Mother's Day Talk by Brother Williams

 On this very day in 1908, a woman named Anna Jarvis stood before a congregation in a small church in Grafton, West Virginia. Being inspired by her own mother’s life of service, Anna campaigned for there to be a special day every year to honor the way mothers quietly care for people, usually in ways we don't often notice. This service would be the first modern celebration of Mother’s Day.

Anna’s mother, Ann, lived an exceptional life service. She organized women to improve public health, she tended to wounded soldiers from both sides of the Civil War, and she worked to heal her community after the war ended. It was exhausting, emotional, behind-the-scenes labor—the exact kind of work women have carried for generations,

simply because it needed to be done.

It can be easy to take our mothers for granted because they’re so consistent, and we often don’t notice their service until they’re gone. And so, Anna believed mothers deserved a 'sacred' kind of recognition and pushed people to visit in person or write a real, heartfelt

letter. That was the heart of what Anna wanted this day to be about.

Anna eventually grew disappointed at what Mother’s Day became. Everything she feared actually happened: this deeply meaningful idea was turned into a massive, profitable industry. Suddenly, pre-written cards were replacing genuine, personal reflection.

Personally? I think women deserve way more than just one day a year of recognition. At the very least, it should probably be a full week! Though let’s be real, it probably would spiral into a competitive 'Elf on the Shelf' situation. We’d all feel pressured to post TikTok-worthy

tributes every single day, which I suspect is exactly what Anna Jarvis would have hated most.

On this Mother’s Day, I’ve been asked to speak about Christlike love, specifically through the example of women. In the Book of Mormon, the prophet Moroni explains that Christlike love, or the 'pure love of Christ,

' is what we call charity. This isn’t a love that says, 'I love you because you’ve earned it, ' or 'I love you because you agree with me.

' But charity is much deeper than that, and honestly, it’s much more

demanding. The Apostle Paul taught that out of faith, hope, and charity, the greatest of these is charity. Even the word itself tells us why. It comes from the Latin caritas, which means a selfless, unconditional love. It’s a love that values someone simply because they are a child of God.

Charity doesn't need an emotional payoff or a convenient moment. It’s love given freely, even when it costs us something to give it.

In his first letter to the Corinthians, the Apostle Paul gives us what is probably the most famous description of charity in all of scripture. You know the words: ‘Charity suffereth long,and is kind... it seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked... it beareth all things, believeth

all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

’

What really strikes me about Paul’s teaching is just how active this love is. It’s not just 'being nice' or feeling a vague sense of affection. It’s a discipline. It’s choosing patience when you’re actually exhausted. It’s choosing kindness when it would be so much easier to be irritable. It’s choosing humility when your pride wants to dig in its heels. Charity is

something we have to practice because it’s a choice. We choose to be like our Savior, to draw close to him, so that we might, through him, return to our Heavenly Parents.

When I think about Christlike love, I can’t help but think of several women in my own life—starting, of course, with my mother. Now, Mother’s Day is a complicated holiday for me. My mom passed away 18 years ago

after a long battle with cancer. For nearly half my life now, I’ve had to learn what it means to go through life’s biggest moments without her there. My wedding day, the births of my kids, all the milestones they hit as they grow... she wasn't there for any of it.

As I get older and my memories get a little fuzzier, there are things from my childhood I wish I could ask her about now, details my dad just wouldn’t know, because he was out working so hard to provide for us. In my mother’s absence, I’ve realized just how much 'quiet' work mothers do. They’re the ones preserving the memories and nurturing the

relationships. They create that sense of warmth and continuity that you don't even realize is there... until it's gone.

When I look back at my own mom, I realize now just how much of a 'minister' she was. She was gentle and soft-spoken, but she was genuinely interested in people and had this gift for making every conversation feel meaningful—like she was never in a rush to get somewhere else.

She was especially devoted to the sisters in our ward. For her,

'ministering', or visiting teaching as we called it then, wasn't just an assignment. I remember when I was young, hearing her talk for hours in our living room with a friend or her sister over the phone.

