Marjorie and I had had nearly a 5-year courtship—much of it by letter.  I was serving in the U.S. Navy, and was based in Japan.  I was to be transferred to Morocco, North Africa for the last 18 months of my service.  The place and the duty were such that spouses could go along.  We decided to get married during the two weeks of leave that I’d have between Japan and Morocco.  I’d go to Morocco, get a place ready for us to live, she’d follow a month later, and we’d enjoy an 18-month honeymoon in an exotic place.  By letter I requested permission of my future father-in-law to marry his daughter.  I still have and cherish his enthusiastic reply.  We would be married in the Salt Lake Temple, take a 4-day honeymoon, and then I’d head off to Morocco to get our first home set up.

Everything was in place.  The plans were set.  I was about to begin the rest of my life.  I was very excited.  Marjorie was, too.  We were exchanging letters every other day.  And then came a letter that was devastating.  Marjorie reported on a tragedy that had befallen her family.  Her brother-in-law’s car had been found in the river, and his body could not be located.  The family was in turmoil—and then this line:  “One thing for sure, since this happened, I don’t think we can be married too soon.”

My hopes, plans and dreams came crashing down when I read that line.  Our marriage date was just 2 or 3 months away.  I was in agony.  I didn’t understand why her sister’s tragedy should change all of Marjorie’s plans.  If we didn’t get married during that 2-week window of opportunity, it would be another year-and-a-half before it could again even be considered.

I wrote back to Margie.  I told her that I couldn’t understand why we’d need to wait to be married, but if that was what was necessary, I’d endure it somehow.

It was now Marjorie’s turn to be thrown into a state of consternation.  Why did I have the idea that the marriage would have to wait?

As I recall, two weeks went by.  The letters stopped.  I was in pain.  Marjorie was in deep puzzlement.  It required a revelation from on high to straighten out the dilemma.  It came to Marjorie.  After days of pondering, suddenly in a flash she knew what had triggered the misunderstanding.

It was all in the emphasis, or lack thereof, that was placed on the word “too.”  Where I read, “One thing for sure, since this happened, I don’t think we can be married too soon;” she had actually written, “One thing for sure, since this happened, I don’t think we can be married too soon.”

She wrote me another letter.  The lights came back on in my world.  We got married according to plan, and have lived happily ever after.

It’s a matter of perspectives and perceptions.  We have to exercise great care in what we say and do, and be aware of how we’re perceived by others and of how we come across to them.  We need to develop the ability to see things through others’ eyes, and recognize that our perceptions are not necessarily their perceptions.

Our perspectives are certainly not those of the Lord, either.  The Lord said, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.”  (Isa. 55:8).

For instance, people blissfully go through life thinking they’re smart, powerful, alert, enlightened, and very much alive.  The Lord sees the natural man in an entirely different light.  He describes men as “walking in darkness at noon-day.”  (D&C 95:6)

He also says that “all mankind, by the fall of Adam being cut off from the presence of the Lord, are considered as dead, both as to things temporal and to things spiritual.”  (Helaman 14:16).

Did you know that you’re dead?  You’re cut off from the presence of the Lord—so you’re dead!  That condition blocks out unimaginable light.

Things could get worse, though.  Your behavior could be such that you might be cut off from access to the Spirit, in which case you would “become miserable forever” (2 Ne. 2:5), and be cast into outer darkness.  (Matt. 22:13).

The dangers of false perceptions and perspectives are well illustrated in the story of Naaman, the leprous captain of the host of the king of Syria.  Naaman was told that the prophet in Israel could cure him of leprosy.  The king of Syria sent Naaman to the king of Israel with a letter of introduction written by the king of Syria himself.  The letter said, “Now when this letter is come unto thee, behold, I have therewith sent Naaman my servant to thee, that thou mayest recover him of his leprosy.  (2 Kings 5:6).

The king of Syria failed to consider how such a request might be received by the king of Israel, who was not a follower of the Lord, either.

“And it came to pass, when the king of Israel had read the letter, that he rent his clothes, and said, Am I God, to kill and make alive, that this man doth send unto me to recover a man of his leprosy? Wherefore consider, I pray you, and see how he seeketh a quarrel against me.”  (v. 7).

Wars have been started over less misunderstanding than that.

The prophet Elisha heard how the distraught king had rent his clothes, and sent a message to the king to send the man to him, and he’d heal him.

It was then Naaman’s turn to have a misperception.  Elisha didn’t even bother to come see Naaman when he arrived.  He just sent his servant to deliver what Naaman thought was a nonsensical message.  “Go and wash in Jordan seven times, and thy flesh shall come again to thee, and thou shalt be clean.”  (v. 10).

Naaman was an important person (or so he thought), and at least deserved the courtesy of a personal interview.  So “Naaman was wroth, and went away, and said, Behold, I thought, He will surely come out to me, and stand, and call on the name of the Lord his God, and strike his hand over the place, and recover (me)…So he turned and went away in a rage.”  (vs. 11, 12).

To Naaman’s credit, when his folly was pointed out, he was able to still his wrath, humble himself, and look at the situation in a different light.  He perceived his error—something that is sometimes very difficult for all of us to do.  He went and bathed in the river as instructed, and came up clean.

The best example of all about poor perspectives and misperceptions is another story involving Elisha and his servant.  The king of Syria got tired of the prophet foreseeing his actions and ruining his plans for warfare against Israel, so he sent an army to capture Elisha.  The army surrounded the city by night.  In the morning when Elisha’s servant went out and discovered their precarious position, he ran back in and said, “Alas, my master!  how shall we do?”

“And (Elisha) answered, Fear not:  for they that be with us are more than they that be with them.

“And Elisha prayed, and said, Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes, that he may see.  And the Lord opened the eyes of the young man; and he saw:  and, behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha.”  (2 Kings 6: 15-17).

Our perspectives are so limited that we can’t see the protections that the Lord has placed around us.  Our perceptions are so restricted that we think we see clearly when in reality we’re “walking in darkness at noon-day” in comparison to the light that’s really available.  It’s important that we recognize our limitations and restrictions, and know that there is much, much more that we don’t yet see and understand.

In our interactions with others we must be very careful to not cause wrong impressions.  We must be aware of others’ viewpoints, and try to understand their positions.  We need to develop the ability to put ourselves in others’ places and see things as they see them.

And perhaps above all, we must not allow ourselves to get an exalted view of ourselves.  Our perspectives are all wrong.  Our perceptions are very limited.  Our ways are not God’s ways, and our thoughts are not His thoughts.  We’re down in the valley where the fog settles; but every now and then the fog lifts, and we get glimpses of the grand vistas ahead.