In Memory of Frances
Sometimes we forget the Prophet is human just like us. It is not often that we consider his quiet hours.
The moments, years ago, when he paced the floor holding an infant with a raging fever.
Or stood in line outside of a drive-in to buy a shake for a pregnant wife with a craving.
Or the Saturday's he spent weeding the garden.
When I was growing up, our family owned a home across the street from President Monson's home in Midway, Utah. I have memories of him mowing the lawn in his coveralls. I remember him stopping for a break to come share stories with my Grandma Belle.
And when he drove down the street in his car, I remember Frances sitting next to him.
This weekend my thoughts have been consumed with the thought of a Prophet whose heart is mourning.
A prophet, who spoke at the funeral of so many dear women, who is about to attend the funeral of the woman dearest to him.
In Church yesterday our Prophet was mentioned in every prayer...
We petitioned Heaven in his behalf.
That he would find comfort.
He who has comforted us. Served us. Watched over us.
The Prophet who has taught us what it means to love the one.
Today he is the one who needs our love.
There is not a lot we can do to express our love, or send our comfort. But perhaps we can serve him in a very small way...
Church officials said that Frances "will forever be remembered for her kindness and quiet, sustained support of her husband."
In honor of her, perhaps we could share a quiet act of kindness toward someone every single day this week.
In memory of Frances.
In an effort to bear up our Prophet with love.