A Page for Boys

Ages 10-13

Last issue we wrote:

We’re going to try to make this column interesting to you (that is, the people who this is addressed to), so we will welcome any suggestions you might have. In fact, we’re hoping you will answer some questions that we’ve written below.

What shall our motto be? Part of our purpose is to be like the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:33). This includes learning to sacrifice ourselves to help others in need…. Look in the Bible for good mottos.
We need a title. Should this be called an association? A squad? A club?
Do you have any particular topics that you want to discuss? Anything else?

We would like to hear from more of you, but so far these replies have been given for questions 1 and 2:

My suggestion is: “I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.”* (Psalm 91:2)
I suggest we call it a club.

By the way, the answer to last issue’s quiz was Ezra.

For the next several issues we plan to print (in sections) an abridged form of the story The Pilot’s Voice.

The Pilot’s Voice: Part 1

Isabel C. Byrum

Down the dusty road in the gathering shadows, a lad of sixteen summers hurried along. His brow was drawn in deep thought, and a close observer could have detected a look of unrest and guilt. At the crossroads he paused, then, to save time, he turned to cross the fields and, at length, came to a stream.

When he stepped upon the foot-log that crossed it, a strange feeling of fear and dread swept over him. The voice of his conscience was speaking and warning him of danger if he continued on the path he had taken. He remembered his good mother’s teaching that he should let Jesus pilot him in this voyage of life. She had urged him this very night not to go meet his friend, but he had not listened.

“Byron!” she had said sorrowfully, “I am afraid that if you continue in your plans tonight you will fall into company that will do you harm!”

“I’m not going to be a sissy any longer,” he had said scornfully, and walked resolutely out the gate. But he could not forget his mother’s parting words:

“Remember, I shall pray for you tonight.”

A week before, Byron had arranged this meeting with James, a boy a year older than he, with whom he had been associating for the past few months. From the first meeting Byron’s mother had not liked the shiftlessness and worldly-wisdom that she saw in James. She had warned him against it:

“The world, Byron, is as an ocean that we must spend our mortal life upon. God has given us the choosing of our course, but we can only make it safely by following His guidebook, the Bible. His Holy Spirit would pilot us through our conscience and protect us from the dangers. My daily prayer is that you may become a good Christian man, but a friendship with evil-doers will influence you in the wrong direction.”

Byron really wanted to be a noble and useful man in the world. He tried to make himself believe that James was not so bad, and that his mother was just too careful. He soon pushed aside her warning and began to plan how he could have secret meetings with James.

It so worked out that Byron often visited his cousin Sunday afternoons, so James began meeting the two boys down by the river. Here they could talk, fish, or swim unnoticed. James often told daring and exciting stories and encouraged them to disregard their godly upbringing. “How can you ever become brave and strong with such tame living?” he questioned. “Your mother is a good woman, Byron, but you need to be able to think for yourself.” Byron soon began to regard the worship-hour at home as dull and lifeless compared to the fun times he had with James.

Sometime later, when the three boys were together, James brought out a pack of cards. “Here is a good game that you boys will want to learn,” he said, as he began dealing the cards.

“I’d better not play,” Byron said quickly, remembering his mother’s warning about card playing. “I’m afraid my mother will find it out.”

“Ah, grow up a little,” James chided. “It’s about time you were learning these things.” After a few more remarks about how Byron’s mother would never find out, the boys agreed to learn. The afternoon flew by as they played game after game, one or the other of the cousins being allowed to win each time.

“Wasn’t that fun?” James said as they parted. “We only live once, so we might as well get all the enjoyment out of it that we can.”

The next time the boys met near the river, an older boy named George was there also. This time, as they played the game, Byron began to learn many tricks to take advantage of the others, and, though his conscience spoke to him about what he was getting into, he ignored it.

“Now, let’s put more life in it,” James said, after a time. “We can each put up some money for stakes.” Byron recoiled at the thought of gambling, but his objections were roughly made fun of. Finally, to avoid the shame and ridicule, Byron added the few coins he had, and the game began.

