Gospel Story Finder

In 1926 President Fred Tadje, president of the German-Austrian Mission, called a mission conference to be held at Dresden, Germany, in August. The missionaries were to walk to this conference from their fields of labor basically “without purse or scrip,” although they had to carry a small amount of money or they could be arrested as vagabonds.
Elder Alfred Lippold and his companion, Elder Parker Thomas, took the north route. Somewhere along the way, the two called at a home where they met a woman and her eight children. She told the elders that her husband had left her and the children and that they were now without money. After she had let them in, the woman said: “If you travel without purse or scrip, then you must be hungry. Sit down.” She gave each of them a big slice of bread with plum jam on it. The missionaries blessed the breakfast and in the blessing on the food asked the Lord to give the woman what she needed.
The missionaries then departed. After they had walked about a mile, Elder Thomas said, “I must go back,” which he did without explanation.
On his return, Elder Lippold asked, “Why did you go back?”
Elder Thomas explained: “In our prayer we asked that the woman be given what she needed. I had what was needed—a $20 bill. It was in my pocket, and I went back to give it to her. It would have burned a hole in my pocket.”

Certainly no one could write the life story of Jesus of Nazareth or Judas Iscariot without knowing what happened during their last hour. And I would like to tell you about some of the things that one man thought about during his last hour. This is the old legendary story of Faust. Dr. John Faust died in Wittenberg, Germany, in the year 1540. But twenty-four years before his death, he sold his soul to Satan. He said to Satan, “If you will aid me for twenty-four years, punishing my enemies and helping my friends, at the end of that time, I will forever deliver up my soul.”

Now at that time that seemed like a good idea to Faust. Twenty-four years was a long time. Twenty-four years may last forever. And anyway, what difference did it make what happened after twenty-four years? But Satan, with better perspective, said, “I will wait on Faustus while he lives and he shall buy my service with his soul.”

And then the twenty-four years began, and Faust had every experience of good and bad. But almost before he was aware, it was said to Faust as it must be said to everyone of us, “Thine hour is come.” Now this is the first time that he had ever thought about the consequences of what he was doing. Only now did he discover how badly he had cheated himself. Then he wanted to revoke the bargain, but that was impossible. And then he prayed and he said, “Oh God, if thou canst have no mercy on my soul, at least grant some end to my incessant pain. Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years or even an hundred thousand, but at last be saved!”

But he knew that, according to his own bargain, even this could never be. And then during his last hour he sat and watched the clock tick off the seconds and finally, just as the hour struck, the last words of Faust before he died were: “Faustus is gone to hell!”

Now if Faust had lived his last hour first, he never would have permitted himself to come to this unprofitable place. I have a relative who, when she reads a novel, always reads the last chapter first. She wants to know before she begins where she is going to be when she gets through. And that is a pretty good idea for life.

When I was 17 I was the ward organist, and many times I would take my date to the church so that I could practice the organ, and she would sit and listen. This may well have been because I didn’t have any money, much more than because of her deep love for music, but we started a relationship in doing that and we found that we both liked music. I played the hymns and they brought a lovely spirit to our times together in a chapel as hymns were played with intermittent talk, perhaps followed by a five-cent ice cream cone when I took her home. Now, any one of you reading this might think these were strange kinds of dates, but the important thing in any generation is to find uplifting things you can enjoy together and do them! There’s nothing more boring—and potentially dangerous—than a date that starts out, “Well, what do you want to do?” Be creative, be enthusiastic, and prepare by thinking about the kinds of things that will help you get to know each other better. Decide well in advance where you are going, what you will do, and what time you will be home.

At the birth of each of my children, during those precious, solemn moments when I held them for the first time, I felt the whisperings of the Spirit teaching me of their unique qualities. When these impressions first came, I doubted. But as my children grew, the truths suggested at their births were verified. I feel wonder for a God who would thus offer counsel to me as he, our Heavenly Father, transferred his precious children to a new father’s earthly care.