Always taking the extra time to listen when someone really needed to feel seen. Often, after church on Sundays, my mom would be in the foyer or the hallway talking with someone. I recall one Sunday, my younger brother and I growing impatient as we waited and waited in the van. See, when you’re young and haven’t eaten since breakfast, waiting thirty minutes can feel totally unreasonable! I distinctly remember one time I got so impatient that I actually pulled the van around to the front doors of the church and honked the horn to 'encourage' her to wrap it up. I’ll just

say... she didn't appreciate that gesture nearly as much as I thought she would.I realize now what she was quietly teaching me in those moments. To her, people mattered more than convenience, or schedules, or even her own comfort. If someone needed to talk, she stayed. If someone needed to feel heard, she listened. When I think about that, I can picture the Savior living in much the same way—constantly willing to pause, to delay His own rest, or set aside His own comfort, just to minister to the one person right in front of Him.

Another example of Christlike love is my mother’s older sister, my Aunt Barbara. In the 90s, my grandmother began the long decline of Alzheimer’s. Since our family had moved to Texas, the weight of her care fell mostly on my aunt. For years, she stayed by her mother’s

side through all the fear and exhaustion that disease brings.

Eventually, my grandmother stopped recognizing her. She even began seeing my aunt as a stranger in her home, trying to steal from her or harm her. There were moments when she would actually cry out for my mother (my aunt’s younger sister), wishing for her instead of this 'unfamiliar woman' caring for her. I can’t imagine the pain of hearing that while tending to your mother’s every need. And yet, she kept showing up. Not because things were getting better, but because love remained even when the hope of 'fixing' things had disappeared. That is true charity: staying present in suffering you cannot solve. Sometimes Christlike love isn't about removing a burden, but quietly carrying it alongside someone for as long as it lasts.

Another beautiful example of charity in my life is my stepmother, Amy. A few years after my mother passed away, my father remarried. Over time, Amy didn't just 'join' our family; she became an incredible blessing within it. She is the only grandmother my children have ever

known on my side of the family. And she has loved them and cared for them as if they were entirely her own—even though she has plenty of her own children and grandkids to keep her busy.

There’s never been a sense that she’s just acting out of obligation. It’s just genuine warmth and inclusion. When I think about that phrase,

'seeketh not her own ' I think of her, because true Christlike love expands territory rather than protecting it. My stepmother has embraced

my children fully and selflessly as her very own family.

I, of course, have to mention the mother of my children, my wife, Sarah. Watching her as a mother has given me such a deep appreciation for the 'quiet' side of Christlike love. So much of her heart is spent just thinking about our family—worrying about the choices we’re

making, wondering if she’s doing enough, and constantly working to make our home a place where we feel supported.

I think of Paul’s teaching that charity 'suffereth long' when I remember the first four months of our oldest daughter’s life. Colic meant sleepless nights, total exhaustion, and almost no relief—but Sarah was there.And when Paul says charity 'endureth all things, ' Sarah would probably point to the fact that my job moved us from the beaches and lush, green landscape of Southwest Florida to... well, what we initially called the 'desert' of Georgetown. Although we both agree that the greener April and May here in Texas isn’t so bad! Through all of it, Sarah continues to show up. She has this sincere desire to serve and strengthen our family as best she can. That kind of steady, selfless love rarely draws a crowd, but I believe it reflects the nature of Christlike charity more than any grand gesture

ever could. In the Gospel of John, the Savior taught us to “

…love one another; as I have loved you... By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.'

He made it so clear: the defining mark of His followers isn't just what we believe or how much 'devotion' we show on the outside. It’s the way we love and care for the people around us.

The Savior taught that we should try to become 'as little children.

' But I think there’s another quiet lesson we could all stand to learn: maybe we should also try, in some small way, to become a little more like our mothers. As I think back to Anna and why she started Mother’s Day in the first place, I think she was really just trying to preserve a sense of sincere gratitude. A genuine recognition for the women whose quiet love shapes our lives—often in ways we don't even fully appreciate until

much later. When I look back on the women in my life—the quiet sacrifices, the patience, the way they’ve put others first even when nobody was watching—I can’t help but feel that I’ve seen the clearest glimpses of that Christlike love through them. I am so profoundly grateful for

the mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and wives whose charity has shaped my life. My hope is that we take the opportunity—not just today, but much more often—to sincerely thank them

for the love they so quietly give.

In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

I really loved his thoughts and asked him to share his talk with me!