Gospel Story Finder

“I remember observing one elderly sister learning how to read. I watched her wrinkled face and beautiful black eyes light up like the sun as she read the first words she had ever read in Spanish: eso, mesa, mama. This came only after a solid week and a half of learning to recognize and distinguish sounds. Now, finally, she was able to put them together into words, the most difficult task of all. Nothing in the world could equal the joy that radiated from her face and eyes as she slowly read those words. Nor could anything take away the joy I felt upon realizing that we were actually helping this woman. Someday, perhaps, she will be able to sit down and read and study the scriptures.
“I never realized before how lucky I really am to be who I am. How much I take for granted the gifts and talents I have. I had never considered that being able to read is a blessing, a gift, and a talent. It is all three! Why is it that we never realize this until the day we meet someone who is without? I know now that I wouldn’t trade anything in the world for this experience and awakening.”
Michelle SmithNovato, California

In the faraway islands of the Pacific, hundreds who were near-blind now see because a missionary said to his physician brother-in-law, “Leave your wealthy clientele and the comforts of your palatial home and come to these special children of God who need your skills and need them now.” The ophthalmologist responded without a backward glance. He has commented quietly that this visit was the best service he ever rendered and the peace which came to his heart the greatest blessing of his life.

“When I tracked my phone usage, I realized that I was on my phone the most on Sunday. I thought that was sad because that’s when I should be trying to get closer to my Savior—but instead, I had been staring at my screen.
“As I started reading my scriptures, I would read the 10 minutes every night before I went to bed, which for me was just about a chapter a night. As I did this, I noticed that I was able to fall asleep much easier. I also found myself making better decisions throughout the week, and I overall just felt better about myself.
“I am grateful that I was able to receive this invitation, and I plan to continue to read for 10 minutes a day and say my nightly prayers.”
Ryan E., 16, Alabama, USA

Auditions for the school play are tomorrow! I’m so scared!!! What if I forget my lines? Mom said I could ask Dad for a blessing, and he blessed me to not feel too nervous. I feel a little better now. Dad told me that giving a blessing is an act of service for someone else, just like everything else we do with the priesthood. He said that when he needs a blessing, he asks our home teachers. I’d never thought about it that way.
I’m 12 now! My birthday was pretty crazy because it was also the last performance for the play. I only forgot one line! So today was Sunday, and I had my first meeting as part of the Beehive presidency. We talked about what we can do to help Sara feel comfortable at church. I had no idea. Then I remembered what the bishop said when he set me apart for my new calling. He said that God would help me know the needs of the girls in my class. When I remembered that, I had an idea of an activity that Sara might like.
Sara loved our activity on Wednesday and even came to church today! Travis and Luke are both passing the sacrament now. I think I understand what Dad meant about all of us having different jobs. We use priesthood power in different ways, but we all serve each other.
Hello, old journal! I’m 24 now and—wow—I’ve learned a lot! I understand way more about the priesthood now than I did when I was 12. If you’re looking for answers, don’t stop! Heavenly Father and Jesus love you and want to bless you.

My mind goes back to a day when I was approaching my eighteenth birthday. We were all very fearful. World War II was still being fought, and every young man knew that he had to make a choice. There was not much latitude to the choice: he could choose to go into the army, or he could choose to go into the navy. I enlisted in the navy.

Forty-four of us young men stood there in the recruiting office. I shall never forget the chief petty officers coming up to us and presenting a choice. They said, “Now, you young men must make an important choice. On one hand, you can be wise and choose to join the regular navy. You can enlist for four years. You will receive the finest schooling. You will be given every opportunity because the navy looks upon you as its own. If you choose not to follow this direction, you can go into the naval reserves. The navy does not have much interest in the naval reserves at this stage of the game. You will receive no schooling. You will be sent out to sea duty. No one knows what your future might be.”

Then they asked us to sign on the dotted line. I turned to my father and said, “What should I do, Dad?”

In a voice choked with emotion, he replied, “I don’t know anything about the navy.” That was the position of every father who was there that day.

