Chapter 1

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DEDICATION For every child who has ever been the new one. You belong. You are welcome. You are home.

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Nura pressed her nose against the car window and watched the old houses slide by. Everything looked different here. The trees were taller. The streets were wider. Even the sky seemed like a different shade of blue.

"Almost there!" said Mama from the front seat, her voice bright like she was trying to sprinkle happiness into the car.

Nura didn't feel happy. She felt like a puzzle piece that had been picked up from one box and dropped into another where nothing fit.

Back home in Riverside, she had known every family at the Bahá'í center. She knew where to sit during prayers. She knew which aunties made the best rice, and which uncles told the funniest stories.

"You know," said Baba, glancing in the mirror, "tonight is the first night of the month of Knowledge. There's a Feast."

"Already?" Nura's stomach did a little flip. A Nineteen Day Feast meant meeting everyone. New people. New faces. New everything.

"It'll be wonderful," said Mama. "The friends here have been so welcoming already."

Nura hugged her stuffed lion, Courage, a little tighter. Mama had named him that on purpose. "When you need to be brave," she'd said when she gave it to Nura on her fifth birthday, "just remember that courage is already inside you."

Nura hoped Mama was right. Because tonight, she was going to need a lot of courage.

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Nura stood in front of the mirror in her new bedroom. Boxes were still stacked everywhere, but Mama had found her favorite dress — the blue one with tiny white stars.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart," said Mama, helping her with the buttons.

“In the words of the late Lord Bryce, ‘If you don’t end war, war will end you.’” “Poor Europe is in a state of neurasthenia…”, is the testimony of one of the most outstanding figures among its present-day dictators.” Nura whispered.

Mama knelt down so they were eye to eye. "Do you know what Bahá'u'lláh says about being a stranger?"

Nura shook her head.

“Discoveries of the real will become more and more possible, and the influence of divine guidance will be increasingly recognized.”

"That... they'll be friendly?"

"It means that the people at Feast tonight are already thinking of you as their friend, even before they've met you. That's what Bahá'ís try to do."

Nura thought about this. It was like the garden story from children's class — how every flower belongs in the garden, even new ones that just got planted.

Baba appeared in the doorway wearing his nice shirt. "Ready, my brave girl?"

Nura picked up Courage the lion. Then she put him down on the bed. If courage was already inside her, maybe she didn't need to carry it in her arms.

"Ready," she said.

The Feast was being held at a home just ten minutes away. As they drove, Nura could see the sun setting, painting the sky orange and pink. In the Bahá'í calendar, the new day begins at sunset. So this sunset was the very beginning of the Feast.

"A new day," said Baba softly, "and a new beginning."

Nura took a deep breath. New beginnings could be scary. But they could also be wonderful.

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The door of the house opened before they even knocked. A woman with a wide smile and silver-streaked hair stood there.

"You must be the Karimi family! Welcome, welcome! I'm Mrs. Tehrani. We've been so excited to meet you!"

She ushered them inside where the warm smell of spices and fresh bread wrapped around Nura like a hug. The living room was arranged with chairs and cushions in a circle, and about thirty people were already there — families with kids, teenagers, grandparents.

A boy about Nura's age with red hair and freckles waved from across the room. Nura gave a tiny wave back.

"Let's begin," said a man with a calm voice. He explained that the first part of Feast was the devotional portion — time for prayers and readings from the Bahá'í writings.

"O my God! O my God! Unite the hearts of Thy servants, and reveal to them Thy great purpose."

Nura knew this prayer. She had learned it in children's class back home. The words were the same. The feeling was the same — like a warm light filling up the room.

Then a girl, maybe nine years old, stood up and sang a prayer. Her voice was clear and sweet, and Nura felt her nervousness begin to melt away like ice cream on a summer day.

More people read prayers. A teenager read one about being like a candle that gives its light to others. A little boy, no older than four, recited a short prayer he had memorized. Everyone smiled when he got to the end and said "Done!" with a proud grin.

Nura realized something. Even though she didn't know anyone here yet, the prayers made her feel connected. It was like they were all holding the same invisible thread.

