Gospel Story Finder

Joseph F. Smith’s mother was known as “Widow Smith.” She was the widow of Hyrum Smith, who was martyred with the Prophet Joseph. She once rebuked the tithing clerk who stated that because of her poverty, she should not have to pay her tithing. She said: “‘Would you deny me a blessing? If I did not pay my tithing, I should expect the Lord to withhold his blessings from me. I pay my tithing, not only because it is a law of God, but because I expect a blessing by doing it. By keeping this and other laws, I expect to prosper, and to be able to provide for my family.’”
Did she prosper? Her son and grandson became presidents of the Church, and her descendants today include a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and many notable Church leaders.
Speaking of his mother, Joseph F. Smith once said she paid “tithes of her sheep and cattle, the tenth pound of her butter, her tenth chicken, the tenth of her eggs, the tenth pig, the tenth calf, the tenth colt—a tenth of everything she raised.”

The future of none of the prophets, however, was signaled more clearly than that of Heber J. Grant. While he was a small boy, he often attended Relief Society with his mother. On one such occasion, after the regular meeting had concluded, Eliza R. Snow, the sister of President Lorenzo Snow, gave blessings to all present by the gift of tongues, with Zina D. Young interpreting. In tongues Sister Snow also prophesied that Heber J. Grant would someday be an apostle of the Lord. On another occasion President Heber C. Kimball, a close friend of President Grant’s father, took the young boy up, sat him on a chair, and talked with him. According to the story later told President Grant by his mother:
“He prophesied in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ that you [Heber] should become an apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ and become a greater man in the Church than your own father; and your father, as you know, became one of the counselors to Brigham Young.”
However, none of these prophecies were quite so impressive to President Grant as the vision that he had shortly after being called to the apostleship in 1883. In this vision he saw his father, Jedediah Grant, the Prophet Joseph Smith, and the Savior, and he also saw the decision made to send the revelation for his call to the Council of the Twelve—this when he was twenty-six years of age.

I grew up a member of the Church in Belize, but I wasn’t always a faithful follower of the Lord. My family was among the first members in Belize, but we had many trials. My father left us, leaving my mother jobless with three kids.
My mother’s faith in the Lord allowed us to overcome our trials. My mom worked hard to support us and to bring us to the Lord, but I had to gain a testimony for myself. For a time I chose wrong paths, mainly because of the company I spent my time with. They influenced me to draw away from—rather than near to—the Lord.
My turning point was when I started to spend most of my time with youth of the Church. I witnessed the marvelous spirit they had. It brought an unusual joy in my life. Seeing my friends going out to serve the Lord on their missions brought an even greater spirit.
Serving a mission was the last thing on my mind until I decided to turn to the Lord in prayer to find out if this was the way for me. As I prayed I felt the Holy Spirit’s power bursting in my heart. I have never before witnessed such marvelous power. It led me to know that a mission was right for me. I talked to my branch president, prepared spiritually and financially, and later served a full-time mission.
I can now say without any doubt that I know that this is the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and that President Gordon B. Hinckley is a living prophet, seer, and revelator, called by God to declare His word and to bring all people to our Heavenly Father’s fold. As Moroni said, you need to read the Book of Mormon, ponder it in your heart, pray, and you will receive answers to the questions in your heart (see Moro. 10:3–5).

Seminary students in Farmington, Maine, had an unusual visitor to their early-morning seminary class—a 240-pound moose named Matthew. Because Matthew was abandoned by his mother, he was adopted by a couple in the ward and became the talk of the town. Matthew also served as a good missionary tool, since people connected him with members of the Church.
Last spring, Matthew was released back into the wild, but his friends in seminary will never forget his visit.

When President Washington arrived at Gilbert’s home studio, the six-foot-two Washington set his face in the stony, lifeless expression typically seen in portraits of that period. Stuart wondered how he could get Washington to appear more natural. The artist usually got his subjects to pose with lively expressions on their faces by talking to them about their interests. Stuart tried to talk to the president about the American Revolution. When Washington didn’t respond, Stuart tried discussing great political figures of ancient Rome. Washington seemed bored, so Stuart had to do his best without the president’s help. The same was true when he painted a second portrait of Washington, this time a full-length picture.

