If we can’t achieve temple-like reverence during the regular ward meetings on Sunday,
then we probably need to schedule in additional lessons, talks, and special training seminars on
the subject. This is something we can do and that we must do. Other religions having far fewer
keys on the gospel keyboard can sometimes manage to accomplish this to their betterment. But
can we? It requires not just discipline in eliminating noise, but an overriding feeling of reverence
inside us—something we take to church with us from home on Sundays, and something we take
home with us after attending the temple<\/span>. <\/p> <\/p>
Sunday School in the Hobble Creek 2nd Ward, therefore, was an hour of reverence, an
hour of learning, an hour of folded arms like kindergarten children, and an hour for the teacher to
bear testimony of gospel truths from the manual. Diane, in fact, often demonstrated boldness
before the group in this particular area, for she truly enjoyed testifying. It seemed natural to her
to do such a thing, and each time she testified, she grew more powerful as a teacher.<\/p>
<\/p>
A fuller appreciation of Diane, and her sweet nature as a woman, might best be seen in
the contrast of Sister Perpetue and Sister Simplice in Les Miserables<\/i> as they went about the care
of the poor, feeble, and sick Fantine. The reader will quickly infer which of these two women is
being epitomized as Diane and which is not.<\/p>
<\/p>
The two nuns who performed the services of nurse in the infirmary, Lazariste ladies, like
all sisters of charity, bore the names of Sister Perpetue and Sister Simplice. <\/i><\/p>
<\/p>
Sister Perpetue was an ordinary villager, a sister of charity in a coarse style, who had
entered the service of God as one enters any other service. She was a nun as other women are
cooks. This type is not so very rare. The monastic orders gladly accept this heavy peasant
earthenware, which is easily fashioned into a Capuchin or an Ursuline. These rustics are utilized
for the rough work of devotion. The transition from a drover to a Carmelite is not in the least
violent; the one turns into the other without much effort; the fund of ignorance common to the
village and the cloister is a preparation ready at hand, and places the boor at once on the same
footing as the monk<\/i>.<\/i><\/p>
<\/p>
Sister Perpetue was a robust nun from Marines near Pontoise, who chattered her patois,
droned, grumbled, sugared the potion according to the bigotry or the hypocrisy of the invalid,
treated her patients abruptly, roughly, was crabbed with the dying, almost flung God in their
faces, stoned their death agony with prayers mumbled in a rage; was bold, honest, and ruddy.<\/i><\/p>
<\/p>
Sister Simplice was white, with a waxen pallor. Beside Sister Perpetue, she was the taper
beside the candle. Vincent de Paul has divinely traced the features of the Sister of Charity in
these admirable words, in which he mingles as much freedom as servitude: <\/i><\/p>
<\/p>
\"They shall have for their convent only the house of the sick; for cell only a hired room;
for chapel only their parish church; for cloister only the streets of the town and the wards of the <\/i><\/p>
hospitals; for enclosure only obedience; for gratings only the fear of God; for veil only
modesty.\" <\/i><\/p>
<\/p>
This ideal was realized in the living person of Sister Simplice: she had never been young,
and it seemed as though she would never grow old. No one could have told S<\/i>ister Simplice's age.
She was <\/i>gentle, austere, well-bred, cold, and who had never lied. She was so gentle that she
appeared fragile; but she was more solid than granite. She touched the unhappy with fingers that
were charmingly pure and fine. There was, so to speak, silence in her speech; she said just what
was necessary, and she possessed a tone of voice which would have equally edified a
confessional or enchanted a drawing-room. This delicacy accommodated itself to the serge
gown, finding in this harsh contact a continual reminder of heaven and of God.<\/i><\/p>
<\/p>
Let us emphasize one detail. Never to have lied, never to have said, for any interest
whatever, even in indifference, any single thing which was not the truth, the sacred truth, was
Sister Simplice's<\/i> <\/i>distinctive trait; it was the accent of her virtue. She was almost renowned in the
congregation for this imperturbable veracity.<\/i><\/p>
<\/p>
The Abbé Sicard speaks of Sister Simplice in a letter to the deaf-mute Massieu. However
pure and sincere we may be, we all bear upon our candor the crack of the little, innocent lie. She
did not. Little lie, innocent lie—does such a thing exist? To lie is the absolute form of evil. To lie
a little is not possible: he who lies, lies the whole lie. To lie is the very face of the demon. Satan
has two names; he is called Satan and Lying. That is what she thought; and as she thought, so
she did. The result was the whiteness which we have mentioned—a whiteness which covered
even her lips and her eyes with radiance. Her smile was white, her glance was white. There was
not a single spider's web, not a grain of dust, on the glass window of that conscience. <\/i><\/p>
<\/p>
This pious woman had conceived an affection for Fantine, probably feeling a latent virtue
there, and she had devoted herself almost exclusively to her care.<\/i><\/p>
<\/p>
Like Carolyn spoken of before, Diane, too, had the simple and humble nature of a small
beast, such as a lion cub. <\/p>
<\/p>
But Carolyn as a lion cub had a tendency to proceed out adventurously from the den.
