Researching And Writing a Children's Book about the Navajo Code Talkers remains one of the most meaningful experiences of my life. More than any project I've been involved in before or since, a unity of spirit among writer, artist, and our subject seemed to propel and protect the creative process, no matter what the obstacle. The privilege of chronicling the quiet strength and modesty of these World War II veterans has truly been a "gift that keeps on giving."

Six years after the book's launch, the illustrator, Julie Miner, and I are still frequently invited to schools to share what we learned on the Navajo Reservation. Just recently, on September 24, I joined other authors as a guest of the Mayor of New York during the city's annual book week and presented The Unbreakable Code to the city's public schools.

I first learned about the code, which was used for the Allied Forces' Pacific island invasions and never broken by the Japanese, as an undergraduate at Dartmouth College. Dartmouth's commitment to recruit Native American students enriched my life in many ways, especially through the friendships I made with students such as Cathy and Heather Wilson, members of the Nez Percé tribe. Heather was the most colorful storyteller I've ever met. She knew the story of the Code Talkers and shared it with me before their heroism was renowned. Years later, when she was ill, I asked her to write it down. She demurred with the same modesty as the Navajos I would later interview, claiming I was the writer. Throughout the writing of the book, we enjoyed terrific visits as she helped me with background research and her unquenchable enthusiasm.

Heather passed on shortly before the book was published, but she knew it was dedicated to her. Her parents and her sister, Cathy, now a lawyer with the Bureau of Indian Affairs, remain among the book's biggest fans.

As a teacher and children's book writer, I knew kids loved codes and that a story based on historical fact, which included the actual code, would be compelling. While some ideas sit quietly in thought before nudging to be written down, this one clamored for attention. Listening for God's direction in my creative endeavors is something I've made a habit of doing. In this case, I felt as though God was pushing me out the door; so I obeyed and booked a trip to the Navajo Reservation with Julie Miner, another college classmate.

Based on Julie's previous work as an illustrator, we secured the interest of a New York publisher. A week prior to departure, I still had no contacts to interview. I had read everything there was to read about the Navajos and their code—which, in 1994, wasn't much. They had not yet been recognized by Presidents or been celebrated with Congressional medals or a Hollywood action film (Windtalkers, released earlier this year). My commitment to tell their story led me to pray about how to connect with the Navajo community. As I sat on our stone wall at home, praying while I watched my own children ride bikes in the driveway, the thought came simply and clearly to call the elementary school on the reservation.

The elementary school receptionist in Chinle, Arizona, responded with friendly surprise to my request. She said, "It just so happens our third-grade teacher, Mary Ann Goodluck, is a daughter of one of the Code Talkers, and she's walking by right now!" One week later, Julie and I stood in Mary Ann's classroom, working with her third graders, asking what they knew about the code, and collecting their suggestions for our book. She introduced us to her father and some of his fellow Code Talkers. In addition, she gave me the phone number of Carl Gorman, who, with his family, would become an important influence in my life.

Carl, who was among the first to enlist in the Marines' top-secret mission in May 1942, was the oldest and most well known of the original 29 inventors of the code. Although he had plenty of reasons to be bitter, he was the happiest human being I've ever met.

His insistence on speaking his native language as a little boy while at a government-mandated boarding school had landed him in chains underneath the school infirmary. The irony of the government's later urgent need for this same language was not lost on Carl, but his response was a smile and the willingness to defend Our Mother (the Navajo code word for America). Like many of the more than four hundred Navajo Code Talkers, he returned home to anonymity and the same job discrimination he'd left before the war—not allowed to share the code until 1969, when it was declassified.

The Gormans invited Julie and me to attend the monthly Code Talker Association meeting, which happened to be taking place the night I arrived in Arizona. (The timing of our visit, like my call to the elementary school, could be seen as luck. But it never felt that way. Each step of the research process felt orderly, directed, and divinely impelled—the way smoothed by unselfish motives on everyone's part.) The Navajo veterans and their spouses were polite and kind. They liked the idea of having a book to share with their grandchildren. Several said it would help when they were invited to speak at schools.