When Washington sat for his third portrait—the last one by Stuart—the artist was still puzzling over how to capture a more lively expression of Washington. Finally Stuart gripped his paintbrush and began to sketch the outline of the president’s head. When Stuart happened to glance up from his canvas, he saw a sudden, bright expression cross Washington’s face. The president had just seen a beautiful horse gallop by the window. Stuart searched his brain for all that he knew about horses and started talking, and Washington’s face soon glowed with interest in their conversation.

From horses, the conversation turned to farming. George Washington had been a planter in Virginia before he became president of the United States. Unfortunately, before the sitting that day was finished, the president’s face had assumed its stiff expression again.

In subsequent sittings, some of Washington’s friends came with him, and their conversation helped keep the president’s face more animated. However, now Stuart wanted Washington’s expression to better show his powerful leadership qualities. By making the president wait when he arrived for the sitting, Stuart irritated Washington just enough so that his face reflected the expression he wore when he was a general commanding his troops.

When our first grandson was born, the entire family rushed to the hospital. It was an amazing experience for me to see our oldest son, Matthew, holding this precious new baby boy. While standing at the nursery window with our youngest son, Chad, we gazed into the eyes of this new little spirit—so clean, so pure, so recently from heaven. It seemed that all time stood still, and for an instant, we could see the great eternal plan. The sacredness of life was crystal clear, and I whispered to Chad, “Do you understand why it is so important to remain clean and pure?” He responded reverently, “Oh yes, Mom, I get it.”

Jason Johnston’s family was more than 1,000 miles away from home on Christmas Eve three years ago. Jennifer, Jason’s older sister, was scheduled to have surgery in Salt Lake City, Utah, shortly after Christmas, and the family had traveled from Bartlesville, Oklahoma, so they could be near her.
As they gathered around the fireplace of a cabin in Aspen Grove, Utah, that night, everyone knew it would be a different kind of Christmas. But the real differences came unexpectedly.
“I went eagerly to my place in the circle as my parents handed us each a gift,” says Jason, who was 18 at the time. “I held my present close, so as soon as the story of Christ was told, I could open it.”
But Jason’s mother, Ann, started out the traditional family event with tears in her eyes and asked them to first listen to a song about Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ. She then expressed her own feelings for such a mother and child and asked that her children open their gifts right away, a task usually reserved for the evening’s finale.
Being the youngest in the family, Jason got to open his gift first. Jason ripped apart the paper and quickly opened the box. “I was dismayed to see a frame face down,” Jason says. “I picked it up, and, turning it over, I noticed it was a picture of Mary and the Baby Jesus.”
“I didn’t say anything. I just sat and stared at it as each of my sisters and my brother opened the same gift.”
Jason was, to say the least, momentarily disappointed. The same picture each child received was one his mother already had sitting on the table next to the Bible.
But then Ann told them the picture’s story:
It was the same picture she had been given more than 20 years ago by her mother on Christmas Eve. And just like Mary and her own mother before her, Ann wanted her children to know how much she loved them. She wanted them to know how she felt honored to raise each of them. How she worried about them as they went into the world. And how she once lovingly cradled each of them in her arms.
“At this point there wasn’t a dry eye in the house,” Jason says. His disappointment immediately changed to love and peace. “I don’t know why my eyes filled with tears. I guess it really didn’t matter. I was with my family, and that’s all I needed.”
The family finished their Christmas Eve festivities with a testimony meeting, and each child received a priesthood blessing from their father. They also sang carols and ate holiday treats that night. But the memories of carols and food aren’t quite as clear in their minds as are the words spoken by a loving mother and father on that night in a small cabin so far away from home.
Today that simple picture of Mary and her child still hangs on Jason’s bedroom wall in Oklahoma, many miles away from the cabin in Aspen Grove. But he will never forget that night. Nor will he forget the picture’s legacy and the meaning that comes from a Christmas centered around Jesus Christ.

by Craig Manscill
During the spring, when much of the Northern Hemisphere is recovering from the grips of winter, the Southern Hemisphere, particularly the South Pacific, is soaking up the warm rays of the sun.

That’s when the youth in the Fiji Suva District retreat to their own secluded, tropical island for three glorious days in search of their destiny.

As the chartered boat, the Noolooloo, departed from the jetty, 57 youth and 16 leaders, one live pig (Friday’s dinner), and assorted camping gear were about to make history in the third annual youth conference. The sea cruise to Nukulau Island was only the beginning of a beautiful experience.