My friend Julyette and I were chatting online when she told me she was looking for a church that had a living prophet who spoke with God face-to-face. I thought God had stopped speaking to men here upon the earth because we have a Bible, and I thought that was sufficient for our salvation.
But she said, “If God no longer called a prophet here upon the earth, He would be a liar, for He promised he would never do anything without calling prophets” (see Amos 3:7).
I asked her, “Where is this living prophet?” She did not know.
I began to reflect about how we could discover the right church. I knew that there were many different Christian churches with different doctrines. I thought, “Well, the Internet has a lot of sources,” so I searched for “the true persecuted church.” I don’t know why I typed it in that way, but several lists of churches appeared, including The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There are many Christian churches in Brazil, but I had never heard of this church.
Upon entering the Web site, I read the story of a 14-year-old boy who had seen God and Jesus Christ face-to-face and had translated the Book of Mormon by the power of God. I had never heard anything about Joseph Smith or the Book of Mormon before, and I thought it was interesting. But what caught my attention was that the Book of Mormon told of Jesus Christ appearing to the ancient inhabitants of the American continent.
I had a great desire to read this book, so I requested a copy. I told Julyette about the site, and after she read the story of Joseph Smith, she was certain this church was the Church of Jesus Christ. She said I had been prepared by the Lord to find the Church for her.
I was impressed with her conviction and wanted to know for myself. I asked my mother if she knew about the Book of Mormon. She told me my sister had a blue book from two missionaries. I borrowed the book and read it from cover to cover in one week; I wasn’t interested in anything else. What a feeling of peace I had! I remembered a promise that everyone who read the book should ask God if it were true, and He would respond (see Moroni 10:3–4).
Early in the morning I went to my room to offer a prayer. I placed my trust in God and asked Him if the book was true, and I felt a burning inside. I did not know what the feeling was, but I felt joy. That night I had a dream in which a Book of Mormon prophet appeared. I asked him if the book was true, and he said it was. When I woke up I thought, “The Book of Mormon really is true.”
I asked around until I found someone who knew the directions to the church. One Friday I rode my bicycle to the chapel, but no one was there. I prayed for help to know when meetings were held. I went again the following week. When I arrived, an elderly lady told me that Church meetings were on Sunday mornings. I returned home happy and excited with my heart beating rapidly.
When I arrived on Sunday morning, I was well received by the members. I was impressed with the organization of the Church. I felt peace and joy in my heart during the meetings, and I asked the missionaries to come to my house to teach me. I returned home and told my mother that I had found the right religion.
The missionaries taught me about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I already knew the story of Joseph Smith, so when they invited me to pray to learn the truth, I told them I had already received an answer and told them about my experience. They were impressed with my testimony and suggested a date, May 15, 2004, for my baptism. In the meantime, my friend Julyette was also baptized. My baptism was the greatest joy of my life, and my friend and I are very happy we found the true Church of Jesus Christ.

I have a friend who is not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She had a party where we got our nails done and watched movies. She wanted to rent R-rated movies. I told her that I don’t watch those kinds of movies. One of the girls told me that she once watched a movie that she wasn’t supposed to watch, and her mom didn’t ever find out. I told her that I still wouldn’t see that movie. We ended up getting two other movies.
The next morning her mom made coffee. She offered me some. I told her that I wasn’t allowed to have coffee, and she told me that a little wouldn’t hurt. I politely told her that I did not want any. She didn’t say anything else after that. I’m glad that I could obey the Word of Wisdom.

I lived with my father and family that winter and even attended school. Because of the love they showed me, the prejudices and the hate for Mormons I had grown up with began to fade. Late in the winter my father asked me if I’d thought about being baptized. I told him I didn’t know. He said I could do what I wanted, but that if I believed in the gospel he would like to see me baptized.

He told me that before he had left my mother and Aunt Emily, he had given my brother Isaac and me a blessing. While his hands were on my head he prophesied I would come to the valley of the mountains and afterwards return with my brother. He told me he wanted me to go back in the spring and get my brother Isaac.

Nothing more was said on the subject of baptism for several months, and then I was asked again if I had thought about it. I had felt the healing warmth of the gospel and of members of the Church. I knew it was right. I told my father I wanted to be baptized.

We went up to City Creek. The water was cold, iced over, but I didn’t notice it much. After the baptism my father confirmed me and set me apart for the mission of bringing my brother back.

