. . . on July 8, 1943, when Spencer
had gone home for lunch the telephone rang at his office. The operator said,
"Salt Lake City is calling for Spencer Kimball."
The secretary responded, "He
isn't here right now."
The caller broke in: "I'll speak
to whoever will speak to me. Where is Mr. Kimball?"
She replied, "He's gone home for
lunch, but hasn't had time to arrive there."
"This is J. Reuben Clark. How
long until he'll be home?"
"It only takes him five or ten
minutes, unless he had another errand. I think you can catch him in ten
minutes."
Spencer describes the events which
followed:
It was noon and I was just entering
the house for my luncheon at my new home on Relation Street and Eighth Avenue,
Safford, Arizona. As I pushed open the door I heard my little 12-year-old son,
Eddie, saying, "No, Daddy is not here. Oh, yes. Here he comes," as I
pushed my way into the room.
"Daddy, Salt Lake City is
calling."
I had had many calls from Salt Lake
City through the years but today an overpowering feeling came over me that
instant that I was to be called to a high position in the Church. Why I should
think so, I do not know. If ever that thought had entered my mind in times
past, I had quickly thrust it from me as being most unworthy.
It must have taken only a few seconds
for me to cross the room to the phone, grasp the receiver and say,
"Hello," but it seemed that an hour's thinking and retrospection
coursed through my mind with lightning rapidity. I realized I had no unfinished
business with Salt Lake City. I knew that there were two vacancies in the
Quorum of the Twelve but I had given it little concern, knowing that the
Brethren would take care of it in due time and it was still some ten weeks
before the Conference, at which the vacancies would most likely be filled.
There was no reason in the world why I should be called. I instantaneously
convinced myself that it was impossible, that I was not capable or prepared or
worthy, that no one would be called away from the headquarters of the Church
and that there was no reason whatever for the feeling that came with the
announcement that Salt Lake was on the wire, but I still had that short
premonition that an announcement of great portent was coming. Much happened in
that short second. I was upbraiding myself for permitting such a thought to
enter my mind; I was proving to myself that it was only an ambitious dream,
unworthily presumptuous, and that it was impossible, when the clear pleasant
voice of President J. Reuben Clark came:
"Spencer, this is Brother Clark.
Do you have a chair handy?"
"Yes, Brother Clark," I
answered with a quivering voice.
His words came with strength and power
unmistakable.
"The brethren have just chosen
you to fill one of the vacancies in the Quorum."
I heard the words ringing down into my
consciousness, but it was unbelievable.
"Oh, Brother Clark! Not me? You
don't mean me? There must be some mistake. I surely couldn't have heard you
right." This as I sank past the chair to the floor.
"Yes. The Brethren feel that you
are the man. How do you feel about it?"
"Oh, Brother Clark! It seems so
impossible. I am so weak and small and limited and incapable. Of course, there
could be only one answer to any call from the Brethren but-"
A complete panorama came before me of
the little, mean, petty things I had done, of the little misunderstandings I
had had with people in business and with people in the Church whose feelings I
might have hurt. It seemed that every person that had ever been offended
because of me stood before me to say, "How could you be an Apostle of the
Lord? You are not worthy. You are insignificant. You shouldn't accept this
calling. You can't do it." I must have hesitated a long time, for Brother
Clark said:
"Are you there?"
Catching my breath I said, "Yes,
Brother Clark, but you've taken my breath. I am all in a sweat."
"Well, it is rather warm up here
also," he said good-naturedly, sensing I am sure, the tense emotional
strain through which I was passing. It wasn't the warmth of the summer day and
he knew it well.
"Does this mean that I am to sell
my home and business and all my belongings and move up to Salt Lake City?"
I asked.
"Yes. Ultimately," he said.
"Do I get a little time to think
this thing through?" I asked, almost pleadingly. "My mind is such a
blank. I am so confused. By the way, my wife and I are leaving Saturday for
Boulder, Colorado, to see our son and his family. Why couldn't I fly over to
Salt Lake and talk it over with you?"
