Sunday, June 26, 2005#
After several minutes of meditation verging on slumber, President R.T. Pratt was trying to look alert as the first speaker walked to the pulpit and arranged her notes. At her first words, “Today brother Kimball and I were asked to talk about marriage,” the stake president’s eyes opened wide and his half-drooping head jerked up and swiveled to his right to search for Frank Kimball. Frank noticed his stare and returned a weak smile. President Pratt tore a page from his Franklin planner, scribbled “You don’t have to do this. I can cover. RT” and passed it over. Frank scanned the note, smiled briefly, jotted a few words and handed the note back. “Thanks. It’s OK. D&C 38:30.”
Pres. Pratt started to pull out his scriptures to look up the reference, and then recognized it: “if ye are prepared ye shall not fear.” He looked back at Frank and gave a half-shrug as if to say, “okay, if you’re sure,” but concern etched his face. As he turned back to the current speaker, he thought, I guess that’s what we get for assigning all the high council topics at the beginning of the year.
When Frank’s talk was announced, several others in the audience caught on and watched closely to see what would happen. Pres. Pratt couldn’t suppress a wry smile. It’s the usual story. Most of them are waiting for the end of the meeting, envying their kids with their Cheerios and “quiet books,” with no idea what’s about to hit them, while the few who know the back story are on the edge of their seats, either morbidly curious or praying for Frank. He realized it would be a good moment for a prayer himself and bowed his head quietly.
Frank stepped up to the pulpit with no notes and no books. No preamble, no joke, and no warning, either. “A couple of years ago, brothers and sisters, after 17 years of marriage, my wife and I divorced.” The fidgeting stopped dead and all eyes were on Frank. His eyes, though, were on Eva, who had walked in during the hymn to sit in the front row. She was smiling at him tearfully, holding a little handwritten message to her chest where only he could see it: “I love you, Dad,” written above a happy face drawn with a tear in one eye. That almost undid his composure, and he looked down, blinked, and cleared his throat. After a long pause he looked up, smiled tightly at Eva for a moment, and continued.
“I haven’t heard from her now in over a year, and I assume I won’t until the day I die. Some of you know why. But I haven’t given up on marriage—not even on our marriage—and my job today is to tell you why. Of course you’ll never understand properly unless I start at the beginning.”
Frank stood a little straighter and smiled.
“My life began at exactly 6:30 a.m. on my 24th birthday. …”