. I thought the answer was Mormons, so I answered her question. She told me that she wanted to know a Christian religion because she thought that Mormons were not Christians. I told her that Mormons are Christians because we believe in Jesus Christ. I had just been baptized, and I knew that I believed in Jesus Christ. Our church is His Church. I bore my testimony of the Savior to my whole class. Many people have asked me questions about my religion since that day, and I have been able to be a missionary and share the gospel because I stood up for my beliefs.
Tate M., age 8, Virginia, USA

The Lord also helped me to push myself and grow when I was encouraged to attend a three-year program at the Cambodian School of Prosthetics and Orthotics (CSPO). I was unsure I could join the program because no one in a wheelchair had ever applied. However, circumstances ultimately allowed me to be able to attend the CSPO in Cambodia. I graduated there as the first student with a disability in the program’s history.

“You think we’ll actually catch anything?” she asked.
“Of course we will. When I go fishing I’m always sure I’ll do well.”
“Why’s that?”
“When I was a kid, my parents used to take me fishing out on a boat. My dad would bait my line first and then toss it overboard, and then he’d do my mom’s and then his. Since my line was in the water way before anybody else’s, I often caught the first fish. My parents used to say, ‘Elliott’s such a good fisherman. He always catches the first fish.’ Since I knew I did catch the first fish, I decided they were right. From that moment on, I thought of myself as a good fisherman.”
“Later in junior high when I started going fishing by myself, I just knew I was a good fisherman. If I caught fish, then I thought to myself, ‘Of course—I’m a good fisherman.’ But if I didn’t catch anything, I thought, ‘Hey, if I didn’t catch any fish, then nobody caught anything, because I’m a good fisherman.’ No matter what happened, I always interpreted it in terms of this unshakable belief that I was a good fisherman. The amazing thing is that because I saw myself as a good fisherman, I became a good fisherman, because I never got discouraged and gave up.”

When I was a boy, my mother had to go to work at Garfield Smelter and work like a man to help support the seven children. She worked the graveyard shift as much as she could, I’m sure to be with us during the day. I don’t know when the poor woman slept. One Saturday morning, she got off work about 7:00 or 8:00 A.M. She went to bed for a couple of hours and then got up. She had invited all her relatives to dinner. There must have been 35 or 40. She decorated the tables and arranged the chairs and put all the dishes and silverware out. She cooked and baked all day long. The dirty pots and pans and dishes stacked up.

Everyone came to dinner, and after dinner all the dirty dishes were brought into the kitchen. The food was cleared and stacked on the table and cupboards; then the kitchen door was closed and the family began to visit. It was about 8:00 P.M.

I remember standing all alone in the kitchen. In my young mind, I thought: My mother worked all night; she has worked all day to get this dinner. When everyone leaves, she will have to do the dishes and put the food away. It will take two or three hours, and that’s not fair. Then I thought, I will do them.

I washed the dishes, did the silverware, the glassware. We didn’t have an electric dishwasher; ours was a manual dishwasher, and that night I was manual. I used a half-dozen dish towels. I was drenched from head to foot. I put the food away, cleaned off the table and drainboards; then I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the floor. When I was finished, I thought the kitchen was immaculate. It took about three hours.

Then I heard the chairs shuffling, and everyone left. The front door closed, and I heard my mother coming to the kitchen. I was pleased and thought she would be. The door swung open, and even at the age of 11, I recognized that she was startled. She looked around the kitchen, looked at me, and then there was a look I didn’t recognize at the time. I do now. It was something like “Thanks. I am tired. I think you understand, and I love you.” And she came over and hugged me. There was a light in her eye and a warmth in my heart. I learned it is a wonderful feeling to turn on the lights in our parents’ eyes.