When I arrived at my old home in May of 1863, my grandparents, brother, and friends were happy to see me. A few days after my arrival, my grandmother and most of the family went to visit some friends for the day. My grandfather was ill and couldn’t go with them. He asked me to stay with him while they were away.

When we were alone he started to ask me questions about my trip to Utah. He asked me if I’d seen my father. I told him I had. He said he was glad I’d seen him. He asked me if I’d been baptized, and I told him I had. To my surprise he also said he was glad for that.

“I have suffered you to be prejudiced towards the Mormons and your father.” He closed his eyes while he talked. “And now I feel it is my duty to remove that prejudice.

“I knew Heber C. Kimball was your father, and I knew he was a good man; but I didn’t want you to know it. I wanted you and Isaac to be the means for my support while I lived. It’s a hard thing to be old and sick. You’ve been to your father now. That’s the way it should be. I’ve been wrong.

“I know Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and I know Brigham Young is his legal successor. I always did know it. The trouble with me was that I wanted to lead and could not be led. I’ve run my race and sealed my doom. I know what I’ve got to meet.”

My grandfather closed his eyes again and cleared his throat.

“I want you to go back to your father and take Isaac. I know that’s right. I want you to remain steadfast to the gospel, to Mormonism. Never, never yield that point; it will save and exhalt you in the kingdom of God.”

My grandfather wept like a child then.

After hearing the truth about our father, Isaac was willing to go back to Utah with me. We left just a few days after the talk I’d had with my grandfather. When we arrived in Salt Lake City, our father was very happy to see us. He welcomed us into his home, and we contentedly settled down there, feeling more loved and more at home than we had ever felt in our lives.

Well, let's go back to Jim and Jessica whose relationship has been growing. In one later scene, Jessica has an argument with her father, stomps out of the house, and rides off on her horse to go find Jim who is in the mountains rounding up some stray cows. Jessica rides into a heavy thunderstorm. Jessica's horse falls and she slides off a sheer cliff. She clings to a small ledge screaming for help. Jim hears her and comes to her rescue.

Jessica is cold, soaking wet, and terrified. Jim finds a place to build a fire and ties his rope between two trees where Jessica hangs her wet clothes. She wraps herself in a blanket and sits on a log. So there they are, young, in love, and alone by a cozy fire in the mountains. You don't have to be very creative to imagine what they are probably thinking. But as they talk, they realize that they need to wait. They both need to settle things with her father before starting into their own marriage. So they choose to bridle their passions. Somehow they sense that even though they love each other, sacrificing short term cheap thrills will make possible their true long term happiness.

I have some friends who are about my age and who have never been able to have children. However, they have been able to turn their challenge into a life of service to the young people of their ward and extended family. What could have become a life filled with negatives, has become a life filled with children. Kids are over at their house after school for milk and cookies, the husband has built a zip line in the pasture for the neighbor kids to play on, and he installed a long rope on a tree at the river's edge so the kids can hold onto it and knee board as the river runs beneath them. Isn't that cool! They also have opportunities to teach the lessons of life that children often have a hard time taking from a parent. Life can still be good! And when some of those kids have their rotten days, you can send them home!

As we all must, they have also learned one of life's great lessons as exemplified by the Savior:
... and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.[14]
What my friends have learned is that countless times since they've suffered their test, they've been able to take on the infirmities of others, they have had opportunity to succor others in their trials. When we lift burdens and sorrows in that way and express mercy, we experience god-like emotions of compassion and love. By doing so, our suffering assumes meaning in our lives. When we find meaning in suffering, we are better able to bear our own burdens. I repeat--when we can find meaning in the difficult things in life--by serving others who are burdened--we will be better able to bear our own burdens. I love and admire them for their willingness to bear others burdens, even amidst their own trials!

On December 4, 1986, two American missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on the door of my father’s house. Although Father let the missionaries visit regularly, he was never interested in the message. A few months later he divorced Mother and remarried.

When Father informed the missionaries of the sad news of our broken family, he also told them not to come back.

The missionaries left a copy of the Book of Mormon with the address of the nearest church written on the inside cover and said, “We will always be your friends. If there is anything we can do for your family, come to this address, and you will find us there.”

Saying good-bye to the missionaries that evening was difficult, for I had felt something precious in their message.

Stepmother moved in. She and Father became cruel, life became hard, and I became a cynical teenager.