Forty-two of the forty-four enlisted in the regular navy for four years. The forty-third one could not pass the regular navy physical, so he had to enlist in the reserves.

Then they came to me; and I confess to you that I sent a prayer heavenward, earnestly hoping that the Lord would answer it. And he did. The thought came to me just as clearly as though I had heard a voice, “Ask those chief petty officers which they chose.”

I asked each of those veteran petty officers: “Did you choose the regular navy, or did you choose the reserves?”

Each of them had chosen the reserves.

I turned and said, “With all the wisdom and experience that you have, I want to be on your side.”

I chose the reserves, which meant that I enlisted for the duration of the war, plus six months. The war ended, and within a year I was honorably discharged from the service. I was able to continue my schooling. I had the privilege of serving in many Church capacities. Who knows how the course of my life might have been changed had I not taken that moment to call upon my Heavenly Father for guidance and direction in what might appear to some to have been a minor decision!

Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “During World War II, my widowed mother supported her three young children on a schoolteacher’s salary that was meager. When I became conscious that we went without some desirable things because we didn’t have enough money, I asked my mother why she paid so much of her salary as tithing. I have never forgotten her explanation: ‘Dallin, there might be some people who can get along without paying tithing, but we can’t. The Lord has chosen to take your father and leave me to raise you children. I cannot do that without the blessings of the Lord, and I obtain those blessings by paying an honest tithing. When I pay my tithing, I have the Lord’s promise that he will bless us, and we must have those blessings if we are to get along.’”

In ninth grade, Tami had a friend who was good at everything. Tami’s friend, Sandy, was popular. She ran track and won. Tami joined the track team just to be like Sandy. But Tami never won a race. Usually she came in last. Sandy could tell a joke. And boys liked Sandy.
Just before Christmas, the school announced a writing contest. Tami decided to enter. She spent her evenings writing her poem instead of talking with Sandy on the phone as she usually did. She worried about entering the contest. It wasn’t the kind of thing Sandy would do. Tami didn’t even tell her friend she was doing it. Sandy might laugh, or maybe even make fun of her. But it was thrilling to find how much she liked writing. When the results were announced, Tami’s poem won second place.
Encouraging herself to try something on her own wasn’t easy. But Tami discovered something—deciding for herself what she wanted made her happier than trying to imitate her friends. It gave her strength to make more decisions on her own.
In the next few years, as some of her friends began making choices that were against Tami’s standards, it was easier to make her own choices, even when they were less popular.

I know from experience the troubled mind of such a young person. When I was preparing to go on my mission, some surprising forces tried to discourage me. One was my dentist. When he realized my appointment was so I could be a missionary, he tried to dissuade me from serving. I had not had the least notion that my dentist was against the Church.

The interruption of my education was also complicated. When I asked for a two-year leave of absence from my university program, I was informed that it was not possible. I would lose my place at the university if I did not return after one year. In Brazil, this was serious since the only criterion for admittance in a university program was a very difficult and competitive examination.

After repeatedly insisting, I was reluctantly informed that after being absent for one year, I could apply for an exception on extraordinary grounds. It might be approved or not. I was terrified at the idea of retaking that difficult admissions test after two years away from my studies.

I also was especially interested in a young woman. Several of my friends shared that same interest. I thought to myself, “If I go on a mission, I’m running a risk.”

But the Lord Jesus Christ was my great inspiration not to be afraid of the future as I strove to serve Him with all my heart.

Remember the challenges that I thought I faced prior to my mission? My dentist? I found another. My university? They made an exception for me. Remember that young woman? She married one of my good friends.

But God truly blessed me richly. And I learned that the blessings of the Lord can come in ways different from how we expect. After all, His thoughts are not our thoughts (see Isaiah 55:8–9).

Among the many rich blessings He has given me for serving Him as a full-time missionary are a greater faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement and a stronger knowledge and testimony of His teachings, so that I am not easily swayed by “every wind of doctrine” (Ephesians 4:14). I lost my fear of teaching. My capacity to face challenges with optimism increased. By observing individuals and families I met or taught as a missionary, I learned that the teachings of God are true when He says that sin does not bring true happiness and that obedience to the commandments of God helps us prosper both temporally and spiritually (see Mosiah 2:41; Alma 41:10). And I learned for myself that God is a God of miracles (see Mormon 9).