"Alright," he said. "I
will not be here but Brother McKay will be and you could come over. They have
overnight service between here and Denver."
There were other things he said,
inquiring about the welfare of the family and other pleasantries, but my mind
was going so fast I was only partly conscious of them. As the two receivers, a
thousand miles separated, clicked I turned to my wife and the two boys, Andrew
16, and Eddie 12, who had been standing where they were when my first
exclamation put wonder in their minds.
"They have called me to become an
Apostle," I announced with an unsteady voice, and there was only silence
in their faces-bewilderment.
"Are you sure that you were to be
an Apostle?" my wife asked finally.
"No, I am not sure now," I
answered. "It seems that is what he said, but that is so impossible.
Perhaps it was to be an Assistant or something else. It couldn't have been
that. I am not sure. I am so bewildered."
Little was said, but in a daze the
four of us found our way to the table where the noonday meal was cooling.
Without a word we sat and one of the boys asked the blessing on the food. We
took helpings but the food didn't reach our mouths. I looked off into space and
ground my teeth. The boys went outside to their work. I lay down on the floor
for a moment of relaxation, as was my custom, but not to relax or rest.
"I must, of course, accept it and
do the best I can," I thought. Then the opposite: "I can't do it ...
there is the new home with all its luxuries and comforts to give up. True there
are other homes, but this one has embedded into its very structure our hearts
and lives. There is the business, my life's work for all these years. My heart
is there also, and it is now so prosperous and fast making us independent. How
could I give up that? There is the farm property which we have finally accumulated
after these long years of striving. How can we leave that? And our people and
friends and dear old Arizona in which we have our roots so firmly
embedded." Then would come the thought: "When the Church calls, we
obey." But the predominant thought was my own limitations and incapacities
and weaknesses and I was overcome. The tears came then, an inexhaustible flood.
It had been years since I had shed a tear. Scores of funeral sermons I had
preached, I had closed eyes in death, I had seen mothers taken from their
little ones and yet I had reached the point where I had perfect control of my
emotions. But now uncontrollable, I wept and wept. It seemed that all the
conflicting thoughts of my mind were trying to wash themselves clear with
tears. I was in convulsions of sobbing. My wife was sitting by me on the floor,
stroking my hair, trying to quiet me.
Finally came a lull in the storm. I
washed my face with cool water and went to the office. Some routine things I
was able to do, but I went about in a daze.
The night, but no sleep. Both of us
rolled and tossed and wept and walked the floor through the long hours that
lengthened themselves out into an eternity. Finally came the dawn and with it
some definite things that must be done. What a boon! Things that forced my
thoughts from the revolution coming in our lives. Friday the 9th was a hectic
day, never-ending. And the night was a repetition of the first. How I prayed
through those long dark hours, prayers for forgiveness of my weaknesses and
imperfections, prayers for strength to do the right, prayers that the family
would all make the necessary adjustments in their feelings, but above all,
prayers that I might feel that I was called by the Lord through His Servants
and an assurance of acceptance. My wife was my salvation. She comforted me and
encouraged me and continued to say there was only one road to follow.
We needed no alarm clock to get us up
early this morning for our trip. We had wished all night for 5 o'clock to come
so we might get on our way. We started off in the Buick car for El Paso, the
four of us (Olive Beth was in San Francisco working and LeVan was in Boulder,
Colorado, in a Navy language program). It took us seven hours to make the trip
and we had a seven-hour family council meeting. What to do, how it would affect
us, the changes that would come to the boys and girl, their schooling, their friends,
our life.
Two of the brethren and their wives
took my wife and myself to the El Cortes Hotel for dinner and it seemed they
insisted on discussing for the whole hour the very topic so worrying me, that
of the filling of the vacancies in the Quorum.
"Brother Kimball," they
said, "do you have any idea who will be called?" And I hope I will be
forgiven for the answer I gave, for the secret was not yet to be divulged. I
swallowed, shifted a bit and said, "No. I can't tell you." There was
a meeting of the Stake Sunday School Board that evening, followed by another
sleepless night.