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After the prayers, the room shifted. People moved their chairs, poured tea, and the mood became more lively.

"Now comes the consultation," whispered Mama. "This is where the community talks about what's happening and makes plans together."

A man introduced himself as the chairperson of the Local Spiritual Assembly. "Welcome, everyone, especially our new friends the Karimi family!"

Everyone clapped and Nura felt her cheeks go warm. But it was a good kind of warm.

The community talked about many things. There was a children's class that needed a new teacher. There was a neighborhood clean-up day coming up. Someone shared that an elderly neighbor who wasn't Bahá'í had been sick, and they consulted about how to help.

Nura watched carefully. Nobody argued. Nobody raised their voice. When someone had an idea, the others listened. When they disagreed, they did it gently.

The red-haired boy's mother said, "What if we bring her meals each day? Different families could take turns."

"That's a lovely idea," said someone else. "And maybe the children's class could make her get-well cards."

Nura perked up. She loved making cards.

"The Feast is where we come together," Mama whispered to Nura. "We pray together, we plan together, and we take care of each other."

It reminded Nura of the way Baba always said that the Bahá'í community was like a family. Not just the people who lived in your house, but everyone who was trying to build a better world together.

At the end of the consultation, the chairperson asked if anyone else had anything to share. Baba stood up and said, "We're grateful to be here. Nura was nervous about meeting everyone, but I think she's going to love it here."

Nura wished she could disappear into the cushion. But then something amazing happened. The red-haired boy called out, "We're glad you're here, Nura!" and everyone laughed and clapped again. And this time, Nura laughed too.

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The best part — well, one of the best parts — came last. The social portion.

Tables appeared from nowhere (or at least it seemed that way to Nura), and suddenly there was food everywhere. Not just one kind of food, but food from all over the world.

There was Persian rice with crispy tahdig from Mrs. Tehrani. There were Nigerian meat pies from the Adeyemi family. There was American mac and cheese from the Johnsons. There were Mexican tamales from the Garcias. And there was sweet, flaky baklava that the red-haired boy's family had made.

"I'm Sam," said the red-haired boy, appearing at Nura's elbow. "Want to sit with me and my friends?"

Before Nura could answer, two more kids appeared — a girl named Amara with beautiful braids, and a boy named Jin who was already eating his second tamale.

"Do you like soccer?" asked Sam.

"Yes!" said Nura.

"Do you like drawing?" asked Amara.

"I love drawing!"

"Do you like tamales?" asked Jin, holding one out to her.

Nura laughed. "I've never tried one!"

"Oh, you have to," said Jin very seriously. "They'll change your life."

They all sat together, eating and talking and laughing. Amara told Nura about the children's class they all went to on Sundays. Sam told her about the service project they were planning — planting a community garden. Jin mostly told her about food.

As the evening went on, Nura realized something wonderful. The nervous knot in her stomach was gone. In its place was a warm, full feeling — and not just from the tamales.

"Having fun?" asked Mama, passing by with a plate of baklava.

Nura nodded. "Mama, it feels like home already."

Mama's eyes went shiny the way they did when she was extra happy. "That's because it is, sweetheart. Wherever Bahá'ís gather with love, that's home."

On the way back to their new house, with the stars just coming out and the streetlights glowing warm, Nura thought about everything. The prayers that made her feel connected. The consultation where everyone cared. The food from every corner of the world. And her new friends.

When she got to her room, she picked up Courage the lion and placed him on the bookshelf.

"I don't think I need to hold on to you anymore," she said. "I found courage all by myself tonight."

Then she added, "But I'm keeping you anyway. Because everyone needs a friend. Even a brave girl."

Outside her window, the stars sparkled like tiny pieces of light scattered across the sky. Each one different, each one bright, all of them making the night beautiful together.

Just like a garden. Just like a Feast. Just like a family.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Crimson Ark Publishing creates stories for children and families that celebrate the spiritual principles shared by all the world's great religions. Our stories explore themes of unity, friendship, courage, and building community — inspired by the Bahá'í teachings.