All of these things were instrumental in my preparation for adult life, including possible marriage and parenthood, Church service, and professional and community life.

President Russell M. Nelson has told of a nurse who asked then-Dr. Nelson a question after a difficult surgical procedure. “Why are you not like other surgeons?” Some surgeons she knew could be short-tempered and profane as they performed such high-pressure procedures.

Dr. Nelson could have answered in any number of ways. But he simply replied, “Because I know the Book of Mormon is true.”

His answer prompted the nurse and her husband to study the Book of Mormon. President Nelson later baptized the nurse. Decades later, while presiding over a stake conference in Tennessee, USA, as a newly ordained Apostle, President Nelson enjoyed an unexpected reunion with the same nurse. She recounted that her conversion, brought about by his simple testimony and the influence of the Book of Mormon, helped lead to the conversion of another 80 people.3

In Primary we have goals, such as helping in the community and sharing the gospel with others. One day we promised that we would help the elderly. I went to some neighbors’ house and began to weed their flower garden. They came out and asked why I was doing this. I explained about our goals, but they are not members of the Church and told me that I didn’t have to help them. I explained that I belong to the true Church and need to keep my promises. They understood some of the things I told them. I learned that other people need to know about the gospel so they’ll know it is good to help one another.
Tahiry Carrillo Díaz, age 10San José, Costa Rica

Please go talk with your bishop. He should be one of your best friends. He wants to help you in your life and help you return to our Father in Heaven.

I know because I kept delaying a visit to my bishop. I was scared that he would laugh at me and tell me that I was stupid for doing the things that I had done. To my surprise, as I told him what I had done, I could see a tear in his eye and I knew he was hurting for me. After telling him, he asked me a few questions and we talked for several hours.

My life changed—for two years I had felt ashamed, guilty, and unwanted. After talking with my bishop, I knew the Lord loved me and wanted me to do what is right.

Later, my bishop gave me a temple recommend and was at the temple the day that I was married for time and all eternity. Because of my Savior’s love, I was now worthy to enter our Father’s house and be married.

Your life will change if you talk with your bishop and have the strength to change it. It may not be easy because Satan will always be there telling you, “You’ve done it once—it won’t hurt to do it again.” But it does hurt.

Fast and pray. The Lord will help you.

Name withheld.

My nephew’s presents. Some years ago we were gathered as a family to commemorate Christmas. All the adults and teens were busy with preparations for the family dinner. Amid this Christmas activity, my youngest nephew, Fabinho, asked me for a paper, colored pencils, and colored markers. Busy with Christmas preparations, I gave them to him, hoping he would entertain himself.
The time for dinner arrived, and after a prayer of thanksgiving, five-year-old Fabinho asked for everyone’s attention and gave each of us a little slip of paper that expressed his love with a colored picture and imprecise handwriting.
Everyone received a little note, even the uncle we saw only at Christmastime. Fabinho felt everyone was worthy of his attention and his careful, childlike efforts. His simple presents and attitude caused me to think of the Savior and His teachings that we should love our neighbor and give our best.Ana F., Brazil