I got baptized when I was a teenager, and I loved the gospel of Jesus Christ. However, over time, I felt less motivated to live the gospel because none of my family were members and it was hard to keep up with my spiritual habits all on my own.
I always knew that the Church is true, but I didn’t want to give my full heart to it, because it was such a commitment. My church attendance became inconsistent. Then I started prioritizing my social life rather than living the gospel, and eventually I stopped living the commandments. I justified my actions by saying that it was fine to do whatever I wanted, as long as I tried to be a good person.
But that decision cost me a lot.
After living outside the Church for a long time, I tested positive for human immunodeficiency virus (HIV). This condition is chronic, progressive, and has no cure. I was devastated.
I asked the same questions I’m sure a lot of us ask when faced with crippling diagnoses or other chronic challenges: How was I supposed to ever enjoy life again? How could I have hope for anything?
The answer?
Jesus Christ.
In that moment of darkness, when I received my diagnosis and pleaded for relief, I felt like Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were fully aware of how I was feeling. The Spirit offered me clarity that helped me reflect on my decisions.
I realized that I needed to invite the Savior into my life again if I was going to find lasting peace. So, I made an appointment with my bishop and stake president to begin the repentance process.
As I worked with these wonderful leaders, I felt their love and support, and the enabling power of Jesus Christ entered my life again. My leaders helped me make goals. I began progressing on the covenant path. I put my whole heart in the gospel for the first time in my life, and I could see the difference in myself when I put my relationship with Heavenly Father and the Savior first.
This truth of joy has manifested in my life as I have continued focusing on Him and, once again, holding fast to the iron rod—the word of God—each day (see 1 Nephi 15:23–24).
As I continued to find solace and cope with my illness, my bishop directed me to the Church’s self-reliance course “Finding Strength in the Lord: Emotional Resilience.”
I believe that this course is God given, inspired, and miraculous. I learned how to transform this illness, which was making life look bleak, into a learning experience. This course taught me how to develop deep faith in the Savior, learn healthy thinking patterns, manage stress and anxiety, and ultimately move forward in my life with hope.
Even with materials like this, some days are hard and tiring. The anxiety and the sadness that sometimes accompany those moments are crippling. But following the counsel of the prophet has helped me find my path in these hard times.
So, following President Nelson’s counsel, this is what I do to help my mental health—I focus on the good. I do my best to take care of my mental health through both spiritual and temporal resources. I look at the big picture—the eternal perspective. I remember and keep my covenants.
Most of all, I look to my Savior, Jesus Christ, for hope and strength.
I thank Heavenly Father every day for helping me become more resilient in my chronic health struggles. I never thought I would give thanks for a challenge like this, but I am grateful that this struggle helped me realize how much I need my Savior in my life. I feel my heart becoming more aligned with His every day.

Among my heroes are those great souls President Shumway told us about in his book Tongan Saints. One of those is Mosese Lui Muti from Uiha Ha'apai, Tonga. He is one of my heroes because his faith was pure. He loved the Lord, and he loved fulfilling his calling in the Church.

After his first mission, he returned to his young wife, and was thereafter, called to be the secretary of the Sunday School and the clerk of the whole branch.

Listen to his words, "I cherished these assignments in our little branch and performed them with care and attention. Even when I got a painting job with Burns Philp, Ltd., and took Salavia with me to Pangai during the week, we would always catch a boat back to Uiha on Saturday afternoon and spend Sunday there. I simply could not neglect my calling."

Time will not allow us to read all of his beautiful testimony, but with President Shumway's permission, I will paraphrase the rest of his story. One Saturday they went to the dock to catch the boat home, and there was no boat. Most of us would have said, "Well, we tried, but there's no boat. Guess we'll just have to spend the weekend here. Besides, it won't matter if I miss just this one Sunday." Not Mosese!

Even though it was 9:00 p.m. and on a pitch black night, he decided that he'd swim the mile or so to the Island of Uoleva and from there swim across one of the most treacherous channels in Tonga, the Auhangamea Channel, and on to home.

The ocean was rough and the current strong, but he felt no danger. When his feet touched the sands of Uoleva, he crossed over to the other side of the island, waded into the channel and started to swim for home.

He hadn't gone forty yards when a voice spoke to his mind to look back. He looked back and saw a light in the thick undergrowth of the island. The voice urged him to turn and go back. He did. There in the undergrowth, he found the hull of a canoe, but that would be useless unless he had an outrigger. At that moment, the light which had guided him to the canoe moved away into the bush about ten yards, to a fine unattached outrigger with sennit rope to bind it to the canoe. He lashed the canoe and outrigger together, then went in search of something to use for a paddle. He hadn't gone more than a few yards when he literally stumbled over the stalk of a large coconut palm frond that had been cut and shaped into a paddle.