Sunday was a most busy day. Little
time for deep contemplation, but vagrant thoughts continued to get away from
the business at hand to worry about the call to the Apostleship. At 10:30 we
bade goodbye to the boys who were to return on the train to our home in
Safford, and we boarded the train for the North. Our berth was comfortable, but
there was little sleep. All night long I was upbraiding myself for not having
better prepared myself for the great work, for my weaknesses and imperfections,
praying for strength, for an assurance from the Lord that "All was
well," and that I was acceptable to Him. I continued to tell Camilla that
I was not sure what I would do, though I knew all the time there was only one
course. She continued to encourage me and insisted that acceptance of the call
was the only thing. We arrived in Albuquerque early in the morning and had a
14-hour lay-over. We went to restaurants, but the food didn't taste very good.
We went to shows and I don't know how much she saw, but there was little of the
pictures that penetrated my thoughts. We tried to read books but it seemed only
pages and pages of words, meaningless words that my eyes were seeing, but my
thoughts were hurdling.
We reached Denver on the 13th of July
and were met at the station by our son, Spencer LeVan, and his wife and baby.
They thought it strange that I should be seeking reservations on a plane to
Salt Lake even before I left the railroad station. We dropped no hint of the
impending crisis in our lives. We caught the train to Boulder, arriving there
in the late evening. By this time we had been through five nights and days; it
seemed years since that telephone conversation the previous Thursday. I was
weak and tired. I knew I could sleep from sheer exhaustion, but not so, for
this night was no exception and very early it was a relief to leave the bed.
It was just breaking day this
Wednesday, the 14th of July. No peace had yet come, though I had prayed for it
almost unceasingly these six days and nights. I had no plan or destination. I
only knew I must get out in the open, apart, away. I dressed quietly and
without disturbing the family, I slipped out of the house. I turned toward the
hills. I had no objective. I wanted only to be alone. I had begun a fast.
The way was rough, I wandered
aimlessly and finally came to the top of the hill. I nearly stepped on a snake
coiled on my path. An unexplainable sudden strength sent me into a high jump
over his striking head. Could this be symbolic of my other worries and
problems? I stopped to rest, thinking that here I was alone, but cows were near
and people stirring in the homes below. Over the little ridge was a sloping
little valley and on the other side the high mountain rose rapidly and farther
up almost precipitously to a high peak far above. Without thought I found my
way down and started up again on the other side. The grass was ankle high and
the seeds fell into my shoes. The lower reaches had been pastured by cattle
when it was wet and it was pitted with deep hoofprints. The rocks on the
hillside increased in quantity and size.
My weakness overcame me again. Hot
tears came flooding down my cheeks as I made no effort to mop them up. I was
accusing myself, and condemning myself and upbraiding myself. I was praying
aloud for special blessings from the Lord. I was telling Him that I had not
asked for this position, that I was incapable of doing the work, that I was
imperfect and weak and human, that I was unworthy of so noble a calling, though
I had tried hard and my heart had been right. I knew that I must have been at
least partly responsible for offenses and misunderstandings which a few people
fancied they had suffered at my hands. I realized that I had been petty and
small many times. I did not spare myself. A thousand things passed through my
mind. Was I called by revelation? Or, had the Brethren been impressed by the
recent contacts in my home and stake when they had visited us, or by the
accounts of my work in the flood rehabilitation which reports I knew had been
greatly exaggerated in my favor? Had I been called because of my relationship
to one of the First Presidency?
If I could only have the assurance
that my call had been inspired most of my other worries would be dissipated. I
knew if the Lord had revealed to the Brethren that I was to be one of His
leaders, that He would forgive all my weaknesses and make me strong. I knew
full well that He knew all the imperfections of my life and He knew my heart.
And I knew that I must have His acceptance before I could go on. I stumbled up
the hill and onto the mountain, as the way became rough. I faltered some as the
way became steep. No paths were there to follow; I climbed on and on. Never had
I prayed before as I now prayed. What I wanted and felt I must have was an
assurance that I was acceptable to the Lord. I told Him that I neither wanted
nor was worthy of a vision or appearance of angels or any special
manifestation. I wanted only the calm peaceful assurance that my offering was
accepted. Never before had I been tortured as I was now being tortured. And the
assurance did not come.