“Who’s out there, Pieter?” Charity asked.
Her younger brother shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he replied. “It looks like somebody trying to see into our shop, but the snow is too thick on the windows.”
“Why don’t they come in?” Charity hurried to the door and opened it. A gust of cold wind blew a cloud of snowflakes into the shop. Standing on the doorstep was an old man breathing deeply of the delicious fragrance of baking that drifted to him from the shop.
“Come in,” Charity said softly. “Please come in. It is warm by the fireplace.” She reached out and touched his bony elbow. Caked snow fell from his head and shoulders as he followed the girl into the shop. He was wearing a bearskin robe and deerskin moccasins.
“He’s a Canarsee Indian,” Pieter whispered to Charity.
“Please be quiet, Pieter,” Charity replied, “and get him something warm to drink while I get some apple tarts.”
The old Indian sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the huge fireplace in the back of the shop and closed his eyes. When the food was brought to him, he ate it quickly. Then he closed his eyes again and seemed to be napping.
Charity had never seen such an old Indian. While it was not unusual for Canarsee Indians to be roaming the streets of New Amsterdam during the seventeenth century, there was a law that prevented Dutch bakers from selling goods to them. But to twelve-year-old Charity, anyone who was hungry was entitled to sample her mama’s delicious Dutch apple tarts.
“What will Mama say when she comes back?” Pieter asked.
Charity replied, “I’ll explain to her that he is just a homeless and hungry old man.”
The little bell over the door of the shop tinkled, and in strode a burly Dutchman. “Well!” he exclaimed, puffing out his red cheeks. “Where is the Widow Van Elf?”
“Mama is not here now, Master Donk,” Charity told him politely. “We are waiting for her to come home. She has gone to the miller’s for more flour.”
The Dutchman looked around the shop. “Business must be good if she needs to buy more flour. Does your mama have money for the rent as well?”
Charity shook her head sadly. “No, Master Donk, business is not good. Mama has gone to ask the miller for some flour on credit. The dampness ruined our barrel of flour.”
“The rent is long overdue, Charity,” he said more kindly. “Tell her I hope that things will go better soon.”
“Yes, Master Donk, I will tell Mama what you said,” Charity replied.
When Mama returned, she was cold and discouraged. The miller had refused to lend her any more flour until she had made a payment on the flour he had loaned her last month. After Charity gave her Master Donk’s message, Mama sighed deeply. “It’s no use,” she said wearily. “We’ll just have to close our shop and move in with Aunt Jenny.”
“But we love the shop!” Charity cried. “I don’t want to leave it.”
“It isn’t what we want to do, but what we must do,” Mama responded sadly as she walked to the back of the shop. When she saw the old man, she let out a little cry in surprise. He opened his eyes, and Mama and the Indian stared at each other.
“Mama, he was hungry and out in the storm,” Charity explained. “Oh, Mama, he’s so old, and he was very hungry.”
“And so you gave him our food.”
“Just two apple tarts and something to drink.”
“Without flour I can’t make more apple tarts,” Mama replied softly. “But you did the right thing.”
“What can we do with him when we close the shop?” Pieter asked.
“We’ll worry about that later,” Mama said. “Get down the trunks and boxes so that we can start packing, Pieter.”
Later Mama cooked a simple meal of cabbage soup. While she was dishing it up, she filled an extra bowl for the old man and gave it to Charity to take to him.
The snow fell quietly all evening, drifting against the doors and windows. At bedtime Mama said, “The Indian can sleep by the fire for the night and leave tomorrow when we do.”
“I’ll give him my extra blanket,” Charity said.
“And I’ll put more wood on the fire,” said Pieter.
In the morning, the sky was still full of whirling white snowflakes. Mama and the children found the Indian sitting in front of the fireplace, just where they had left him. Charity’s extra blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, and the shop was still cozy and warm.
“We have to try to make him understand that he must leave now,” Mama said. “We can’t close the shop and leave him in it.”
“The snow is still coming down hard,” Pieter replied. “If we let him sit here a little longer, maybe it will stop.”
Mama sighed deeply. “I was hoping he would leave when he saw us packing everything,” she said. “But I suppose he has nowhere else to go.”
The Indian looked from one face to the other, not understanding what they said. And after eating the warm food Charity brought to him, he closed his eyes again.
Soon a distant sound startled him awake. Mama and the children looked at each other, wondering what the noises could be. It sounded like people chanting or yelling.
The old Indian listened for a moment, then, with difficulty, rose to his feet and limped slowly to the door. As he opened the shop door, the sounds became very loud. A large group of Canarsee Indians were coursing through the narrow streets, shouting and calling. The old man gave a surprisingly lusty cry, and the entire group came running to the door of the shop.
Mama put her arms protectively around the children as the tiny shop filled with fur-clad Indians.
The old Indian stood among them, talking excitedly in his own language. From time to time he pointed to Mama and the children. When he finished talking, several of the younger men picked him up in their arms and carried him away.
A tall young Indian walked toward Mama and the children. “I speak your language,” he said. “My brothers and I want to thank you for caring for our chief, White Eagle. He said that you took him in out of the storm and gave him food, even though you didn’t have much for yourselves. We are grateful to you, for we love and respect our chief.
“We have come,” he continued, “to find our chief and to trade with the Dutch. We wish to give you some of our pelts. Please take them with our gratitude.”
One by one each Indian came forward and dropped some of his fur pelts on the floor in front of Mama and the children. Soon there was a large pile of valuable furs. Then the men left as quickly as they had come. The shop was empty. Mama and the children were alone.
No one spoke for a long time. Finally Mama said, “I never dreamed that he was the Canarsee chief!”
“Chief White Eagle,” Pieter murmured in a hushed voice.
“Oh, Mama!” Charity cried. “I thought he was just a poor, homeless, old man.”
Mama gave Charity a warm smile. “Your father certainly knew what he was doing when he named you Charity,” she said. She turned to Pieter. “We have work to do,” she told him. “While you and I carry some of these pelts to trade for flour, sugar, and other supplies, Charity can start unpacking. When we get back, we’ll all start baking cakes and pies again.”