One night, when I could take their horrible treatment no longer, I dashed out the door in fear and hid in the rice fields, lonely, depressed, and hopeless. I wanted to run away, but I had nowhere to go.

Suddenly I remembered what the elders had said during their last visit. “First thing tomorrow, I am going back to find my friends!” I told myself, feeling a sense of inner peace for the first time in years.

Early the next morning I hopped on my bike and went downtown to the church, but the elders who had visited my family a couple of years before had returned home. Just when I was about to give up, two friendly ladies with the familiar black name tags on their coats approached me and introduced themselves.

A month after I met the sister missionaries, I was baptized, in November 1988, the first convert in my family.

My parents experienced a similar “nevertheless” situation in 1975 when Zion’s Securities, HRI’s predecessor organization, decided to grant long-term leases on property in Laie to senior faculty members to build homes. There were several requirements, one of which was that construction had to begin within the year. My parents had $3,000 in the bank, no credit, no collateral, and no construction experience. Many in the community counseled them not to try to build a home. One seasoned contractor even told my parents that they should give up the lot to someone else who had the money and knowledge to build a home. Faced with valid and daunting reasons why it made no sense to embark on this house building project, they were fortified by a very powerful feeling that building a home would be a great blessing to our family, now and in the future, and not just because of the financial security it would provide.

So despite those valid objections, they shouted “nevertheless” and moved forward. They borrowed enough money from family members to get the walls and roof up and financed the remaining work with a series of home improvement loans. They gratefully accepted the help of over one hundred members of the community who volunteered their time to assist in the construction. Soon, the home was finished, and we celebrated with a large lu‘au.

My mom wrote 100 thank you notes. The April Fool’s Edition of the Ke Alaka‘i jokingly awarded our house the “Carthage Jail Memorial award for the most historically remarkable contribution to community architecture.” After my dad retired from BYU–Hawaii, we purchased the house and now live in the home that faith built. I can testify that our house has been and will continue to be a great blessing to all our family, for within its walls, we found faith, testimony, love, acceptance, and peace.

In 1849, President Brigham Young called a small number of men to travel to various parts of the world to preach the gospel. A former Swedish sailor, John Forsgren, who had joined the Church in Massachusetts, USA, and traveled to the Salt Lake Valley, asked President Young to be sent to Sweden as a missionary. He was called to serve and arrived in Sweden in June 1850.
Elder Forsgren first visited his younger siblings in Gävle. His brother Peter was ill, and doctors said he was beyond help. Elder Forsgren explained the purpose of his mission to his siblings, then anointed and blessed Peter, who was restored to full health. On July 19, 1850, Elder Forsgren baptized his brother, who became the first convert in Sweden.
Elder Forsgren’s sister, Erika, had an interesting experience that prepared her and Peter to receive the gospel. A few months before her brother’s arrival, she was attending church, as was her custom. During the singing of a hymn, she saw a person stand before her and say, “On the fifth day of July a man will come to you with three books and all those that believe in the things written in those books shall be saved.” When her brother arrived with the Bible, the Book of Mormon, and the Doctrine and Covenants, she believed his testimony without question.1
In 1850 Peter Forsgren, above, was baptized by his brother John.
Photograph courtesy of Susan Easton Black
Unfortunately, Elder Forsgren had to leave the country after just three months. Within a few years other missionaries were sent to Sweden. They found the people in Skönabäck, in the province of Skåne, receptive to the gospel. So many were converted that the first branch was organized there in 1853 with 36 members. One of the first leaders in Skåne was Carl Capson, called as the branch president in Lund. Around 100 members attended the first Church conference in Carl’s barn, which was held at night to avoid persecution.2

A young woman working at Morton Thiokol, just west of Brigham City, found her eternal mate in an interesting way. A nonmember had moved there from Ohio, met her at work, and had asked her out. She accepted and they went on a date. When she would not cooperate with his sexual advances, he became upset and took her home. The following Monday at work he was joking with other men in his department about how she would not cooperate with him, and how straight she had been. A recently returned missionary who worked there listened to the ribald conversation. Later he went back to the man and asked for the name of the uncooperative date. He told him. She was exactly what he had been looking for. Apparently things went quite well. Four and a half months later they knelt across the altar and were married forever.

