“For every computer in our homes we need a quilt,” sighed a friend wistfully. She was inferring that as helpful as electronic technology is in our lives and houses, we must make the effort to include some soft touches, such as quilts, in our homes.

Quilts are soft. Quilts are cozy. Quilts provide comfort. Quilts envelop us in their warmth. Quilts bring back memories. Quilts are to be cherished.

Each of the thousands of stitches in a quilt represents patient, caring effort. Every square is art in design and harmony. Put together, a quilt represents a sacrifice in time and an offering of service and love. Those who sleep under a quilt sleep under a blanket of love.

Love is a lot like a quilt. Love is soft. Love is cozy. Love is comforting. Love envelops us in its warmth. Love is made of memories. Love is cherished. Love is about patience and caring and effort. Love is beautiful. Love is about sacrifice and service.

Whether it is quilts or something else, a house needs love to be a home. In fact, a house becomes a home when there is love inside.

Love prevails in a good home, but even a good home is not perfect. Our lives are lived in our homes, and we know from the scriptures that “there must needs be an opposition in all things.” Opposition is far more than a thorn in our side. Opposition plays a vital role in our eternal progression. With opposition often come opportunities for growth and service. There can be opportunities to strengthen and bless one another and to teach and guide. Therefore, in a home there is both joy and sorrow, cooperation and conflict, rejoicing and disappointment, selflessness and selfishness. Family members are both grown up and immature, confident and insecure, at their best and at their worst. There are good times and not-so-good times.

The question is, is the love in the home strong enough to sustain the ups and downs of family life?

When love is present, a home is a safe place; it is a secure place. It is a place where we as family members can feel comfortable enough to learn and grow. It is a place where we can learn to give and receive love. Step by step, we family members will come to know and live the laws that will someday make our homes celestial abodes.

The following old but true story portrays this process.

Half a Gift

I was ten years old and my brother, Nick, was fourteen. For both of us the purchase
of a gift for our mother on Mother’s Day was an occasion of excitement and great
importance.

It was our first gift to her. We were very poor and such a gift was out of the ordinary,
but Nick and I had been fortunate, earning a little money at odd jobs.

The anticipation of surprise and giving grew in Nick and me until we were almost
frantic. When we told our father he stroked our heads proudly. “It’s a fine idea,” he
said. “It will make your mother very happy.”

From his wistful tone we knew what he was thinking. He had given our mother little
enough in their life together. She worked hard all day, cooking, tending to us,
washing family clothes in the bathtub. And she did all these things silently. She did
not laugh much, but when she smiled it was a beautiful thing and worth waiting for.

“What are you going to give her?” asked Father. “We’re going to give separate
presents,” I announced.

“You tell Mother,” said Nick, looking at me for approval, “so she can enjoy thinking
about it.”

My father said, “That is a big thought to come from so small a head. And wise.”

Nick flushed with joy. Then he put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Joe thought
of it, too.”

“No,” I said, ”I didn’t. But my present will make up for it.

For the next few days we enjoyed the game of secrecy with my mother. A shining
look came into her face as she worked, pretending not to know, and she smiled
often. The air was full of love.

Nick and I discussed what to buy.

“Let’s not tell each other what we’re getting,” said Nick, exasperated with me for my
mind was not as settled as his and scooted around like a fly in summertime.

After careful deliberation I bought a comb decorated with little shiny stones that
could be mistaken for diamonds. Nick liked my gift very much but wouldn’t tell me
about his.

“We will give the gifts at a certain moment I have picked,” he said.

“What moment?” I asked, mystified.

“I can’t tell, because it has something to do with my gift. And don’t ask me again what it
is.”

The next morning when my mother got ready to wash the floor, Nick nodded to me and
we ran to get our gifts. When I came back, Mother was on her knees, wearily scrubbing
the floor and mopping up the dirty water with old rags. It was the job she hated most.

Then Nick returned with his present. Mother’s face went pale with disappointment as she
looked at it—a new scrubbing pail with a wringer and a fresh mop!

“A scrubbing pail,” she said, her voice almost breaking. “A Mother’s Day gift of a
scrubbing pail.”

