At The Crossroads

He stood at the crossroads all alone,  The sunlight in his face;  He had no thought for an evil course,  He was set for a manly race.  But the road stretched east and the  road stretched west,  And he did not know which road  was the best;  So he took the wrong road and it lead  him down,  And he lost the race and the  victor's crown.  He was caught at last in an  angry snare  Because no one stood at the  crossroads there  To show him the better road.  Another day at the self-same place  A boy with high hopes stood;  He, too, was set for a manly race  He was seeking the things that  were good.  And one was there who the roads  did know,  And that one showed him the  way to go;  So he turned away from the road  leading down,  And he won the race and the  victor's crown;  He walks today on the highways fair  Because one stood at the  crossroads there  To show him a better road.  -Sadie Tiller Crawley Last Sunday our sacrament meeting program was put on by the scouting organization and young men's presidency. In one of the discourses this poem was shared and it touched me. It brought to remembrance my own youth and the people that have stood at the crossroads during critical points in my life. There is one man in particular, serving as the young men's president at the time, who had an immeasurable impact on the direction my life would take. I was at a juncture in my life where I needed to develop my own testimony, or risk falling away from the gospel. Living on the borrowed light of my parents was no longer an option, and each day of doubt found me a little further away from the Savior. During this time of spiritual difficulty and indecision I became apathetic toward the church. I failed to take my priesthood duties seriously and began to volunteer to work on Sundays. I made poor choices in everything from music to friends and found myself slowly slipping away from safe harbor. I stood, as it were, on the edge of a knife and all it would have taken is a slight push in the wrong direction for my life to unravel. That push came one cold December night when I was 16 years old. That fateful evening at a ward function, I had a disagreement with the bishopric. While the particulars are no longer important, it is enough to say that I felt I had been wronged, and left the function in anger. I allowed that anger to surge within me, reveling in the betrayal I felt had occurred at the hands of these figures of ecclesiastical authority. How could I believe in a church whose authority figures I couldn't trust? I felt the light of testimony extinguishing within me. Cold darkness was displacing the warmth I had once felt. Little did I know that at that very moment, the Lord had already dispatched one of his shepherds to rescue me. This dear young men's president, anxious for my wellbeing and fearing the damage caused might be irreparable, was prompted to leave his family at the ward function and come in search of me. I'm sure it would have been easy to brush aside his prompting. He could have rationalized that it was not his place, or that waiting a few days might be best. He could have given the excuse that he needed to stay with his family or that my parents should be the ones to go, but the Lord had called him to aid one of His children in desperate need and this humble servant would not betray that sacred trust. He got in his car and spent hours driving around the town where we lived trying to find me. Eventually after a long search he did find me, and that incident marked a turning point for me. Our relationship would never be the same again. I felt this was a man I could trust. His love and concern for me were palpable and even though I didn't recognize it then, I came to realize later that what I felt emanating from this good man was the pure love of the Savior. I knew without a doubt that this brother would never give up on me, that he would walk into the very jaws of hell if necessary to rescue me from danger. The Spirit touched my heart that night and softened it, not because of what this brother said to me, but because of his example and what I felt in his presence. By the power of the priesthood he parried a terrible blow the adversary had aimed at one of his young charges. My spiritual wounds began to heal after that night. I began to participate more fully in the activities of the church. I started to pray and study the scriptures. I was even given a calling that provided opportunities for growth and service. During this whole time, my faithful friend was always there to offer positive encouragement. In fact, I don't ever recall hearing a critical word fall from his lips, though my actions and attitude no doubt merited criticism on occasion. He truly understood that, "No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned; By kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile." (D&C 121: 41-42) Because he was there at the crossroads when I needed guidance, I was able to make course corrections in my life. I was privileged to receive my endowment and serve the people of Argentina as a full time missionary. I was blessed to marry my sweetheart in the temple for time and all eternity. Because he honored his priesthood and loved the Lord enough to reach out to a wayward youth, my life is so different from what it could have been. So thank you my friend for your Christ-like service. Thank you for being worthy and willing to heed a prompting of the Spirit. I will forever be grateful to you.