Each boy tried his best to win, but it was George that took the coin pile. James suggested that more money should be used, to which George readily agreed. “Yes, the more money the better. I’ve often found some lying around, and, if I’m careful, I can get some now and then.”

“And Byron, here, could easily lay aside a few of their farm eggs,” James said. “They could be secretly sold and his mother would never miss them.” Shocked to find himself a companion of thieves, Byron shrank from the deceitful plan. He remembered how, as a little boy, he had tried to deceive his mother and get out of work.

He and his sister had been sent out to plant beans. Soon growing weary of the job, Byron had suggested putting a couple seeds in each hole. This they did, and the number soon grew to four or five. However, when they heard the dinner bell ring, there were still quite a few left, so they found a stump, and buried the rest there, thinking it would never be found. It was only a week later when the seeds began to sprout. His older brother noticed where two or more seeds were coming up together, and, going over the field, found the stump, where a whole thicket of little bean sprouts were. He asked Byron what had happened, and Byron confessed what they had done. After their mother had been told, and they had been disciplined, she had said, “Evil deeds will sooner or later bear a harvest of bad things.”

“Boys,” said Byron, with feeling, “if that wouldn’t be stealing, I don’t know what would, and I never want to be a thief.” Again Byron’s words were met with jeering. The eggs were just pay for all the work he did, James reasoned, but Byron’s thoughts were still troubled as he headed for home.

While working in the field the next morning, Byron thought over what James had said. He felt that he was old enough to judge and reason for himself, but the warnings of his mother stood before him. He knew that he would be doing the exact same sins she had taught him against.

As he passed through the barn at noon, a white hen scurried out from beneath a manger. Seeing the three eggs that lay there, Byron hesitated. Looking around, he reached out to take the eggs, but they seemed to burn him. But the thought of being ridiculed and termed a coward made him quickly grasp them. He climbed up in the loft and soon had them hidden beneath some hay.

Byron attempted to continue on as if nothing had happened, but his conscience pricked hard. Continually the voice urged him to turn from wrong and return the stolen eggs. But the thought of the boy’s ridicule won out, and the eggs were left in the loft and more added to them.

It was not long until Byron had a basketful of eggs, and when going to grind grain for his mother, he stopped by the store to sell them. As he passed by the gambling table at the door, a scene seemed to arise in Byron’s mind. The four hard-faced men on boxes, intent on winning the pile of money, became the four young men playing for nickels on the river bank. In both he saw the same lines of sin, and shuddered. In all his dreams of the future he had pictured himself either behind a counter or in an office chair. He wanted to do right, to be a respectable citizen and an honorable man. “But I can’t stop now,” he reasoned, and sold the eggs.

While waiting to have his wheat ground, Byron found the miller to be a kind, cheerful man. “It’s good to see you,” said he. “We have had much trouble lately, but I’m glad things are not worse.” He went on to tell a story about a young miller who had slipped into deceitfulness with his customers, but found that the burden of guilt far outweighed the gain he had thought to get. “Principle is that quality that makes a man do right because it is right,” he said. “I’d rather do right and listen to the warnings of my conscience, than have all the wealth that comes through dishonesty.”

Byron’s heart beat wildly in shame as he considered the miller’s words. Would it yet be possible to undo the wrong of the past few weeks? A picture of the two great courses in life arose before him. Byron knew he had chosen the wrong one.

“Go, tell your mother at once,” whispered that faithful voice in his ear. “She will be glad to help you.”

“Yes, but what about the boys?” thought Byron, as he headed down the road towards home.

Consider:

Was Byron disobeying for the first time when he walked out the gate and said, “I’m not going to be a sissy any longer!”?
When did Byron began to get into trouble? When does the trouble begin when you have disobeyed?
What was Byron’s reason for not wanting to play the card game at first? Was it a good reason?
What was wrong with James’ idea the “we only live once, so we might as well get all the enjoyment out of it that we can”?
Who was Byron hurting the most when he stole the eggs—his mother or himself?
How can you tell that Byron’s mother loved him?
How many “checks” or warnings did God’s Spirit give Byron in this story?
How did Byron excuse himself when he knew he should tell his mother? Was it a good excuse? Are any excuses good enough to do wrong?