I went to two weddings this month.
One of them was the wedding of my older brother's youngest daughter. It was held in the Provo Temple.
The other was the wedding of the middle daughter of dear friends from our neighborhood in Greensboro, N.C. The wedding was held in an idyllic spot in the mountains north of Asheville, N.C., in a meadow on the crown of a hill, surrounded by the summer-green Appalachian Mountains.
This is the point where I suppose I should make some smug comment about the difference between a temple marriage and all others. But you've heard that sermon a thousand times, and besides, what struck me was not so much the obvious differences, but rather the similarities.