Despite the heavy sea and blackness of the night he crossed the channel safely and landed at 4:00 a.m. in the morning on the beach on his home island. Pulling the canoe up onto the sand he paused briefly to offer a prayer of thanks and went to his home.

He slept a few short hours, went to the chapel, completed his assignments, and returned back, exactly as he had come, leaving the canoe where he found it and swimming the rest of the way.

Listen to his words: "I have since contemplated this experience many times and have marveled that I should not have taken such risks. I have thought of the blackness of the night, the roughness of the ocean, the strange concentrated light that guided me to the canoe, a light I have not seen before or since my lack of fear and my love for my church assignment to be a secretary in the Kingdom of God was more important to me than nearly anything else."

Illustrated by Dilleen Marsh
WELCOME!I’m Sister Simon.Hi! I’m Ramón.Hello. I’m Cathlyn.I’m Mei Lin.Hi! I’m David.And I’m Joshua.
Hey, Ramón, let’s get going. We’ll be late for the project to help Brother Hollister.
I’m afraid I can’t make it. Brother Hollister’s a great guy, and I really want to help him, but my uncle just invited me to go to the ball game.
OK. See you later.
I mean, I can help Brother Hollister some other time, right?
Of course. Don’t worry about it.
Look, I know he’s helped others all his life, and times are tough for him right now, but a guy needs to have some fun, too, doesn’t he?
Absolutely. Enjoy the game.
Sure, I always feel great after one of these projects, and there’ll be other ball games, but … Oh, all right then, you’ve talked me into it. I’ll call my uncle and get a rain check on the ball game.
Boy, you really know how to pressure a guy.
What?

Sister Braithwaite relates one experience that was “a special spiritual awakening” for her. “One year there was a young man on a motorcycle going through town during pageant time, and he stopped to ask what was going on. I told him and asked him if he knew anything about the Mormon church. He said, ‘Not a thing,’ so I invited him to stay with my family and watch the pageant. At first he said ‘No, I’m too grubby,’ but I told him he could shower and get cleaned up, and he agreed. He did watch the pageant and slept on our lawn in a sleeping bag that night. Well, we didn’t hear from him again for a year and a half. Then we got a letter from him in the mission field.” She pauses to blink back tears. “You know, I could just see the light of Christ in his eyes. That’s what this pageant is all about. And just recently, another lady and I were in Provo making some purchases for the pageant. A man in the shop heard who we were and walked up to us and said, ‘I owe the conversion of my son-in-law to the Mormon Miracle Pageant.’”

One day I went to a birthday party. The first part was watching a PG-13 movie, so I didn’t go to that part. I went in the middle of the party, and we ate pizza and cupcakes. After that we started watching another movie. It looked bad. I told my friend’s mom that I couldn’t watch it, so she turned it off and we played appropriate video games instead. I feel that I made the right choice. I will follow the prophet’s counsel to never watch bad movies in my life.

I was never involved in any fights in high school. I’m glad I wasn’t. I’m not very big, and I don’t find great joy in cuts and bruises.
But one time I got into a fight walking home from school that lasted a few weeks. My opponent was only 28 centimeters tall, but this was one of the toughest battles I’d ever fought. This battle was with a magazine.
My high school was within view of our front porch, so I walked to and from class every day. One afternoon, as I stepped across the thin ribbon of green lawn that divided the school’s sidewalk from the road, I noticed an open magazine by the curb. I couldn’t tell what it was at first; then I realized it was pornographic. I quickly lifted my eyes from the gutter and kept walking toward home.
This is how the battle began. Every day as I went to school, and every day as I came home, I had to face the temptation that lay in the gutter.
As I think about it now, I wonder why I didn’t just pick up the magazine and throw it away. But I didn’t even want to touch it. What if someone saw me with it? Or what if my dad saw it in our garbage can? Or what if I picked it up and saw more than I wanted to see?
Each day my mind could come up with some pretty good rationalizations: “It might be good for you to know what’s in there, so you’ll know what’s going on in today’s world,” or “You don’t want to be a sheltered, naive little boy, do you? What’s it going to hurt, anyway? Just repent later. Who’s going to know?”
One day in seminary, our teacher pointed out that Jesus answered each of his temptations with a scripture. That sounded like a good idea.
Looking through my scriptures, I found a verse about battling temptation: “Humble yourselves before the Lord, and call on his holy name, and watch and pray continually, that ye may not be tempted above that which ye can bear” (Alma 13:28).
Another helpful verse came from the New Testament: “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it” (1 Cor. 10:13).
This was a formula I could use: humble myself, watch and pray continually, and trust that God would help me find a way to escape the temptation. I began to cross the street in a different place, and these two verses of scripture helped me as the days passed with the magazine still sitting there in the gutter.
One afternoon, as I stepped off the curb, I noticed that the magazine was gone. I could tell by the appearance of the gutters that a street cleaner had recently passed by. A street cleaner—how appropriate, I thought.
God did make a way for me to escape, and together we won the fight. Curiosity, rationalization, and laziness are no match against courage, self-control, and mental toughness.
Victory in physical battles requires strength, muscles, and skill; but the fight is never tougher and the victory is never sweeter than in the battles with temptation. No, I never got into any fights in high school; but with some help from the scriptures, I defeated a 28-centimeter magazine.

