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The summer before fifth grade, my world was turned upside down when my family moved from the country town where I was born and raised to a town near the beach. When school began, I found it difficult to be accepted by the kids in my class who seemed a little more sophisticated, and who had been in the same class together since first grade.

I also found this Catholic school different from the public school I had attended. At my old school, it was acceptable to express yourself to the teacher. Here, it was considered outrageous to even suggest a change be made in the way things were done.

My mom taught me that if I wanted something in life, I had to speak up or figure out a way to make it happen. No one was going to do it for me. It was up to me to control my destiny.

I quickly learned that my classmates were totally intimidated by the strict Irish nuns who ran the school. My schoolmates were so afraid of the nuns' wrath that they rarely spoke up for themselves or suggested a change.

Not only were the nuns intimidating(吓人的), they also had some strange habits. The previous year, my classmates had been taught by a nun named Sister Rose. This year, she came to our class to teach music several times a week. During their year with her, she had earned the nickname Pick-Her-Nose-Rose. My classmates swore that during silent reading, she'd prop her book up so that she could have herself a booger-picking session without her students noticing. The worst of it, they told me, was that after reading was over, she'd stroll through the classroom and select a victim whose hair would be the recipient of one of her prize boogers. She'd pretend to be praising one of her students by rubbing her long, bony(骨的) fingers through their hair! Well, to say the least, I did not look forward to her sort of praise.

One day during music, I announced to Sister Rose that the key of the song we were learning was too high for our voices. Every kid in the class turned toward me with wide eyes and looks of total disbelief. I had spoken my opinion to a teacher - one of the Irish nuns!

That was the day I gained acceptance with the class. Whenever they wanted something changed, they'd beg me to stick up for them. I was willing to take the punishment for the possibility of making a situation better and of course to avoid any special attention from Pick-Her-Nose-Rose. But I also knew that I was being used by my classmates who just couldn't find their voices and stick up for themselves.

Things pretty much continued like this through sixth and seventh grades. Although we changed teachers, we stayed in the same class together and I remained the voice of the class.

At last, eighth grade rolled around and one early fall morning our new teacher, Mrs. Haggard - not a nun, but strict nevertheless - announced that we would be holding elections for class representatives. I was elected Vice President.

That same day, while responding to a fire drill, the new president and I were excitedly discussing our victory when, suddenly, Mrs. Haggard appeared before us with her hands on her hips. The words that came out of her mouth left me surprised and confused. "You're impeached!" she shouted at the two of us. My first reaction was to burst out laughing because I had no idea what the word "impeached" meant. When she explained that we were out of office for talking during a fire drill, I was devastated.

Our class held elections again at the beginning of the second semester. This time, I was elected president, which I took as a personal victory. I was more determined than ever to represent the rights of my oppressed classmates.

My big opportunity came in late spring. One day, the kids from the other eighth grade class were arriving at school in "free dress," wearing their coolest new outfits, while our class arrived in our usual uniforms: the girls in their pleated wool skirts and the boys in their salt and pepper pants. "How in the world did this happen?" we all wanted to know. One of the eighth graders from the other class explained that their teacher got permission from our principal, Sister Anna, as a special treat for her students.

We were so upset that we made a pact to go in and let our teacher know that we felt totally ripped off. We agreed that when she inevitably gave us what had become known to us as her famous line, "If you don't like it, you can leave," we'd finally do it. We'd walk out together.

Once in the classroom, I raised my hand and stood up to speak to our teacher. About eight others rose to show their support. I explained how betrayed we felt as the seniors of the school to find the other eighth graders in free dress while we had to spend the day in our dorky uniforms. We wanted to know why she hadn't spoken on our behalf and made sure that we weren't left out of this privilege.

For years I wanted a flower garden. I'd spend hours thinking of different things I could plant that would look nice together.

But then we had Matthew. And Marvin. And the twins, Alisa and Alan. And then Helen. Five children. I was too busy raising them to grow a garden.

Money was tight, as well as time. Often when my children were little, one of them would want something that cost too much, and I'd have to say, "Do you see a money tree outside? Money doesn't grow on trees, you know."

Finally, all five got through high school and college and were off on their own. I started thinking again about having a garden.