“Determine Your Destiny” was the theme for the conference. The theme song, “Morning of Your Life,” was taken from the October 1980 New Era. It was the objective of each youth to plan and set goals for his or her immediate future and distant tomorrows. “We are charting our own destiny,” said Elizabeth from Suva Sixth Branch, “rather than allowing fate or outside circumstances to dictate to us.”

Once camp was established, the Young Men president called a general assembly. Journals were handed out to each youth with instructions that while in search of their destiny, the recording of thoughts and goals would greatly increase the chances of successfully accomplishing those goals. One girl recorded in her journal, “I never thought three days could make the difference for me in sorting out my course toward my destiny.”

The following three days were filled with activities and seminars. Seminars were conducted in first aid, lifesaving and swimming, pioneering, tie-dyeing, and goal setting.

“Campfire is burning, campfire is burning,” was signal enough from the campfire mistress, Cheryl Bukarau, for all to gather on the beach for mimes, skits, singing, and stories. The charismatic mood of the South Pacific seemed to mesmerize everyone. The reflection of the tall palm trees, silhouetted by the fire, cast interesting shadows on the beach. The mood was amplified by the lapping of the waves on the shore as if it were the sound of Fijian drums in the distance.

The highlight of the conference was when the mission president, Wilford E. Smith, ferried across from the mainland to be guest of honor for dinner and to deliver the keynote address. President Smith encouraged all to consult with the Lord in prayer, refer to patriarchal blessings, and listen to the prophet’s counsel.

Saturday morning dawned clear and crisp as the fasting youth gathered for separate Young Men and Young Women meetings followed by a joint testimony meeting, where the testimonies of youth and leaders brought the youth conference to another spiritual high.

It was with regret that camp was broken. During the final moments a special ceremony, unseen by most, was held at the base of a large tree, where a time capsule was buried. The capsule held the history of the conference and the written goals of 57 youth and 16 leaders. One year later, the capsule will be opened for those who return to the next youth conference to evaluate how well they have shaped their own destiny.

President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) once described the experience of a young divorced “mother of seven children then ranging in ages from 7 to 16. She said that one evening she went across the street to deliver something to a neighbor.” These are her words as he recalled them:
“As I turned around to walk back home, I could see my house lighted up. I could hear echoes of my children as I had walked out of the door a few minutes earlier. They were saying: ‘Mom, what are we going to have for dinner?’ ‘Can you take me to the library?’ ‘I have to get some poster paper tonight.’ Tired and weary, I looked at that house and saw the light on in each of the rooms. I thought of all of those children who were home waiting for me to come and meet their needs. My burdens felt heavier than I could bear.
“I remember looking through tears toward the sky, and I said, ‘Dear Father, I just can’t do it tonight. I’m too tired. I can’t face it. I can’t go home and take care of all those children alone. Could I just come to You and stay with You for just one night? …’
“I didn’t really hear the words of reply, but I heard them in my mind. The answer was: ‘No, little one, you can’t come to me now. … But I can come to you.’”
“I can come to you.” He came to her, and He will come to you and me, just as the Savior came to the woman at the well where she labored and toiled through her days (see John 4:3–42). He encouraged her, taught her, declared His messiahship to her, and loved her when perhaps she didn’t love herself. To the woman at the well, to the young mother of seven, to you and me, Jesus Christ stands ready to provide relief. I testify that we can receive relief through our covenant bond with a loving God.

