Panic welled within me as I stared at the blank paper on my desk. It was early 1994 and I was a second semester Cow cadet.* If I didn’t pass this crucial exam, I would be released from the Academy. It would end a dream that began when I was 12 years old watching the gray-uniformed West Point cadets on parade. Many of my family were service connected, including my father, a U.S. Merchant Marine Academy graduate, and my older brother, an Air Force officer. As I admired the West Pointers wheel and drill in smart precision, I could think of nothing finer than becoming an Army officer.
But I had failed English in the first semester of my Cow year. As a result, I had to take the class over again on top of my other required courses. My whole grade would be based on this essay.
On the surface the test appeared simple: Write an argumentative essay in three hours. But it had to be letter-perfect, not only cogent and well-reasoned, but grammatically error-free. One word misspelled or one comma misplaced meant failure.
I felt utterly hopeless. Then suddenly I thought of my black rabbit, Chocolate. She had been gone for four years, yet here she was in my memory when I needed her most. It had been through that bunny that I found my ever-present help in time of trouble.
Chocolate came into my life when I felt most hopeless. As a child I had a severe reading problem. In kindergarten I had had difficulty with phonetics; I could not sound out syllables.
To help me learn, Mom got a set of flash cards, and every day after school, she sat down with me. On each card was a different letter. Mom mixed up the cards, then gave me one and waited. While tracing my finger on the letter, I strained to pronounce the correct sound. Many times I threw down the card in tearful frustration.
By second grade I was in deep trouble. Mom and my teacher decided to have me tutored during the summer. I was mortified. Twice a week I went for one hour while my friends were having fun outside. At age eight I hated struggling with reading material for six-year-olds. At the same time, my older brother and two sisters were proudly bringing home award certificates from our public library for the most books read during the summer. I felt even more inadequate and inferior.
My Sunday school teacher told us about Jesus and said we could pray to him for help. But to me he wasn’t much more than a saintly-looking man in robe and sandals outlined on paper I could color. My pleas to him never seemed to rise past my bedroom ceiling.
My most agonizing time came in fourth grade. It didn’t seem to matter that I was great at math and better than anyone else in athletics. When I had to read aloud, I stumbled over words, and my classmates snickered. They jeered when I was sent to the “dumb people’s” room four days a week for reading help.
One of my reading helpers was a nice older woman, Mrs. Kahn. She was patient as I stumbled along. The book I read had more pictures than words. Though only 60 pages, it took me the entire school year to finish it.
Mom tried her best to distract me from my crushingly negative self-image with numerous incentives, such as gifts of stickers, music cassettes and other trinkets. Even though I was beginning to improve, I still stumbled over words and came home in tears, feeling worthless and rejected. And despite learning more about Jesus, I still couldn’t picture him as a real person, one who was always there to love and accept me.
Mom knew I loved rabbits. My room was crowded with stuffed, glass and ceramic bunnies. “Tiffany,” she said one afternoon, “I think the time has come for you to have a live rabbit.” I was thrilled when we drove to a local farm where some mother cottontails had given birth.
Ecstatic, I knelt among the lively balls of fur. Some scurried from me, but a black one with velvetlike ears nestled in my arms. Her warm dark eyes looked up at me trustingly. I was captivated. Burying my face in her soft fur, I whispered, “Chocolate, I love you.”
Dad put Chocolate’s cage in a dry spot under our porch, and she became my close friend and companion. Returning from school, I dashed under the porch to scoop up Chocolate. Her warm, nuzzling acceptance soon had me feeling whole again. She didn’t care if I stumbled over words.
“Chocolate,” I murmured, holding her close, “you love me just as I am.”
In caring for her I learned other lessons. She taught me daily responsibilities—feeding, watering, and cleaning her cage. In fact, our bond became so close that when I was sick or away, she would not eat until I returned. I was touched by how much she trusted me.
As I continued learning about Jesus in Sunday school, I began to understand that he accepted me just as Chocolate did—unconditionally. As a result, I found myself wholeheartedly placing my trust in him. I knew he heard my prayers and wanted the best for me. I knew he loved me in a way I could never imagine, even more than I loved Chocolate. And as Chocolate trusted me, I came to trust Jesus as my guide and helper.
My confidence and self-worth soared, and my reading ability improved dramatically. The more I pictured Jesus helping me, the more I progressed. By the time I was a high school senior I was doing well enough to apply for admission to West Point.
One November morning when I went to feed Chocolate, I found her cold and still. But I believed she had accomplished her mission by then.
So as I sat at my desk in that West Point lecture room, I turned away from my fears and again put my trust in Jesus, knowing he was at my side to help and to guide me. He wanted the best for me. I confidently started writing my essay.
Two excruciating days of waiting followed. Then on my computer I received an e-mail message from my English professor. It seemed to glow with extra brilliance. I had passed!
On June 3, 1995, I stood with my fellow graduates in West Point’s Michie Stadium, my white-gloved hand raised, taking the oath to defend my country as an officer in the United States Army. What assignments, crises or challenges lay ahead, I did not know. But I stood with confidence, certain that the one who had been at my side during the exam would continue to sustain and guide me through whatever came.
Then, as “Class dismissed!” rang out, we graduates threw our caps into the air in jubilation. I flung mine as high as I could—in honor of our Lord and all the others who helped me, including a rabbit named Chocolate.