The concept of being filled with light and truth became particularly important to me because of an experience I had many years ago. I attended a meeting where members of the Young Women general board taught about creating spiritually strong families and homes. To visually demonstrate this, a Young Women leader held up two soda cans. In one hand she held a can that was empty and in the other hand a can that was unopened and full of soda. First, she squeezed the empty can; it began to bend and then collapsed under the pressure. Next, with her other hand, she squeezed the unopened can. It held firm. It didn’t bend or collapse like the empty can—because it was filled.
We likened this demonstration to our individual lives and to our homes and families. When filled with the Spirit and with gospel truth, we have the power to withstand the outside forces of the world that surround and push against us. However, if we are not filled spiritually, we don’t have the inner strength to resist the outside pressures and can collapse when forces push against us.

Sister Andrea Julião, from São Paulo, Brazil, discovered that just as relationships with earthly friends grow stronger when we spend time together, our relationship with Heavenly Father becomes stronger when we focus on Him through Sabbath worship.

While visiting family who weren’t members of the Church, Sister Julião decided to wake up early Sunday and try to find a Latter-day Saint church building in the area. As her family prepared for a day of adventurous recreation, Sister Julião searched the neighborhood until she met someone who pointed out a steeple in the distance. Sister Julião was able to attend worship services. “I had the most amazing Sabbath day,” she said. “I felt Heavenly Father’s love so strongly. I felt that He enjoys when His children obey His teachings. I gained a stronger testimony of the Church of Jesus Christ.”

Thank you so much for the article “I Found Peace” in the March 1996 issue. I have been through some hard times. I went on a camp for a week, and when I came back I found out my uncle had died. I got mad at the Lord because I really loved my uncle, and I had been looking forward to seeing him the next week. But when I read that story, I knew Heavenly Father loves me and will help me deal with my uncle’s death.
Cindy SimperCanyon Country, California