Tomás looked at the money in his hand and sighed. Two hundred pesos—not nearly enough. There were three fifty-peso pieces, two twenty-peso pieces, and one of the five-sided coins that Tomás called “cuadrados (squares).” The ten-peso coin wasn’t really square, of course, but Tomás liked the way the word sounded. He looked around him. The streets were almost empty now; soon it would be dark. With another sigh, Tomás picked up his shoeshine box and started home.
It was 1985, and Tomás lived in Santa Maria, a small town in northern Mexico. Every day after school, he walked up and down the dusty, unpaved streets looking for shoes to shine or odd jobs to do. He had to help his mother; his father had been killed two years ago in an accident at work. Tomás had four sisters and a brother, and his mother didn’t make enough money doing washing and sewing to feed everyone. But Tomás never complained. He was proud to be considered the man of the house at such an early age!
“Hola (hello), Tomás.” Doña Eva was standing beside her gate, holding a soda bottle. “Will you do me a favor? Anda (go) and bring me a drink from the store. You may keep the change, but please don’t be too long—I am very thirsty.”
Tomás put down his box and took the bottle. “I’ll be right back,” he called as he raced down the street.
Most of the adobe houses were dark. Santa Maria was so small that only the school and one store had electricity. Most of Santa Maria’s people didn’t even want electric lights. Here and there, oil lamps made strange, dancing shapes on the street.
Tomás was almost at the store when he stopped in astonishment. Two huge, shiny trucks were in the tiny plaza. Surrounding the trucks were villagers, some of them with armloads of clothing or blankets. With surprise, Tomás saw his own mother handing a brightly colored serape to a man in the truck. The long, narrow blanket was his mother’s favorite, a gift to her from his father. “Mamá! What are you doing?” he cried, running over to her.
“Remember how we heard of a great earthquake farther south? There are many who have lost both loved ones and homes. I cannot give much, but I want to send something that will help.”
“But you love that serape! Papá …”
Tomás’s mother smiled. “Your father would want to give something, Tomás. And I love my sisters and brothers too. Remember that as children of God, we are all family, hijo (son). I want to send a little love and comfort to someone who needs it more right now.” She saw the soda bottle. “That must be for Doña Eva,” she said. “She’s always impatient for her soda, Tomás. Run; do your errand for her.”
Tomás did as he was told, but not happily. He felt guilty about his very selfish thoughts, but he couldn’t help them. “How can anyone have less than we do?” he asked himself. “My mother never has anything new. We eat only beans and tortillas. Someday I will have much money, and then I will give. Not now!”
In the store, Tomás paid for the soft drink. He counted his change to be sure it was right. He was very proud of his reputation for integrity.
“Send Tomás,” Doña Eva always said when someone needed an errand run. “He’s a good, honest boy.” Remembering that the change was his, Tomás carefully put it into his empty pocket. He was about to go, when he noticed the newspaper on the store counter.
There were pictures of the earthquake damage—fallen buildings and huge cracks in the streets. In one corner was a picture of a tiny child. Tears filled Tomás’s eyes as he read the caption: Brave Boy Loses Life to Save Baby Sister. Tomás thought of his younger brother and sisters. They were noisy little pests, but he was glad that they were there, filling the small house with happiness. Tonight he would tell them that he loved them!
When Tomás passed the plaza again, all the villagers were gone. The trucks were still parked there, and Tomás stared at them. The coins in his pocket were heavy and cold. He had planned to put aside ten percent of his money for tithing, a few pesos for his savings, and give the rest to his mother. The money was important to his family, and it wasn’t enough to help anyone, anyway.
He couldn’t forget the picture in the paper, though. Why had he looked at it? But his mother was right—he had a lot. He had her, his brother, and his sisters. Tomás smiled a little. He even had dreams, big dreams. What was it his father used to say? “If you have dreams, and if you have faith, you have much.” He turned and walked back to the nearest truck. “It’s only a few pesos,” he said, holding out all except his tithing money.
The man took the coins and smiled at Tomás. “Thanks, son. It’s more than you know. There are people in need of medicine, even babies without food. Believe me, every peso will help someone live. Thank you!”
Tomás thought of the baby in the picture. Maybe his money would help her. But the important thing was that it would help someone. He said good-bye and hurried on toward Doña Eva’s house. “Thank Thee, Father, for giving me so much!” he prayed aloud.

Grisell was very excited to join the Church and loved learning about the gospel, but as we continued teaching Grisell, many challenges came up, as they usually do when someone commits to baptism. Her family opposed her attending church, and she was becoming distressed. I decided to share the same scripture with her that I had shared with Hugo many months prior. Grisell’s downcast face changed to the expression of joy and excitement she had shown when we first met as I read her the promise that she would be able to do anything that was the Lord’s will.

Suddenly I realized that this scripture was not only true for Hugo and Grisell. Just weeks before I had doubted my own ability to do what God had commanded me. As I reflected back on my recent discouragement and my mission up to that point, I knew that the Lord’s promise was true for me as well.

A little story given by one of your missionary sons in Italy a few weeks ago brought this clearly into focus for me.