In one of my history courses recently, we watched a film on a particular village in Samoa. Although the film was informative, I learned much more in our discussion afterward from a student who grew up in that village. Although she was reluctant to speak at first, I am so glad that she did because her knowledge of the culture and history far exceeded my own, and she helped students learn first-hand from an insider perspective. This is not a unique experience at this university. In fact, this happens quite often in my courses, where a student has the expertise and inside knowledge on a subject discussed in class.

The second day of hiking began with another vertical climb. Alana, a small, first-year Beehive, bounded up the steep wall like a mountain goat. A half mile farther down the trail three whistle blasts pierced the air. An emergency! Rochelle was sitting, white-faced, by the side of the path. She had suffered a bad bronchitis attack.
“Let’s split up her pack.”
“What can I carry?”
Concerned girls swarmed about the pack until all the gear was gone. When the last groups reached the scene, Rochelle was shivering in her sleeping bag. Brother Woolley later recalled, “When I first saw Rochelle, I didn’t see how she could travel any farther. But she was given a blessing and immediately stood up, put on her pack, and was fine the rest of the day.”

When I heard about his passing, though, I couldn’t help but be sad and frustrated that my grandfather hadn’t been baptized in this life. So when my sister suggested a year later that we go to the temple and do ordinances for my grandfather, I had mixed feelings. Why would it matter now if he hadn’t accepted it when it was right here for him?
But I prayed about doing my grandfather’s work in the temple, and my heart softened. I knew I needed to do it. When I went to the temple and was baptized for him, something happened to me in that font: I felt the Spirit come into my heart along with a sense of forgiveness and love that I didn’t know I had for my grandfather. My heart was truly turned to him. I felt the truth of the promise that “he shall plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers” (Doctrine and Covenants 2:2). It was real.

Wilhelm Friedrichs (second from left) and Emil Hoppe (center, back row) attended the first baptisms in Argentina.
The Friedrichs and Hoppe families were the only Latter-day Saints in Argentina when they moved there from Germany in the early 1920s. Wilhelm Friedrichs and Emil Hoppe tried to share the gospel in their new country, distributing pamphlets and inviting others to join their meetings. “I have full trust in my Heavenly Father that he will send sincere friends who will accept the Gospel,” Wilhelm wrote, “for I rejoice in being an instrument in the hands of God.”7
There were significant challenges, however. The families lived far apart and had to travel two hours to meet together. Because Emil was a deacon and Wilhelm a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, they were unable to administer ordinances such as the sacrament or give priesthood blessings.
In 1924, Hildegarde Hoppe gave birth to a baby girl, who died two months later. As she mourned, Hildegarde asked how the baby’s name could be included in the records of the Church. As a result, Wilhelm began corresponding with Church leaders in Salt Lake City.
A year and a half later, Elder Melvin J. Ballard (1873–1939) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was sent with other missionaries to meet the growing group of converts in Buenos Aires. When they arrived in December 1925, Elder Ballard baptized several converts and organized a branch. On Christmas Day, Elder Ballard dedicated South America for missionary work and organized the first mission on the continent.