I was getting higher and the air was
thinner and I was reaching some cliffs and jagged rocky points. I came to a
steep slide area and it was almost impossible to make the grade. I stumbled
over an old oak stick which I picked up. I broke off one end and it was exactly
the right length for a cane. It was rough and a little crooked and worm-eaten
in places, but it helped me climb. I stopped to catch my breath in a protected
cove behind some large rocks but unsatisfied I continued to climb, up steep
jagged rocks made the more difficult of scaling by my tear-filled eyes.
As I rounded a promontory I saw
immediately above me the peak of the mountain and on the peak a huge cross with
its arms silhouetted against the blue sky beyond. It was just an ordinary cross
made of two large heavy limbs of a tree, but in my frame of mind, and coming on
it so unexpectedly, it seemed a sacred omen. It seemed to promise that here on
this cross, on this peak, I might get the answer for which I had been praying
intermittently for six days and nights and constantly and with all the power at
my command these hours of final torture. I threw myself on the ground and wept
and prayed and pleaded with the Lord to let me know where I stood. I thought of
my Father and Mother and my Grandfather, Heber C. Kimball, and my other
relatives that had been passed from the earth for long years and wondered what
part they had had, if any, in this call, and if they approved of me and felt
that I would qualify. I wondered if they had influenced, in any way, the
decision that I should be called. I felt strangely near them, nearer than ever
in my life.
I mentally beat myself and chastised
myself and accused myself. As the sun came up and moved in the sky I moved with
it, lying in the sun, and still I received no relief. I sat up on the cliff and
strange thoughts came to me: all this anguish and suffering could be ended so
easily from this high cliff and then came to my mind the temptations of the
Master when he was tempted to cast Himself down-then I was ashamed for having
placed myself in a comparable position and trying to be dramatic. I looked out over
the beautiful world below, stretching out to the horizon, with its lovely
homes, fertile fields and prosperous businesses and I was reminded that I had
had a small part of that world and was in a position that I could get more and
more of it, and that I was asked to give up a part of it; then I was filled
with remorse because I had permitted myself to place myself again in a position
comparable, in a small degree, to the position the Saviour found Himself in
when He was tempted, and I was filled with remorse because I felt I had
cheapened the experiences of the Lord, having compared mine with His. Again I
challenged myself and told myself that I was only trying to be dramatic and
sorry for myself.
Again I lay on the cool earth. The
thought came that I might take cold, but what did it matter now. There was one
great desire, to get a testimony of my calling, to know that it was not human
and inspired by ulterior motives, kindly as they might be. How I prayed! How I
suffered! How I wept! How I struggled!
Was it a dream which came to me? I was
weary and I think I went to sleep for a little. It seemed that in a dream I saw
my grandfather and became conscious of the great work he had done. I cannot say
that it was a vision, but I do know that with this new experience came a calm
like the dying wind, the quieting wave after the storm is passed. I got up,
walked to the rocky point and sat on the same ledge. My tears were dry, my soul
was at peace. A calm feeling of assurance came over me, doubt and questionings subdued.
It was as though a great burden had been lifted. I sat in tranquil silence
surveying the beautiful valley, thanking the Lord for the satisfaction and the
reassuring answer to my prayers. Long I meditated here in peaceful quietude,
apart, and I felt nearer my Lord than ever at any time in my life.
I finally looked at my wrist watch and
discovered that it would soon be time to leave for Salt Lake. With my cane,
which now seemed an important part of my spiritual experience, I went down the
mountain, not down the steep difficult precipitous way, but down the other side
which was easy and gradual. I had found a path that was easy to follow. I felt
I knew my way, now, physically and spiritually and knew where I was going. (Edward
L. Kimball and Andrew E. Kimball, Jr., Spencer W. Kimball: The Early and
Apostolic Years [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 2006], 188-95; the book was originally
called Spencer W. Kimball: Twelfth President of The Church of Jesus Christ
of Latter-day Saints [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1977])