Carly knew something was wrong when she saw her dad’s car in the parking lot.
“Dad’s home,” she said softly.
“Dad’s home?” her little brother, Robert, repeated excitedly. “Awesome!” He swung his backpack over his shoulder and hurried toward their apartment.
“Wait,” Carly said. “I think something is wrong.”
Robert stopped. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure,” Carly began, “but I heard Mom and Dad talking last night. Dad said that a lot of people at his work are getting laid off.”
Robert looked confused.
“That means Dad might lose his job,” Carly explained.
“What would happen then?” Robert asked.
“Well, if he doesn’t have a job, then he won’t make any money. And if we don’t have any money, then we can’t buy anything.”
Robert’s eyes widened. “We’ll be like those people downtown who live in the park.”
Carly shuddered as she thought about the people she had seen by the roadside holding signs that read, “Will work for food.” “I don’t think that will happen,” she said.
“We should call Brother Worthington,” Robert said. “He said we should call him if we have a problem. He said he would help.”
“You’re right,” Carly said. “Let’s tell Mom and Dad.”
As they opened the door, they saw their parents talking.
“Dad, did you lose your job?” Robert asked.
Mom and Dad looked at each other. “Yes, I did,” Dad said. “How did you know?”
“I heard you and Mom talking yesterday,” Carly said.
“Did you call Brother Worthington yet?” Robert asked.
“No, we haven’t told anyone,” Mom said. “We’re trying to figure out what we should do first.”
“We need to call Brother Worthington,” Carly said. “He always tells us to call him if we have a problem.”
“He is our home teacher,” Mom said. “Maybe we should call him.”
“I don’t want to bother him,” Dad said. “I just need to start looking for another job.”
“I’ll get a job too,” Robert said.
“That’s very sweet, but you and Carly are busy with school,” Mom said.
“How can we go to school if we’re living in the park?” Robert asked. He started to cry. “Please call Brother Worthington. He said he would help.”
Dad lifted Robert onto his lap. “We won’t have to live in the park,” he said as the phone started ringing. “I lost my job, but we haven’t lost everything.”
Carly went to answer the phone. Moments later she handed the receiver to Dad. “It’s for you,” she said with a big smile. “It’s Brother Worthington.”
As Dad talked on the phone, he grabbed a notebook and pen and wrote down names and phone numbers.
“What did he say?” Carly asked as Dad hung up.
“He heard about the layoffs on the news, so he called to see if I had been laid off. When I told him I had been, he gave me the name and number of the ward employment specialist, and names and numbers of other people he knows who might be able to help me find a job.”
“That’s great!” Robert said. “I knew he would help!”
“You were right,” Dad said. “He is the man Heavenly Father has asked to watch over our family when we need help. You children understood that better than I did. And now, thanks to Brother Worthington, I have some phone calls to make.”

Near the end of my mission, the World Cup Golf Tournament was held at the Royal Melbourne golf course in Melbourne, Australia, and amateur golfers were given an opportunity to play with a professional in the pretournament practice rounds. On the very last day of my mission, I was able to participate in this practice round, although I won’t bore you with the details of how that occurred. When it was my turn to draw from the hat the name of the professional I was to play with that day, I drew the name of Arnold Palmer. Talk about intimidation associated with speaking at general conference! That level of intimidation was only a very small part of the amount I felt the second I saw “Arnold Palmer” on my slip. I, of course, hadn’t had a golf club in my hands for over two years, and I was, to use the vernacular of today, totally stressed out!

I don’t remember much about the round of golf except that I played very poorly. On the 17th hole we hit our tee shots. We walked a few feet, and I hit my second shot, and shortly thereafter my third before we arrived at Mr. Palmer’s ball. The young Australian man caddying for Mr. Palmer was trying very, very hard to please him. I overheard the caddy tell Mr. Palmer that on the left the topography sloped, with a stream meandering down and hidden from view. He then said that on the right the grass had been allowed to grow very, very long and was really difficult to swing a club through.

Mr. Palmer very precisely placed his club back into the bag and quietly but firmly said to the young caddy, “Please don’t clutter my mind with what is out on the right, and I’m not terribly interested in what is on the left. The only piece of information that I require from you is the exact distance from this ball to the flag on the green.”