The real icebreaker, though, turned out to be Julie's illustrated version of the 23rd Psalm (The Shepherd's Song, Dial Books for Young Readers, 1993, now out of print). We'd brought a copy with us. This group of Navajo elders had all tended sheep as children. One by one, they passed the book along, eagerly studying the illustrations. I'll never forget the softening of Nina Begay's face as she pointed to a mischievous sheep wandering off the path. "I had one just like that!" she exclaimed.

From that point on, our credibility was assured. I invited each family to sign up for breakfast, lunch, or dinner to share their stories with us. For one week, Julie and I camped out at the Navajo Nation Inn in Window Rock, Arizona, with the tape recorder running and Julie busily sketching.

Most impressive to me were the grace and serenity of men who had been mistreated and subjected to many hardships throughout their lives. When asked about the horrors of war, they would often make a sweeping motion over their shoulders and shake their heads. As one man said, "That is better left back there. I would not want to pollute my home or anyone's thoughts with those pictures." Several said they refused to pollute their homes with mental images of destruction and death once they had returned to their homeland.

The New York editor who had originally been interested in the manuscript rejected it. She found the lack of bitterness on the part of the Code Talkers unconvincing. Once again, Julie and I prayed. After several trips to the reservation, our commitment to the project and to the people had only deepened.

We both gravitated to a statement in a book that we turn to as an ideas-for-living sourcebook, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures by Mary Baker Eddy. She wrote: "Right motives give pinions to thought, and strength and freedom to speech and action.... Wait patiently for divine Love to move upon the waters of mortal mind, and form the perfect concept." (p. 454)

During this time, Julie was given the name of a southwestern publisher to contact. In our first meeting, the editor confirmed the authenticity of our impressions. She understood the quiet strength, humility, and the lack of vengefulness of the people we had interviewed.

Although I was confident we had connected with the right publisher, I heard nothing about the manuscript for several months. One winter day I decided to stop waiting for the phone to ring and take a gratitude trip back to the home of the writer Louisa May Alcott in Concord, Massachusetts. It was there, as an eight-year-old, I'd decided I wanted to be a writer. As I looked again at the simple writing desk facing the window toward Walden Pond, I remembered with gratitude that first visit and my strong inklings of how wonderful it would be to share stories with children. When I returned home, there was a phone message. The Unbreakable Code had been accepted.

Two additional obstacles occurred further along in the creative process. Based on customer surveys, The Ubreakable Code was originally slated for a minimal paperback run of about 5,000 copies. Again I prayed to know what to do or say. I didn't want to push the publisher beyond what made good business sense, but I felt strongly that this was a project that needed its appropriate expression. I will always be grateful to the marketing director for humbly listening to my reasoning and readjusting the initial release to 10,000 hardcover copies. The book is still in hardcover and selling strongly (a total of 35,000 copies to date).

I learned that protecting cherished ideas doesn't stop when they enter the marketplace. Like children, they need to be tended. Two years after the book launched to favorable reviews, I felt impelled to update my antiquated office systems by gaining Internet access. My first double-click was on Amazon.com, where I discovered that a book with the same title, on the same subject matter, for teens, was scheduled for release in a few months by a major publisher. After my initial horror, I stopped to say thank you to God for revealing this information before the book had been printed. It took just one firm letter from my agent for that book's publisher to apologize and change the title prior to production.

I couldn't be more grateful for how I've felt shepherded throughout my involvement with this project. It has cemented my faith in God as the one Mind governing all of us and our activities. And because a published work continues to grow as new readers discover it, this project has continued to provide friends, career opportunites, and inspiration. I know a lot of people value their paintings of Native Americans done by the Navajo artist, RC Gorman. My pride and joy is a sketch of two Navajos on horseback drawn for me by his father, Carl Gorman, on a restaurant placemat. I look at it often during the day and think about something Carl once said in a speech: "We believe that everything originates in thought. That the power of thought is real, for good or evil, and that good thoughts, pure thoughts, thoughts pure as corn pollen, pure as dewdrops, will maintain harmony, health, and happiness. To keep the Hogan, the Navajo home, swept clean is the same as the need to keep the mind swept clean."