We have not been called to be successful, but to be faithful.

Soon after arriving home from World War II, I had “promises to keep”—meaning going on a mission now. I grew tired of waiting for the bishop. And in some early ark-steadying, I went to the bishop’s home and said I had saved the money and wanted to go, so let’s “get this show on the road.” The good bishop hesitated, and then said he’d been meaning to ask me about going.

Years later, I would learn from that bishop’s devoted ward clerk that the bishop had felt I needed a little more time with my family after having been away so far and for a tenth of my life. Hearing this, I chastised myself for having been too judgmental.

The foundation of that isn't some ideal of romantic love. It's a commitment based on the goals you share. And real love, married love, is not what you start with -- it's what you create together along the way.

How foolish, when our young people wait to find love, or to have God show them their foreordained mate, instead of rationally looking at the eligible people and choosing someone who can and will live up to the commitment of marriage, someone with shared faith, someone with whom you can establish friendship and affection.

All marriages are between strangers. And sometimes it's the boring man who'll make the best husband, the plain woman who'll make the best mother.

It takes time to come to know the other person; it take time for each of you to become someone new and different and perfectly adapted to the other. You'll be there through the whole process, though, because your commitment is stronger than the bands of death.

But as that knowledge grows, so does the real love, the deep love. Compared to the thick, strong fabric of married love, romantic love is a Kleenex. You can't make anything out of it. It's disposable -- there's always another in the box.

Once we know what is true, reason provides a wonderful tool for sorting out our obligations, anticipating consequences, and persuading others that what we know is true. Truth, I am convinced, can be rendered reasonable, but it does not arise from reason.

Do not confuse the preoccupation of worry and anxiety with the preoccupation involved in exercising faith. When your mind is prone to dwell on the adverse consequences of events which you assume you have very little control over, that is worry. In contrast, if your mind dwells on the possible consequences of various courses of action which you will control to a great extent, you are exercising faith.

Sometimes peace comes in the most unexpected ways. A long time ago, when the ancient Israelites were battling the Philistines in the valley of Elah, peace must have seemed impossible. Each day for 40 days, the Philistines’ nine-and-a-half-foot giant, Goliath, wearing a helmet of brass and heavy armor, challenged the Israelites to fight, but the Israelites were afraid to take any action, immobilized with fear. Surrender and slavery to the Philistines seemed to be the only hope for peace.

But young David showed them another way. He assured King Saul, “Let no man’s heart fail because of [Goliath]; thy servant will go and fight.” David, a mere boy, refused the king’s armor and sword and refused to believe that he would be defeated. Instead, he carried the slingshot he used to defend his father’s sheep and, with great confidence born of faith, faced the giant. The rest is history. He was victorious, and his people at last had peace.

We all face giants of other forms that can fill us with fear—giants that might make peace seem out of reach for a time. Perhaps we need to have an important conversation that we’ve been putting off; perhaps we need to seek forgiveness from someone we love. Maybe we need to seek medical attention, overcome a personal weakness, or pay a mounting debt. It may be tempting to do as the Israelites did and cower in fear on the other side of the hill. But how much peace did they have there?

Peace is not just the absence of adversity; peace of heart comes when we face up to the battles of life all around us. Even when circumstances seem overwhelming, we can do as David did and, with faith unshakable, confront our problems and face our fears, depending on the Lord for strength.


1 See 1 Samuel 17:1–11.

2 1 Samuel 17:32.


Program #4100

We are a covenant people. If there is a distinguishing feature about members of the Church, it is that we make covenants. We need to be known as a covenant-keeping people as well. Making promises is easy, but to follow through and do what we have promised is another matter. That involves staying the course, being constant and steadfast. It means keeping the faith and being faithful to the end despite success or failure, doubt or discouragement. It is drawing near to the Lord with all our hearts. It is doing whatever we promise to do with all our might—even when we might not feel like it.

Sisters, I grew up in a single-parent home: a father and two brothers. My mother was gone when I was two. I have no memory. And I had no sister. So what I am about to say I have learned from a queenly wife and from daughters and daughters-in-law. My wife has written a poem which we give to our grandsons when they become old enough for the Aaronic priesthood. Before I quote that, let me say that it is for us a joy to behold and participate with them. She titled it: "The Sacrament Prayer."

The words are repeated once again
this sacred Sabbath time;
words I can trace
through the week,
but this time unique,
spoken,
quietly,
in youthful intonation
and the nourishment
is proffered me
by a boy's hand
in exchange for my changing.

You faithful sisters, married or unmarried, who move daily (and hardly with a break) from the garden plot to the crucial minutia of food labels to the cups and measures of cookery; you, who struggle and preside in the kitchen and keep vigil; you, who reach out to the perennial needs of your family and loved ones; you, who with artistry gather flowers and turn an ordinary table into an altar that summons prayer and thanksgiving; you, who by your very presence, turn eating into a feast--into dining in the name of the Lord, and who, therefore, bring a bountiful measure of grace to your table, lend your faith to boys and sometimes inept men who officiate at the sacrament table. Let the tables turn on your serving. Lend your faith to our trying to act as you do in Christlike dignity. For this is as close as we may ever come to your divine calling to give and to nurture life itself.

I express my appreciation for the infinite and eternal sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ. The Atonement is not only for people who have done bad things and are trying to be good. It is for good people who are trying to become better and serve faithfully and who yearn for an ongoing and mighty change of heart. Indeed, "in the strength of the Lord" (Mosiah 9:17) we can do and overcome all things.

The greater our faith in Jesus Christ the stronger our character, and increased character enhances our ability to exercise even greater faith.