My, that was a powerful learning experience for me. I suddenly realized the criticality of focusing on what is important and not being distracted by what may be on the left or what might be on the right. Focus is so essential in achieving our goals. Too many of us are concerned about what’s on the right and what’s on the left, and we fail to adequately focus on the principal objective that is right down the middle.

Next, don't be afraid to take a chance with someone who might not be an obvious choice. When Kathy and I began to know one another, to me she was not only a person of very deep faith and intelligence, but she was also a Florida princess. She wore nice clothes and had a certain sophistication. I was an Idaho farm boy. I came from a small dairy farm just north of Pocatello, in the little community of Tyhee.
I have told young audiences before that one of my few advantages was that I had served my mission in France and young women liked to be spoken to in French. But I realized, as I got to know Kathy, that I had not learned the romantic words of love on my mission. So I would just start with "Ma chère," and then in a romantic cadence, I would recite the missionary discussion: "Je voudrais vous inviter a venir à l'église s'il vous plaît." A person must use the advantages he has.
So Kathy took a chance on me. I am sure my background was different from what she thought her potential husband would have. We don't have to meet only those who come from backgrounds just like our own. We look deeper and further into who they are and who they will become.

Fast forward . . . I had graduated from BYU-Hawaii and was taking time off from school to earn money to go onto graduate school. I was working three jobs, but arranged to work after my meetings on Sundays. One day my father shared a story of soccer star in Tahiti, Erroll Bennett. “Errol was planning on joining the church, but there was one problem, all the soccer games were on Sundays and he knew by joining the church he would need to keep the Sabbath holy”. (4) He was famous and one of the brilliant soccer player in Tahiti. Although he was passionate about soccer it was more important to him to follow the Savior.

Errol made his decision, not to play on Sunday and to be baptized. To his surprise just a few days later the League made a change in the rules, that his club would not play any Sunday games instead games would be played during the week. (5) I thought, “Wow, that pretty amazing, but I’m no one important, if I told my boss that I could not work on Sunday, he would probably tell me to go find another job.” A few months went by, but that story stayed with me. I finally realized that it was not enough to only make my Sunday meetings, it was about embracing the Sabbath fully and keeping the commandments.

I came to the conclusion that I needed to trust the Lord and stop my Sunday job. The day came and I went into tell my boss that I was giving my two week resignation notice. He asked me why. I told him that I was grateful that they had arranged my work schedule around my church meetings, but it was important that I not work on Sundays. Then he asked me, “Could you work another day during the week if you have Sunday off?” A bit surprised by his question, I said, “Sure!” Then he asked, “Is that all?” I replied, “Yes.” He then said, “Okay, you have Sundays off. Your schedule will be adjusted.” I left the office stunned, but elated. I could not believe the outcome. I trusted in the Lord and “Wow!” It really was not that hard.

Let me share another story of a Church member who tried hard to magnify his calling and was blessed with an amazing spiritual gift. Brother John Macfarlane was called to be a choir director in St. George, Utah, in the 1860s. One year, he decided the choir needed a new carol for their Christmas program. He had little experience at writing hymns, but he was not afraid to pray for help, for the gift to compose.

"One night it came, suddenly, in a dream. John was awake instantly. He shook his wife, Ann, into wakefulness, crying out: 'Ann, Ann, I have the words for a song, and I think I have the music too!'" (Lloyd Wayland Macfarlane, Yours Sincerely, John M. Macfarlane).

The song that John was given in his dream has become a beloved Christmas hymn played and sung all over the world. We know it as "Far, Far Away on Judea's Plains." The music and the lyrics were inspired of God, given in the form of a spiritual gift to a dedicated choir director.

