A Thief in Camp

There was a lump in my throat. Not a lump you could see or feel, but a lump of guilt that had been there for a long time—ever since that fateful day of temptation in the canyon.

It had all come about because my father hadn’t been able to obtain spring feed for his milk cows—cows that provided precious revenue to feed and clothe his large family. “Nowhere can I find anyone that has hay to sell,” he confided to Mother. He was desperate. Then one day he heard of the tall, thick grass growing in Bull-Pup Canyon. It was the answer to his prayer. We would have a wonderful summer of camping out.

I knew that providing for our large family kept my father under a great deal of pressure. As I watched the preparations for our camp-out, I remembered some books we had read in school in which the father of a large family had taken two of his children into the forest and left them because he could not stand to see them die of starvation. I figured my brother and I were going to be left in the canyon, so I resolved that at no time would I let Father out of my sight.

I saw Mother pack a big blue wooden box with bedding and clothing. Knowing we would be gone a long time, she quietly slipped a sack of candy in the side for special occasions.

How beautiful the canyon was! And it was peaceful, or it could have been, except for the constant vigil I had to keep. Then one day my father took me in his strong arms and held me close. “Dear, are you afraid we will leave you here? Is that why you stay so close to me?” he asked. I could never admit my fear, but somehow his love reassured me. From then on I relaxed and enjoyed the canyon, building steep, rocked-up dugways for my little red wagon, carving messages on huge slabs of sandstone, playing with my little brother.

The frequent assurances of my father’s love had dispelled all my fears and made me very bold. I thought often of the candy in the blue box and waited in great anticipation for a time when I would be alone in camp. The day finally came. And, sure enough, the candy disappeared.

Then came the dreaded day when Mother wanted us all to share in the little candy that was left. I hardly dared look up as she searched the blue box and found nothing. “Did you take the candy?” she asked. My eyes grew big with indignation as I firmly denied it. My father came also, putting his arms around me, and asked if I knew anything about the candy. Again I vehemently denied it.

But as the day wore on, feelings of guilt and remorse flooded over me. I was not only a thief, I was a liar, too. How could I have lied to the two dearest people in the world? That’s when the strange lump rose in my throat. It seemed to grow larger from day to day, until sometimes it was actually difficult to breathe.

The days went by. Our crops were in, and we had long since moved back home. As I walked beside my father one day, he put his hand lovingly on my shoulder. As I looked into his face, he said, “Dear, I hope you will grow up to be the kind of woman that we—Heavenly Father, your mother, and I—can be proud of.”

I could stand it no longer, and bursting into tears I declared, “But Daddy, I took the candy!”

Right there on the street he stooped and put his arms around me. “Didn’t you know that we knew you took it?”

Then the miracle happened. The lump, after all this time, was completely gone.

The memory of that occasion has remained with me for more than fifty years—a testimony of the miracle of forgiveness.