“Andrew! The bus is here!” Nana called.
Andrew raced out the door. He waved goodbye to Nana, Papa, and his little sister, Amy. Amy was too little to go to school, so she stayed home with Nana and Papa.
Andrew liked school. He liked playing with his friends at recess. He liked his teacher, Ms. Kimball.
After morning recess, Ms. Kimball said, “Next week we are going to have Bring-a-Parent-to-School Day. When your parent comes, make sure they bring something from their job to show us. We’re excited to hear from them!”
Andrew’s face got hot. He didn’t have anything to say about his parents. He didn’t remember a lot about his mom. She left when he was little. And Andrew didn’t even know his dad.
Andrew listened as other kids talked about their moms and dads. Tony’s mom was a firefighter, and Jessica’s dad worked at the zoo. Everyone hoped her dad would bring a monkey or sloth to class!
“What about your parents?” Tony asked Andrew.
Andrew looked at his feet. He shrugged. “I live with my grandparents.”
Andrew loved Nana and Papa, but they didn’t have cool jobs. Nana sold blankets and baby clothes. Papa drove a big food truck. Andrew wasn’t so sure about Bring-a-Parent-to-School Day.
That night Andrew read the first chapter of the Book of Mormon: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents …” (1 Nephi 1:1).
“I don’t live with my parents,” Andrew thought. “I just live with Nana and Papa.”
Just then, Amy walked into Andrew’s room, hugging a fuzzy blanket. She held it up for Andrew to see. “Nana made!”
“Yeah, Nana made that blanket for you.” Andrew smiled a little.
He thought about all the nice things Nana did for him—making breakfast before school, helping with homework, playing games with him and Amy. Nana was a lot like a mother.
Then Andrew thought about Papa. Papa read stories to Andrew every night. He helped with homework too. He also taught Andrew how to ride a bike. Papa was a lot like a father.
Andrew’s smile got bigger. He was really grateful for Nana and Papa. He still felt nervous about bringing a grandparent to school. But it was going to be OK. “I may not have goodly parents,” he thought, “but I have goodly grandparents, and that’s something special.”
On Bring-a-Parent-to-School Day, Andrew sat with Papa in the back of the class and listened to the other kids’ parents. Tony’s mom brought her firefighter uniform. She let everyone try on her helmet. Jessica’s dad brought a turtle from the zoo.
“Your turn, Andrew,” Ms. Kimball said.
Andrew walked to the front of the class with Papa. He took a deep breath and said, “My Papa drives a big truck and delivers food. He meets lots of people, and he works really hard.”
Andrew looked up and saw Papa smiling. Then Papa talked about driving his truck. He also gave everyone a treat from his work! The kids in Andrew’s class asked Papa lots of questions about his job.
Andrew was happy to have Papa with him. He and Papa and Nana and Amy were a family—and they were a goodly one.

BOOM! BOOM!
It was three o’clock in the morning, and the city was being bombed. One minute Grace had been asleep in her bed, and the next, Dad was telling everyone to get under cover. Now Grace was huddled under the kitchen table with her dad, mom, and younger brothers, Heber and Alvin. She could hear the rumble of explosions and glass shattering outside. It was so loud!
“What’s going to happen to us?” Grace asked Dad.
Dad stroked her hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “But let’s say a prayer.”
The Vlam family held each other close.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Dad prayed, “please keep our family safe.”
After a while, the noise quieted down. There were no more explosions. They were safe!
Mom took Grace’s hand and smiled at her. “Remember when we were sealed in the temple?”
Grace nodded. When they had moved from Indonesia to Holland, they were able to stop in Utah and be sealed in the Salt Lake Temple.
“Whatever happens, God will take care of our family,” Mom said.
The next day, Grace heard air-raid sirens when she was outside on the city plaza. She looked up and saw planes above her head, with little black things falling from them. She stood there, staring, her mouth wide open.
A man started shouting at her. “Run! Those are bombs!”
Grace raced home, her heart pounding as she finally made it safely through the front door.
A few days later, the Nazis—who were the government leaders of Germany—officially took over Holland. Because Dad had been an officer in the Dutch military, the Nazi officers watched him carefully. Sometimes the Nazis took people who had been military officers as prisoners.
But that won’t happen to Dad, Grace thought. We’re members of the Church, and Dad is a leader in the mission presidency. God will protect him.
After the bombings, the Vlam family had to leave their city. One day at her new school, Grace heard other students whispering.
“Some people were taken prisoner today!”
“Will they ever come back?”
Grace was scared. Was Dad OK? She ran home as fast she could. As she burst through the door, she saw Mom in the hallway.
“Is it true?” Grace asked. “Is Dad gone?”
Mom didn’t say anything, but Grace knew from Mom’s sad eyes that Dad had been taken away. He was a prisoner of war. Grace leaned against the wall. She was too afraid to even cry.
What do we do now? she wondered.
At that moment, Grace heard a voice say, “You will see your father again.” The voice was calm and clear. Grace knew it was the voice of the Holy Ghost. It made her feel a little better.
She didn’t know exactly what would happen, but she did know that Heavenly Father would take care of her and her family.
To be continued …