Once, long ago, an old man named Chang Kung lived with four generations of his family in a small village. They all lived so happily together that not even the animals fought with each other.
The news of this unusual family spread throughout all the kingdom. When the Emperor of the Dragon Throne heard about it, he decided to try to find out the secret of their happiness.
One day he and the people of his court marched solemnly up to the gates of the Chang family.
“Oh, Royal Highness,” Chang Kung greeted the emperor, “what great honor you bring to our simple household.”
“We have come,” said the emperor, “to learn why there is such peace among you that even your animals do not fight.”
“You are most welcome to see and talk with each member of my household, even down to the youngest among us,” Chang Kung said quietly.
So those who had come with the emperor went all through the rooms of the large house, talking to every person. They found only peace and happiness everywhere. When they reported this to the emperor, he asked Chang Kung to tell him the secret for keeping so many people happy.
Chang asked a servant to bring him his ink stick and brush and then on a bamboo tablet he wrote a hundred characters (words) and gave the tablet to the emperor.
“You have written the same word a hundred times!” the emperor exclaimed. “What does this mean?”
Old Chang smiled gently. “Yes, Most Honored One,” he said. “I have written the word Love over and over again, for that is the only thing that can ever hold the secret to peace.”
When the news of this visit of the Emperor of the Dragon Throne reached the people of the Dragon Kingdom, they all asked for a picture of Chang Kung. They placed his picture over their family hearths and prayed that they too might learn to love each other as much as Chang Kung and his family did so that happiness would come to their homes, to their country, and someday to all the world.

I’m bored! Let’s do something!
I’m already doing something. I’m looking at family photos.
But I want to have a party!
How about doing both? We could have a family history party!
It sounds boring.
Let’s go! It’ll be fun.
Should we make some popcorn?
Welcome to the family history party! Our first game is family tree trivia.
Where was Grandma Jensen born?
Now it’s time for the great index race! The team that indexes the most names wins.
Look! That person has the same name as me.
Now we’ve saved the best for last. Family history story time!
When my dad was little, his family lived on a ranch …
Later that night …
That was the best party ever. Let’s do it again tomorrow!

