The Lord commands His people to “cleave unto me with all your heart” (Doctrine and Covenants 11:19) and to “cleave unto the covenants which thou hast made” (Doctrine and Covenants 25:13). But husbands and wives are also instructed to cleave to one another.
I love the contronym cleave, which communicates the contradictory meanings of “bind together” or “adhere” and “split” or “cut away,” because it succinctly expresses the paradoxical function and comfort of nails. Just as nails bind together by first splitting apart the two pieces of wood that will be joined, being bound to our covenants and to the Lord requires us to endure a painful separation from our sins.
Cleaving to a spouse likewise requires us to endure suffering and a separation from our sense of self-righteousness. A marital relationship only becomes meaningful when, by prioritizing the needs and wants of a spouse, each party cleaves together by cutting away that which separates or divides them.
I learned this lesson through two experiences that took place during the first year of marriage to my wife, Alana.
At some point that first year, we had a disagreement, and each of us was convinced that the other was wrong. Unwilling to concede the point or to accept that we had different, irreconcilable views about the matter and move forward, we allowed the disagreement to fester. Our communications grew cold and curt, and it seemed that neither of us could see a way to recover the spirit of love and mutual esteem that had guided our interactions prior to this argument.
Then, out of the blue, Alana appeared at my side and apologized. When I asked her, a few days later, what had happened to prompt this unexpected gesture of reconciliation, she explained that while studying her scriptures that morning, the Holy Ghost had spoken to her these words: “You can either be right, or you can be happy.”
In other words, Alana’s apology came not because she had carefully reviewed our differences and concluded that I was right (I was likely in the wrong) but because she had decided to sacrifice her ego to promote our mutual happiness.1
Cleaving to me came at a cost, as she gave up and cut away from herself any sense of self-righteousness, though I was still clinging to mine. She offered to me the comfort of nails, suffering the mortification of her pride so that I could know our marriage was more important to her than the petty matter over which we had disagreed.
A second incident from the first year of our marriage helped communicate to Alana that I was also willing to prioritize our partnership.
Growing up in Massachusetts, I had followed the region’s professional sports teams with a rabid attention. I rarely missed a broadcast of Red Sox, Patriots, and Celtics games. Then, after the games, I scoured newspapers (or, in later years, the internet) for statistics and commentary about how the players had performed.
When Alana and I wed, on 23 April 2004, the National Basketball Association playoffs had just begun. Although she had little interest in the games, Alana watched with me as the Celtics lost their playoff series with the Indiana Pacers. Following the conclusion of the NBA playoffs, my attention turned to the baseball diamond, and Alana again sat by my side as I watched the Red Sox win their first World Series championship in almost a hundred years. After this momentous event, my attention turned almost immediately to the Patriots and the Celtics, whose season was starting again.
With a dawning realization that my focus on sports over the past few months was not a period of exceptional enthusiasm but the status quo, Alana turned to me at some point that fall and asked, “When does sports season end?”
I laughed at her naivete (sports season never ends!), but she informed me that for our marriage to thrive, some of the time and attention I devoted to sports would need to be directed toward activities and pursuits we were both excited about. Appreciating her wisdom and the patient interest she had shown, I agreed to cut the Patriots and Red Sox out of my life.
The sacrifice of something I held dear allowed us to grow closer. Our cleaving together was not merely a matter of engaging in shared activities but also of cleaving away some pursuits and passions that had occupied my time and attention prior to our wedding.
This pruning of my athletic interests also drew me into a closer covenantal relationship with the Savior and my heavenly parents.
In my youth, I had spent significant portions of each Sabbath day in front of a television screen, watching golf, football, and baseball with my father. However, as Alana encouraged me to grow in my understanding and appreciation of the Sabbath, I came to feel that this holy day had been set apart for a more significant purpose than the consumption of sports entertainment.
As part of my decision to reduce the total time I spent viewing, reading, and analyzing sports, I decided that I would never again watch a sporting event on the Lord’s day. The sweet fruits of this decision were immediately apparent. I felt an increased ability to honor my sacramental covenants and “always remember” Jesus Christ (Doctrine and Covenants 20:77).
Time previously reserved for viewing athletic contests was now spent studying the scriptures and the lives of exemplary figures in Church history, and my understanding of sacred events grew by leaps and bounds. The family history projects I had never formerly felt capable of completing began, with increased time and attention, to progress and bear fruit, and I experienced a great sense of connection to my deceased ancestors.
In sum, the cavity created in my life by sacrificing Sunday sports was filled with activities that drew me closer to the Savior and His Church. In the metaphorical terms of this excerpt, my prior life had been pierced with a nail, a reminder of Jesus Christ that drove out old occupations and fastened me more closely to Him through the adoption of new habits.
Discussions with Alana about how we could be united in our marriage and in our discipleship, despite our different interests, were difficult. But the Lord calls on us to sacrifice and to do hard things. As Sister Jean B. Bingham attests,
“Unity is essential to the divine work we are privileged and called to do, but it doesn’t just happen. It takes effort and time to really counsel together—to listen to one another, understand others’ viewpoints, and share experiences—but the process results in more inspired decisions. Whether at home or in our Church responsibilities, the most effective way to fulfill our divine potential is to work together, blessed by the power and authority of the priesthood in our differing yet complementary roles.”
Read more in Discomfort by Design by Zachary McLeod Hutchins.
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Note
1. We can no longer remember what it was that we had disagreed over. Appropriately, Alana has little or no memory of this episode. I am the one who needs to remember and apply this lesson, and so the story lives on in my memory.