Kiva: A Pueblo Indian ceremonial structure that is usually round and partly underground.
“When is your uncle Tanolo going to take you into the kiva?” Little Brown Bear asked. “I am four moons younger than you, yet I was taken into our kiva this day.”
Acuma pulled his rabbit robe closer around his shoulders and sat huddled by the fire, watching the smoke curl upward to add more blackness to the sooty ceiling of the big cave.
“I don’t know,” he said sadly. “I have done everything I am supposed to do.”
“A boy must prove he is now a man before he can enter a kiva,” Little Brown Bear continued. “Have you gone on a hunt?”
“Oh, yes. We stalked the deer through snow and drove him to the edge of our flat mountain. It was my arrow that brought meat to our fire.”
Little Brown Bear shook his head. “I cannot understand. Surely Tanolo is not so cruel that he would tease you.”
Acuma shrugged but did not answer. He had done everything that was required. He knew the legends, his arrow points were well made, he could make fiber from the yucca plant and weave it into heavy sandals, and he could shoot a straight arrow. All these things his cousin from the big cave village had done too, and this day he had been taken into the kiva.
This was an honor for which every Indian boy lived. Yet Acuma could not go. His father said he was well prepared, but Tanolo would not take him. An Indian boy could not be taken to the kiva by his father. At birth an uncle is chosen to be his teacher, and it is this uncle who must take him to the kiva, where he will go through the rituals to become a man.
Acuma glanced at his cousin, wishing Little Brown Bear could tell him what had happened down in the kiva in his own village. But, of course, it was a secret.
When Little Brown Bear left for his own cave village, Acuma jumped up and called his brown dog. He threw off the rabbit blanket. He would be running and his body would warm on this winter day.
“I will not shed tears like that foolish Popeta,” he exclaimed, and he dashed off to chase rabbits. Maybe he would kill one with his throwing stick and show his uncle how skilled he was. Acuma’s dog romped along beside him as they scrambled down the side of the canyon to the creek below.
Then he stopped in surprise. Popeta was filling a water jug to carry back up the steep canyon wall to the cave. She seemed small although she was his own age. Her father could not till his cornfield properly because of a lame leg, so the family did not have enough to eat. And because the father could not run fast, he could not kill enough rabbits to make new blankets. The one over Popeta’s shivering shoulders was badly worn.
“You wear no blanket,” Popeta said in surprise, her teeth chattering. “It is cold.”
Acuma squared his brown shoulders. “I am a man, and I do not feel the cold,” he boasted. “I shall run and catch a rabbit for our dinner.” He started off.
Popeta lifted the heavy water jug. As she did so, the blanket fell from her shoulders. Immediately the brown dog grabbed it in his teeth and raced off, dragging it through the thorny bushes.
“Come back, come back!” Popeta cried out. “It is my only blanket.” She spun angrily on Acuma. “Your horrible dog has stolen my blanket. Go get it.”
Then her shivering grew worse and she began to cry as she climbed the canyon wall with the water jug on her head.
Acuma tried to find the dog, but it had raced down the canyon, dragging the blanket. He could see torn scraps hanging on bushes.
“It is no good now anyhow,” he said as he raced along, feeling warm. Soon he threw his curved stick at a rabbit and proudly carried the dead animal home.
“We already have meat for stew, my son,” his mother said while she stirred something in a clay pot over the fire. “You are a great hunter, and my heart is proud. But why not give it to one who has none?”
Acuma strolled over to Popeta’s fire. “Here, you will have meat.”
She thanked him, then asked, “Did you find my blanket? Without it I will have nothing to warm me tonight.”
Acuma shrugged. “No, I could not find it.”
He forgot about Popeta as he ate his hearty stew that night and sat huddled by the fire, his own warm blanket over his shoulders.
During the night he awoke feeling cold and pulled the rabbit fur blanket up closer. Somewhere he could hear crying.
It is probably that foolish Popeta, he thought. She always cries.
The next day he could not see her by her fire. “She is not well,” his mother said. “She needs food and warm blankets. But I have none to spare.”