It was almost Halloween. Each day on their way to school, Toby, Janie, Beth, Davy, and Ben passed Mr. Greevey’s farm. Just beyond the cabbages and the rows of tall corn they would stop. Here big green pumpkin leaves covered the ground like a rumpled blanket. Nestled among them—some still streaked with green—were dozens and dozens of pumpkins. There were big ones and small ones, fat ones and tall ones. Each one was just right for a jack-o’-lantern.
Every morning Toby looked to see if frost had touched the pumpkin leaves. When it did, Mr. Greevey would let each child choose a pumpkin for his very own. Then Mr. Greevey would haul the rest of the colorful vegetables to market.
“I’m going to pick a tall one this year,” Toby said.
“I want a little fat one,” said Janie.
“I want one this big,” Beth said, making a circle with her arms. “After Halloween, Mother will make it into pumpkin pies.”
“Mmmmm, pies!” Davy sighed.
Ben didn’t say anything. He just stood there looking at the pumpkins.
One morning when their breath hung like little puffs of chimney smoke on the chilly air, the children stopped again at the pumpkin patch. It had happened! The pumpkin leaves were shriveled and black on the ropy vines. They ran all the way to school to tell the other children.
When school let out that afternoon, Toby, Beth, Janie, Davy, and Ben hurried back to the pumpkin patch. Mr. Greevey would be waiting there to call out, “Tell all the children to come and choose their pumpkins tomorrow!”
But when they reached the patch, not one of the pumpkins had been picked, and Mr. Greevey was nowhere in sight.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Toby said.
“Yes, maybe tomorrow,” the others agreed hopefully.
However, Mr. Greevey wasn’t there the next day or the next or the one after that.
“Halloween’s almost here,” said Davy.
“Do you think Mr. Greevey’s forgotten?” asked Janie with a worried frown.
“Mr. Greevey grows the pumpkins especially for Halloween,” said Beth. “Why would he forget?”
“Let’s go find out,” said Toby.
“Who’s going to knock on the door?” Davy whispered when they reached the house.
“I will,” Toby said, marching up onto the porch. He knew it wasn’t polite to ask for things, but Halloween was getting awfully close.
Mrs. Greevey opened the door. “Why, children, how nice to see you,” she said.
“We came—” Toby began.
“The pumpkins are ripe!” Davy blurted out.
“It’s almost Halloween,” Janie said shyly.
“My goodness!” Mrs. Greevey exclaimed. “So it is. I’ve been so busy taking care of Mr. Greevey that I hadn’t noticed.” She smiled. “And of course all of you want to choose your jack-o’-lanterns.”
They nodded silently.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to do it by yourselves this year. Mr. Greevey is much too sick to come to the patch.”
“Will he be better soon?” Toby asked.
Mrs. Greevey nodded. “In a week or two he’ll be just fine. Tell the other children to come and choose their jack-o’-lanterns too.”
“We will. Thank you,” said Toby.
The five children raced each other to the pumpkin patch.
“Choosing a pumpkin isn’t much fun without Mr. Greevey,” Janie said. She stepped carefully over the stiff, prickly vines. “He always helps me find just the right one.”
“Who will take the rest of the pumpkins to the market?” Davy asked, stopping to examine a fat round one.
They all stopped and looked at each other.
“Could we take them to the market for Mr. Greevey?” Toby asked.
“That’s a wonderful idea!” cried Janie. “Mr. Greevey has always been so nice to us. It’ll be fun to do something nice for him.”
“How can we get the pumpkins there?” asked Beth. “None of us is old enough to drive Mr. Greevey’s truck.”
“I know how we can do it,” Ben said.
They all turned to look at him. Ben never spoke unless he had something important to say. “We can haul them in my dad’s hay wagon. I know how to drive the horses. I’m sure Dad will let us use it.”
“Hurray!” Toby exclaimed. “Tomorrow is Saturday. We can get some of the kids at school to help.”
Early the next morning the children were at the pumpkin patch. “Do you think we should choose our pumpkins now?” Janie asked.
“Mr. Greevey will be disappointed if we don’t,” said Toby.
Everyone picked the pumpkin he liked best and set it in a row along the fence. Then they started to work.
“The big ones are too heavy to carry,” Beth said.
“You have to roll them,” Toby explained, turning a big pumpkin on its side. He carefully rolled it to where Ben and a bigger boy were loading the wagon.
The load of pumpkins grew higher. At last only the biggest pumpkin was left in the patch.
“We’ll never get that one on the wagon,” said Davy.
“Mr. Greevey usually saves the very biggest pumpkin for its seeds anyway,” Toby said. “Let’s leave it here until we come back.”
Everyone climbed aboard the wagon. Some sat on top of the pumpkins. Others wiggled down between them.
“Giddap!” Ben called. The big draft horses strained against the harness as the wagon turned out onto the highway. Soon horns began to blow. Toby looked back at the long line of cars.
A patrol car passed the wagon and stopped. “You’ll have to get this wagon off the highway,” the officer told them. “You’re blocking traffic.”
“But we’re taking these pumpkins to the market,” explained Davy.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find another way,” said the officer. “Now let these cars pass.”
Ben turned the horses off the highway and stopped.
“Now what’ll we do?” Beth wailed.
Toby thought for a minute. “I know! Across this meadow is a dirt road that goes along the river to the other side of town. We can use that.”
“Giddap!” Ben shouted.
It was more fun riding on the river road than the highway. The trees along the dirt road were splashed with reds and golds and yellows. At last Ben stopped the wagon behind Mr. Colby’s market.
“I’m mighty glad to see you,” Mr. Colby said. “Everyone has been asking for Mr. Greevey’s pumpkins.”
The wagon was soon unloaded, and the children rode back to the farm.
“Now for the biggest pumpkin,” said Toby. “Listen.” He explained his plan.
“That’s a great idea!” the others all shouted. Everyone took turns helping to roll the huge pumpkin.
“It must weigh more than a hundred pounds,” said Davy.
Quietly they rolled the pumpkin up onto Mr. Greevey’s front porch. Toby slipped the check from Mr. Colby under the door, and they hurried away.
When Halloween came, there were jack-o’-lanterns everywhere. There were fierce ones and silly ones, funny ones and sad ones. But the biggest, happiest jack-o’-lantern was the one on Mr. Greevey’s front porch, smiling at everyone who passed by.