When Speaking of Marriage, Consider Temples and Ditches

Published January 19, 1984. I met with one of my classes for the first time last week. It is an evening class, FLC 302, titled Marriage Enhancement. I walked in the classroom, and there sat 55 couples, 110 students. About half are engaged to be married this spring or summer, and almost all of the rest are newlyweds. Only one or two couples have been married more than two years.

They all appeared to be eager, happy, and excited about being married. So I stood up to start the class, and for some strange reason I didn’t know where to begin.

In one set of notes I had quotes on the beauty and sanctity of marriage. And I wanted to speak about temples, mountain tops, and eternity.

In another set of notes I had a rather extensive list of quotes and statistics about the dismal situation of many married couples today. How many divorces? How many married couples are really happy?

So I was caught, as I often am, in the dilemma of whether or not to talk about the ideal, or what should be; the real, or what is; or the possibility of what could be.

All are important topics, but which should be taught first?

So I began my lecture and the course with a story about a ditch. When Susan and I lived in another state, we moved into a subdivision that was not yet completed. There was a large ditch that ran directly in front of our house. The city had promised to eventually put in a culvert and cover the ditch. But the project would take several weeks or even months to complete.

The delay meant that we would have to live with our small children in the home with the constant fear and real danger of the ditch full of water. We decided we would have to keep ourselves and our children constantly aware of the danger of the ditch.

We had frequent discussions on how we would try and keep our children away from the dangerous water. We took them out by the back of the ditch and explained how they could drown if they were not careful. My wife and I tried to take turns being around the yard in the afternoon when our children and others were playing nearby, sometimes in the ditch. We asked the older children to also be on the alert and watch out for the younger ones. The danger of the ditch was real.

In a few months the city was good on its promise. The culvert was put in, and the ditch was covered. During the summer, however, I learned something of great value. Those closest to the danger are often the ones least harmed.

Since we literally lived right on the bank of the ditch, we were the ones who were the most fearful of it. Those who lived greater distances away seemed to be less aware of the danger and sometimes became less concerned. The ones next to the ditch are the ones who usually stand guard.

I told my new students that we should speak of temples, mountain tops, and eternity, things that could and should be. But we should also speak of ditches and real challenges that are currently near marriage today. By creating such an awareness, we can move up to the bank of the ditch and stand guard. And by so doing, we might have a better chance to survive as husband and wife.

After meeting with the 55 new couples for just a few hours that night, I got the feeling that they will.