He recounted that one morning a poor little crippled boy in ragged clothes and badly worn shoes came to a busy street corner and went from person to person, begging for a few lira without success. A man observing the boy from a distance finally went over and picked up this little lad, held him tightly and loved him, and then went forth and cared for him with his means without any judgment.

This sight would have touched any heart and helps us see the power of love that our Father in Heaven would have us understand in our lives. Jesus, the beloved Son of God, reemphasized this new dimension to bless the world when He said, “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another.” (John 13:34.)

As in the case of the man who picked up the little crippled boy, there are no reproachments or judgments—just love and help.

Many years ago, one of my best friends was in his very first class in law school. The teacher was a renowned intellectual to whom the students were paying close attention. During that lecture, she started to expose her views on religion—portraying it negatively. At a certain point, she even inferred that those “Mormon missionaries” you see in the streets were actually agents of a foreign government disguised as religious representatives. At that moment, my friend interrupted the lecture by raising his hand and saying, “Professor, I was one of those ‘agents’ in Portugal for two years.” He noticed that she was puzzled and confused. So he asked permission to explain, went to the blackboard, and started “sharing the gospel” with all present in that classroom.
He explained about the evidence of the existence of Heavenly Father, the creation of our spirits, the plans presented for us to come to this earth, the dispensations starting from Adam until Jesus Christ, and how His Church ended in apostasy. My friend taught about the Restoration through the Prophet Joseph Smith and bore his testimony—and then the class time ended. As a result of his approach, he received an apology from the teacher and he earned the respect of all his classmates that day. In fact, he was chosen to act as the class representative in the student body government and was later named to be the keynote speaker at their graduation a few years later.

“After the Budapest, Hungary, concert I walked up to two full-bearded men,” said Kay Lynn Wakefield. “I asked if they enjoyed the concert, putting my hand out to greet one of them. He looked around, wondering who I was talking to. I then gave him an Articles of Faith card. He backed away, saying, ‘I am light man’—an electrical technician for the concert. He seemed surprised I would talk to him. I assured him I was happy to talk to him, and I thanked him for his lighting. I asked him who his friend was, and he said he spoke no English and was studying for the ministry. At this point, he said again, ‘I am light man only.’ I then put my hand on the arm of this man, looked him in the eye, and said, ‘You are a child of God, and he loves you very much.’ I bore my testimony to him, telling him that we represented our Heavenly Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. I asked him to translate this message to his non-English-speaking friend. As he repeated my words, he began to weep. It seemed almost as if a protective bubble fell over us and we no longer heard the noise of the crowd. I told them both how they could get a Book of Mormon from the missionaries. The student was visibly moved and promised that he would get and read the book.”

Now, just one final thought. I sat in a class in Sunday School in my own ward one day, and the teacher was the son of a patriarch. He said he used to take down the blessings of his father, and he noticed that his father gave what he called “iffy” blessings. He would give a blessing, but it was predicated on “if you will not do this” or “if you will cease doing that.” And he said, “I watched these men to whom my father gave the ‘iffy’ blessings, and I saw that many of them did not heed the warning that my father as a patriarch had given, and the blessings were never received because they did not comply.”
You know, this started me thinking. I went back into the Doctrine and Covenants and began to read the “iffy” revelations that have been given to the various brethren in the Church. If you want to have an exercise in something that will startle you, read some of the warnings that were given through the Prophet Joseph Smith to Thomas B. Marsh, Martin Harris, some of the Whitmer brothers, William E. McLellin—warnings which, had they heeded, some would not have fallen by the wayside. But because they did not heed, and they didn’t clear up their lives, they fell by the wayside, and some had to be dropped from membership in the Church.

Jax was super nervous about performing his talent, Irish dancing, at the FSY variety show. “I was really, really terrified. Like I’m-in-a-pit-of-snakes terrified,” he says. “I said a little prayer before I got up there. I was still terrified, but then the music came on. I pretended no one was there. And I just started dancing.”

Jax hopped and moved his legs in traditional Irish fashion. But seeing Jax’s cheery face, most people probably wouldn’t guess that it was quite the journey to get there.

“In 2020 I was really stressed and even suicidal,” Jax says. “I was in a mental health hospital for a month. I found out I had pediatric brain inflammation and learned I was autistic. It was really, really hard.”

Once Jax had received some treatment for his mental health, his mom encouraged him to find a physical outlet to help manage his stress. He decided to seek personal revelation about what he could do.