I wasn't sure, though. I mean, gardens do cost money, and after all these years I was used to living on a pretty lean(贫乏的) , no-frills budget.

Then, one spring morning, on Mother's Day, I was working in my kitchen. Suddenly, I realized that cars were tooting(吹奏，狂欢) their horns as they drove by. I looked out the window and there was a new tree, planted right in my yard. I thought it must be a weeping willow(垂柳) , because I saw things blowing around on all its branches. Then I put my glasses on - and I couldn't believe what I saw.

There was a money tree in my yard!

I went outside to look. It was true! There were dollar bills, one hundred of them, taped all over that tree. Think of all the garden flowers I could buy with one hundred dollars! There was also a note attached: "IOU eight hours of digging time. Love, Marvin."

Marvin kept his promise, too. He dug up a nice ten-by-fifteen foot bed for me. And my other children bought me tools, ornaments(装饰品) , a trellis(格子，框架) , a sunflower stepping stone and gardening books.

That was three years ago. My garden's now very pretty, just like I wanted. When I go out and weed(除草，铲除) or tend my flowers, I don't seem to miss my children as much as I once did. It feels like they're right there with me.

I live up in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, where winters are long and cold, and summers are way too short. But every year now, when winter sets in, I look out my window and think of the flowers I'll see next spring in my little garden. I think about what my children did for me, and I get tears in my eyes - every time.

I'm still not sure that money grows on trees. But I know love does!

"If I never saw this kid again, Lord, I wouldn't be sorry!" I thought. Tears clouded my eyes as I stood in our laundry room(洗衣间) . Clenched(紧握的) in both hands were new jeans and a shirt belonging to my 16-year-old stepson, Brett. The clothing was already destroyed from burn holes and vomit stains(污点) after a drunken binge(狂欢，放纵) .

Exhausted and defeated, I sank to the floor. The clothes were just one more thing Brett had ruined. He had already kicked a large hole in his bedroom wall; his bedcovers(床罩) were torn. Numerous windows in our house needed repair due to his breaking in to steal money when he chose to live on the street. Yet none of this could compare to the emotional damage Brett had inflicted(遭受，给予) on our once quiet home.

I knew that Brett's needs were deep, and I had often prayed for wisdom and love. The second greatest commandment, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself," had taken on new meaning when Brett came to live with us when he was 12 years old. If I were to love my neighbor, was I not to love my own troubled stepson even more?

During those four years I had dealt with Brett as patiently as possible, but inside I was churning. "I don't want him in my house another day, Lord," I cried as I knelt on the laundry room floor. "I just can't stand him!"

Chest heaving, I poured out my despair. Then God tenderly spoke to me in my weakness. Matthew 25:35-40 rose in my thoughts---Jesus' declaration that when we invite a stranger, feed the hungry, clothe the naked or visit those in prison, we are doing it as unto Him. For the first time I saw this story in light of the action words. Jesus was saying, "Act. Meet these people's needs. Through your actions you are loving them and Me."

God's encouragement to me that day helped me to gather strength and continue parenting Brett. Still, Brett did not change his behavior.

When Brett was nearly 18, he landed again in Juvenile Hall, this time on suicide watch. Through prayer, my husband, Dave, and I sensed God's leading to send Brett to a boarding school(寄宿学校) with a high success rate for helping troubled teens.

The psychological training at Brett's school was rigorous(严格的，严酷的) . Out of more than 20 people in his class, Brett was one of only five graduates.

At the graduation ceremony the graduates stood one by one to thank those who had helped them. Each graduate held a long-stemmed, white rosebud to give to the person who had meant the most to him or her.

Brett spoke lovingly to his mother and father and for the first time took responsibility for the heartaches he had caused.

Finally Brett spoke to me. "You did so much," he said. "You were always there, no matter what. My mom and dad, I was their kid. But you just got stuck with me. All the same you always showed me such love. And I want you to know that I love you for it."

Stunned, I stood as Brett placed the white rosebud in my hand and hugged me hard.

At that moment I realized the truth in God's words to me. Although I had struggled with silent anger toward my stepson, Brett had seen only my actions.

Love is action. We may not always have positive feelings about certain people in our lives. But we can love them.