My mom also told me the story of her favorite miracle. I have no memory of this happening, but I have heard the story a few times over the years. It always makes me smile.

One summer when I was a very small child, my dad announced that he was going to poison the dandelions in the yard. I said, "No Daddy! I like the flowers in the yard!" My dad insisted that the lawn needed sprayed, so I got on my knees and prayed: "Dear God, please don't let the dandelions die." Then I went back to playing.

My dad sprayed the yard. According to my mother, it was a beautiful sunny day. And according to my mother, not a single dandelion on our property died.

Three weeks later, my dad tried again. This time he didn't tell me what he intended to do. He used the same bottle of poison as the previous attempt, and this time, all the dandelions died.

My mother calls this a miracle, a moment when God heeded the prayer of a little girl who loved flowers. I think so too, and, like all miracles, it demonstrated, at least to my parents, the power of prayer. It is such a small thing. But it is still a miracle. I only wish I responded to problems now in the same childlike way. I would probably have a lot less trouble in this world.