“I prayed about it and asked for help,” he says. “And I remembered that my aunt was teaching Irish dance. So I started the class right before our big Christmas show. I had to learn like five dances in two weeks, so that was fun,” Jax jokes. Soon, Irish dance became a huge blessing in his life. “It really helped with my stress levels and dark feelings,” he says.

At FSY, Jax’s company asked him if he had a talent he could share in the variety show. So he danced on the sidewalk for them. When they told him he should perform, Jax’s first thought was, “Oh, no.” But he decided to share his talent even though he was afraid.

Now that Jax has seen videos of himself performing at FSY, he can’t help but laugh. “I had a completely straight face for the first part,” he says. “But then people started cheering, and I started smiling.”

For youth who are struggling, Jax gives this advice: “It’s better to talk about it with someone than hide it like I did. The Lord knows who you are, and He’ll be there for you. The Lord wants to help you.”

Overall, Jax feels that learning Irish dance has been a blessing from Heavenly Father.

My music also helps me get closer to Heavenly Father. I’ve learned a lot about him and about prayer through it.
One time I practiced really hard and prayed a lot before a big competition. But I really messed up. I started in the wrong key, and by the end of the piece it just sounded awful. I came away thinking, Why didn’t Heavenly Father help me? I did everything I could! But then I realized the whole thing motivated me to practice even harder. I might have slacked off a little if I’d done better. Instead I worked a lot more.

As a young girl I often went with friends to pick cherries in the summer for a local farmer. I remember one hot day in July when we had eaten our sack lunches under a tree. Being very weary, we decided not to go back to work in the afternoon but instead to strike for higher wages. We felt a sudden power and adulthood as we sat in the shade on our overturned buckets.
I was eager to report to my family later in the day about our mature negotiations with the farmer. My mother, who was normally very gentle, surprised me by expressing great disappointment. She was extremely upset that we had inconvenienced that farmer when he had a crop in need of picking.
I never did learn whether I was worth more than three cents a pound, but I learned a permanent lesson—in our family we valued service and the needs of others more than power and money. Since that time it has been reassuring for me to learn that many great people I know work for much less money than they are worth because service is a greater value to them than money. Whatever career or profession you pursue, consider the value of service.

It was a Friday night much like any other. My closest friends and I were sitting in my apartment after watching a movie, periodically chatting quietly and then laughing loudly. A sense of genuine contentment filled the air, and I couldn’t help smiling as stories and ideas swirled through the room. Some of the people I had met only a month before; some I had known all my 25 years.
At one point one of these longtime friends and I got to sharing memories about some of our college friends from a few years earlier. As we talked, I thought of how I missed these friends, of how much fun we had had, and how close we had been. Now we had graduated and moved to places all over the world, finding ourselves in situations we never could have predicted. I sighed with momentary feelings of loss, then glanced around the room at the laughing faces surrounding me at that moment and was struck by the sudden thought: good things keep on coming.
That simple thought was actually quite profound for me, especially since I have always had a hard time facing change and am hesitant to let go of good things. I miss the past even while it is still the present, desperate to enjoy fully moments in which I consciously and determinedly live. I know when I have a good thing, and I want to hold on and never let go; this lazy and happy Friday night was one of those good moments. Usually when I realize how good things are, I instantly begin thinking of how everything is fleeting, that it will eventually be lost to time or circumstance.
But this night the internal regret didn’t come. Sitting quietly, surrounded by people I loved, I knew that even though some good things must naturally come to an end and that there would undoubtedly be many hard things in the future, the good things would keep on coming. And they always would—as long as I let them. Even as those I love moved on, voids would be filled with new and amazing people and experiences I had never even imagined.