Too bad, Acuma thought carelessly and ran off. But every now and then he remembered her crying.
“It is the fault of my dog,” he grumbled to himself. And the more he thought about it, the less he enjoyed the games he played with his friends.
That night he could not sleep. Finally he got up and went to the small dark room behind the cave where Popeta slept.
“Here is my blanket,” he said. “Use it.”
“But it is not yours to give,” she said in surprise.
“I will lend it,” Acuma said, and he hurried back to his room. He was shivering. How cold it was! He found an old feather blanket that was so worn it could not cover him well. But if he curled up in a tight ball in the very corner of his room, the blanket kept out a little of the cold. Popeta had been right—he could not give away his blanket, since all things in the family belonged to the mother. Though he used it, the blanket was his mother’s property.
Then I must make Popeta one, he decided.
For many days his friends called him to play games, but he could not because he was hunting rabbits. He had no idea it took so many to make a blanket. He gave the meat either to his mother or to Popeta, and he sat late into the night cleaning and tanning the skins. He sighed wearily. There was so much work and no fun. At times he was tempted to quit, but remembering Popeta’s tears during that cold night kept him going.
And the few hours he slept, he was always cold. He longed for his own rabbit fur blanket again.
After he had collected enough skins, he had to make many, many arrow points—the very best he could. Then he hurried to his cousin’s village, to the Blanket Maker.
“I will give you these fine arrow points if you will make me a blanket,” he said. “But I must have it quickly. The nights get colder and snow is now on the ground.”
Soon the blanket was finished and Acuma took it to Popeta. “This is yours. It should keep you warm.”
Popeta handed him back his own. “You are kind and it is a beautiful blanket. You have brought us so much meat that I am well. My mother and father do not feel hunger either.”
“I shall see that you have meat in your pot,” Acuma said in embarrassment, then hurried to his own campfire.
That night his uncle came to him.
“When the morning sun rises, you will come with me. It is time for you to enter the kiva to learn the things that will make you a man.”
Acuma’s heart leaped With joy. “I am pleased, my uncle. But tell me, why have you chosen the time as now? For these many moons I have been ready—knowing the making of arrow points, yucca fiber, and the hunt.”
“But the one thing you did not know, my son, you have learned,” Tanolo replied. “A boy plays and gives no thought to others. A man gives up his playing when there is work to be done. Because your dog caused misery to another, you did what was your duty to do, and you did it without complaint. I have watched you and my heart is proud. You shall be known as Acuma, the one who has the heart of a man, though his body is still that of a boy.”

What took a short six months to destroy took years to rebuild. For the next full year I worked very hard to prove to the good kids that I was one of them. Every time I thought I had succeeded my past would come back to haunt me.
The summer after I was in tenth grade our girls’ church basketball team won the regional play-offs. We would be going to the area play-offs 1,000 miles away. We would be traveling with the boys’ team that won the regionals. I couldn’t believe what my coach said about me after that trip. She said that when we left home she had been sure she’d be sending me home early. After all she’d heard about me, she was just sure that I would get into some kind of trouble. She said she was surprised and pleased to discover that I was the best-behaved girl on the trip. I couldn’t believe it! I realized people were still judging me by the friends I’d had over a year ago. I’d never done any of the things people were saying I’d done in the past, but because of the people I’d associated with, the places I’d been seen, and the way I had dressed, everyone assumed I’d done the same awful things my friends had! I was guilty by association. Everywhere I went people were watching, testing me, judging me—all because of some choices I’d made in the past. It was so unfair, yet something I had to live with. You can’t fix a ruined reputation overnight.