Tears sprang to Nick’s eyes. Without a word he picked up the pail and trudged up the
stairs. I put the comb in my pocket and ran after him. He was crying and I began to cry,
too. On the way down we met Father. Nick could not talk, so I explained.

“I will take it back,” sobbed Nick.

“No,” said Father, taking the pail. “It’s a wonderful gift. I should have thought of it myself.”

We went upstairs again. In the kitchen Mother was still scrubbing. Without a word Father
soaked the puddle of dirty water up with the mop and, using the foot wringer on the
bucket, neatly squeezed it dry.

“You did not let Nick finish,” he said to her, “Part of the gift was that Nick was going to
wash the floor from now on. Isn’t that so, Nick?”

With a flush of shame Nick understood the lesson. “Yes, oh, yes,” he said a low, eager
tone.

Repentantly, Mother said, “It is too heavy work for a fourteen-year-old boy.”

It was then I realized how smart Father was. “Ah,” he said cunningly,” Not with this
wonderful wringer and scrub pail. It’s much easier. Your hands stay clean, and your
knees don’t hurt.” Again Father demonstrated quickly.

Mother said, looking sadly at Nick. “Ah, a woman can be so stupid.” She kissed him and
he felt better. Then they turned to me.

“What is your gift?” asked Father. Nick looked at me and paled. I felt the comb in my
pocket. It would make the scrubbing pail, again, just a scrubbing pail. After all, a
comb with shining stones just like diamonds. . .

“Half the scrubbing pail,” I said mournfully.

Nick looked at me with love in his eyes.

--Robert Zacks,
Collier’s, 17 May 1947

To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides. In such a climate of warmth, people blossom and grow.

The Lord, through the prophet, King Benjamin, teaches us about our responsibilities as parents: “And ye will not suffer your children that they go hungry, or naked; neither will ye suffer that they transgress the laws of God, and fight and quarrel one with another, and serve the devil, who is the master of sin, or who is the evil spirit which hath been spoken by our fathers, he being an enemy to all righteousness. But ye will teach them to walk in the ways of truth and soberness; ye will teach them to love one another, and to serve one another. (Mosiah 4:14-15)

A mother expressed how very much she wanted to follow King Benjamin’s counsel and not suffer that her children fight and quarrel, as we’re admonished in Mosiah 4:14, but she didn’t know how to make it happen. Then one day she read the next verse and there was the answer. She was to teach them to serve one another. We love those we serve. Service among them replaced fighting among them.

A father shares this story: As children growing up we did our share of fighting and quarrelling. Our parents used one tactic after another to prevent this, but the conflicts persisted. One day our mother opened the scriptures and read to us the inspired words of King Benjamin. We were struck by the power and spirit of the scriptures, and a peace and calmness settled over us. The fights grew increasingly less frequent.

It is not just among young children, unfortunately, that arguments and quarrels take place in homes. Far too often we grown-ups are the culprits when we show a lack of patience, a loss of temper, or an unwillingness to forgive or be kind.

A mother was rushing to prepare for a dinner party that evening. She was behind schedule and was feeling irritable. She began taking her frustration out on her children by being cross and impatient with them. Just at the peak of all the activity, and with tension running high, the doorbell rang. She was annoyed by this additional interruption, but hurriedly she went to the door. To her amazement she found her little boy standing there. He said, “I thought if I rang the doorbell you would come and show your company smile. I need to see your company smile this afternoon.”

Homes are all about company smiles, kindness, patience, selflessness, long-suffering, and forgiving. Homes are places where extending mercy—kindness beyond what justice might require—can bring untold blessings to all concerned for now and forever. These virtues can all be in place when sustained and supported by love.

The scriptures describe this type of love as charity, the pure love of Christ. Moroni explains further, “And [charity] endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him” (Moroni 7:47).

True, for every computer in our homes we need a quilt. Love is a lot like a quilt. Love is soft. Love is cozy. Love is comforting. Love envelops us in its warmth. Love is made of memories. Love is cherished. Love is about patience and caring and effort. Love is beautiful. Love is about sacrifice and service.

Whether in the form of quilts or something else, a house needs love to be a home. In fact, a house becomes a home when there is love inside.