“Gramps!” Esther Sue ran toward the white-haired man, then stopped short, afraid to hug him. This was hardly the hard-muscled giant she had visited every summer at the farm. He looked like a small, wrinkled, worn-out imitation. So instead of greeting him with the usual bear hug, Esther Sue took his hand and guided him to the comfortable overstuffed chair in a corner of the living room. At least his hands were the same—big and sandpapery yet gentle from years of tending the soil.
“I’ll fix some lunch,” Mama said. “Then you might take a little rest, Papa.”
“A rest?” Gramps sneered at the idea. “All my life I worked from sunup to sundown, and I never needed a nap. I’d feel like some baby, needing a rest.”
Esther Sue patted his hand. “But the train ride must have been awfully hard, Gramps. Maybe you need a rest just this once.”
“Maybe so, little Susie. Or maybe I’m just not good for anything, now that I’m old. Having to sell the farm—I might as well have cut off my right arm, it pained me so much.”
“I know. I’m going to miss it something awful too.” Esther Sue remembered the long, happy days of previous summers, helping Gramps weed the melons and snapping beans under the shade of the crab apple tree. Now they would both be stuck in the city for the entire summer.
As the weeks went by, Gramps looked older and older, more and more tired.
“He needs something to do,” Mama said. “And he misses the open spaces and green growing things. You take him to the park, Esther Sue.”
So almost every day after school, even though it was still damp and chilly, Esther Sue and Gramps walked to the park. They passed rows of tall apartment buildings, the old vacant lot full of trash and dead weeds, and Murphy’s Market and Deli. Then they came to Bradley Park, just an empty patch of winter-brown grass and leafless trees at this time of year. Sometimes on the way home, Gramps stopped at the market and bought a couple of apples. He’d hand one to Esther Sue, and they’d chomp on them the rest of the way to the apartment.
“They’re not like the ones back home,” Gramps would complain. “They’ve lost all their crunch.”
As the weeks passed, Gramps and Esther Sue started looking for signs of new life. The vacant lot turned green with new weeds that almost hid the empty cans and broken glass scattered there. Little weeds sprouted between the cracks in the sidewalk too. And leaves started to pop out on the bare branches of the trees in the park. But Gramps looked more sad, more tired, more stooped.
“Sorry, Gramps,” Esther Sue said one afternoon. “I can’t go to the park today. I have to write a paper for school. It’s going to be a tough one.”
“That’s OK, little Susie. My arthritis is acting up, anyway.”
Esther Sue knew that he didn’t really care about going to the park. After years of walking on good black farm soil, Gramps didn’t like asphalt, and now that spring had come, he wanted to plant, not just look at trees and grass. So when he asked about her homework assignment, she was glad to give him a chance to think about something besides the home he had had to leave.
“I have to write an essay, Gramps: ‘What I can do to save the earth.’ The trouble is, there isn’t much one kid in the middle of Chicago can do.”
“Let’s see. You and your mama take all the old newspapers and cans to the recycling place, and you always write on both sides of a paper before you throw it away. That helps.”
“Oh, Gramps, I know those things are important, but everyone will write about recycling. I want to do something different.”
“Different like what?”
“Well, I read this article about a whole class who went out and planted trees, hundreds of them, to help reseed a forest. But that was in the mountains out west. A city kid can’t do anything like that.”
“No, I don’t suppose they want any more trees in that park of yours.” Grandpa scratched his head as he thought. Then he jumped up. “Come on, we’re going for that walk.”
“But what about my paper?”
“Come on. The fresh air will get your brain working.”
Esther Sue dragged along behind Gramps. What was he thinking? Why did he have to go today? Didn’t he know how important her paper was? But Gramps hadn’t been so lively in a long time. He even whistled as he walked along. When they got to the vacant lot, he stopped. “This is it,” he said. “This is your paper.”
She gave Gramps a blank look. What did this dirty old lot have to do with saving the earth? Gramps just stood there, staring at some vision, expecting her to see it too.
“Is it trees, Gramps? Do you expect me to plant trees here. I don’t think—”
“Not trees, little Susie—a garden! A garden with snow peas and eggplants and fresh red tomatoes. Maybe even a few pansies to pretty the place up.”
“A garden here? Oh, Gramps, do you think we could?”
“I know about gardens. There’s plenty of space and enough sunlight. We’d have to clean it up and see about getting some water, but I think we could manage that.”
“We’ll have to find out who owns the land and get permission.”
“We can go to city hall tomorrow.”
“I don’t think we can farm the whole lot, Gramps. It’s pretty big.”
“We’ll invite the neighbors to help. I can teach them.” The old man stood almost as tall as he had in the fields at the farm. “Just think, garden-fresh vegetables for the city folks here!”
“Just think, a garden right here in the middle of Chicago!”
“A place to dig.”
“It will be a great paper.”
“It will be a good summer.”
“I can make a difference, right here in the middle of Chicago.”
Both of them whistled all the way home.