Mike woke to the bark of Clancy, his collie. Leaving dreams of county fairs and blue ribbons behind, he dressed quickly and clattered downstairs for a pre-breakfast look at his magnificent melon. Almost as large as a volleyball, it rose from the leaves of its vine like the moon above clouds—a prize-winner for sure. Loosening the dirt around the stem, Mike thought back to the day in spring when he’d found the tiny seedling growing by the corral.
“It looks like a cantaloupe,” Dad had said. “Don’t expect much from it though. It’s a volunteer.”
Mike was on his hands and knees, studying the new plant. “Volunteer?”
“Volunteers aren’t planted,” Dad explained. “A seed just happens to fall somewhere, then sends down shallow roots that don’t permit much growth.”
“This one is going to grow,” Mike insisted. “I’m going to make sure it does!”
Dad smiled. “Go for it, Son. Work the dirt up around it and keep it watered. Who knows what might happen.”
Mike had followed his father’s advice, and the little seedling grew into a healthy vine. One day as he was spading around his plant, Dad put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve really stuck with this,” he said. “I think you’re ready for something even bigger. When Gertrude has her calf, it’s yours to raise.”
Mike gave a whoop and punched the air. The best of their four milk cows, Gertrude was to give birth any day.
One night Mike was awakened by Clancy’s excited barking. He was about to get up to see what was happening, when Mom came in. “The vet’s here,” she said. “Gertrude had her calf, and everything’s fine. Go back to sleep and see it in the morning.”
Certain that he wouldn’t sleep a wink, Mike dutifully closed his eyes. When he opened them again, sunlight filled the room, and Clancy was issuing his good-morning bark. For the first time in days, Mike didn’t head straight to his cantaloupe plant. Instead, he ran to the barn.
“He’s beautiful!” Mike exclaimed. “I’m going to name him Melon, because he’ll be an award winner too. Look! He’s standing up already.”
“These little guys stand almost as soon as they’re born, Mike. Before long, he’ll be frisking all about his ma.” Dad frowned. “That reminds me—there are a couple of boards loose in the corral fence by the barn. You’d better nail them down right away. We don’t want this young ‘un getting out and rambling all over the property.”
Mike made a mental note to do it—right after he checked his melon plant. But he was so pleased with the blossoms he found blooming from the vine that he forgot all about the corral fence. Over the next few days, he noticed that some of the blossoms grew from small green knobs—cantaloupes! Following Dad’s instructions, he carefully chose the most likely one and nipped off all the others so that the plant’s strength would all go into one prize-winning melon. As the summer days passed, he “babied” his melon, and it grew splendidly.
His calf grew too. Soon it was eating hay as well as suckling its mother. “I’m going to have two blue-ribbon winners,” Mike told Dad when he went to breakfast, “a melon and Melon.”
A couple of mornings later, he was again awakened by Clancy’s barking. But this time Clancy sounded frantic. Something was wrong! Racing downstairs, Mike found the dog trying to herd a confused calf back into the corral. A few yards to the left, where the melon plant should have been, was nothing but chewed and tattered leaves and bits of broken and trampled cantaloupe. As Mike stared at the mess, a great rage filled him. He snatched up a piece of the melon rind and cocked his arm. “All right!” he shrilled. “You want cantaloupe, I’ll give you cantaloupe!” Before he could hurl the piece of rind at the bewildered calf, a hand gripped his wrist from behind.
“There’s no need for a tantrum.” Dad’s voice was calm.
“But that stupid calf ruined my plant!” Mike’s anger had him nearly in tears. “I worked on it all summer, and just look at it!”
“How did Melon get out of the corral, Mike?”
Mike eyed the loose boards—the ones he had promised to fix so long ago. …
Dad let the silence grow long, then asked, “Did you do your job?”
Mike scuffed his toe on the ground. “I meant to,” he said in a small voice. “I guess I just kind of forgot.”
Dad put an arm around his son’s shoulder. “Mike, you worked hard with that melon. Your mother and I are proud of what you did. If it hadn’t been for a nosy calf and an unfinished job, you might have had a prizewinner.”
“And now I have nothing.”
“You have a fine calf with a good appetite. And if you’ve learned from your mistake, you have something even better—a bit of wisdom. Sometimes disaster is opportunity disguised.”
Mike’s gaze strayed from the ruined plant to Clancy and Melon and then to the loose boards on the corral. Finally he looked up. “Dad,” he said, “this was a blue-ribbon disaster for sure. But it’s a blue-ribbon lesson, too, and I won’t forget it. I’m going to take such good care of Melon that he’ll be a prize-winning calf! Come on, Clancy, let’s get him back in the corral and nail up those boards. This is one Melon that’s going to the fair.”