Stepping carefully with her paws through the tall grass, she noticed every little detail she passed
along the way––insects, flowers, colorful plants, small animals off at a distance, the breaking of
a small tree branch under her paws, and other such marvels. <\/p>
<\/p>
Diane, in contrast, preferred to stay close to the den, never venturing out too far. She had
gone out exploring on her own a few times in the past but had come back bitten or stung on her
nose. Thus, the den and the surrounding area suited her best; it was quiet and safe, and it was her
home. <\/p>
<\/p>
Again, from Les Miserables<\/i> <\/i>we read:<\/p>
<\/p>
It is our conviction that if souls were visible to the eyes, we should be able to see
distinctly that strange thing that each one individual of the human race corresponds to some one <\/i><\/p>
of the species of the animal creation; and we could easily recognize this truth, hardly perceived
by the thinker, that from the oyster to the eagle, from the pig to the tiger, all animals exist in
man, and that each one of them is in a man. Sometimes even several of them at a time. <\/i><\/p>
<\/p>
Animals are nothing else than the figures of our virtues and our vices, straying before our
eyes, the visible phantoms of our souls. God shows them to us in order to induce us to reflect.
Only since animals are mere shadows, God has not made them capable of education in the full
sense of the word; what is the use? On the contrary, our souls being realities and having a goal
which is appropriate to them, God has bestowed on them intelligence; that is to say, the
possibility of education. Social education, when well done, can always draw from a soul, of
whatever sort it may be, the utility which it contains.<\/i><\/p>
<\/p>
To which we add this counsel from the Prophet Joseph Smith from History of the
Church<\/i>:<\/i><\/p>
<\/p>
Men must become harmless, before the brute creation; and when men lose their vicious
dispositions and cease to destroy the animal race, the lion and the lamb can dwell together, and
the sucking child can play with the serpent in safety.<\/i><\/p>
<\/p>
The first sting to her nose occurred when Diane was a young girl of thirteen growing up
in her home town of Pasadena. On her way home from school one day, a boy started teasing her
about the makeup she was wearing. Mean, blunt, and uncouth, he told her not to bother––that
even with all the makeup she had on, she was still not pretty. The brusque comment was
devastating to Diane, causing a sharp recoil of her most sensitive emotions. It was one of the
most terrible moments of her life. <\/p>
<\/p>
Arriving home that day, she locked herself in her bedroom and cried for hours, only
stopping long enough to take occasional looks at herself in the mirror. In the days and weeks that
followed, she withdrew herself socially from everyone, including friends and family. Nobody
knew what had happened. She told no one.<\/p>
<\/p>
Prior to that day, she had always been very happy in her life. She had marvelous parents,
a wonderful family, and was accustomed to being treated with love, respect, and genuine
admiration in the home. She was aware that this boy had said similar things to other girls, some
of whom were obviously attractive and quite popular in school. That was at least some
consolation to her. Was this boy just factually wrong in his description of her? She wasn't sure.
But in the end, the words spoken by a single teenage boy on one afternoon did serious damage to
her self-esteem, creating doubts that remained with her even later in life after she was married. <\/p>
<\/p>
The incident, however, did lead to a series of positive changes in her life. From that
moment forward, she worked harder than ever to improve her appearance—her manner of dress,
her figure, her hair style, her use of makeup without overdoing it, her personality and smile—
with the extra work ultimately paying off for her. As she grew older, she became more attractive
to men, including the man she eventually married.<\/p>
The incident changed her life in one other important way as well. It gave her an
understanding of the harshness of the outside world, helping her to prepare early on for any
difficult challenges that might come along later. Her faith in God grew immensely during this
trial of her teenage years. <\/p>
<\/p>
Initially, she withdrew herself from the world, wanting to be alone to avoid further hurt.
She talked very little and spent most of her free time alone in her bedroom doing schoolwork.
After a few weeks of this, however, she started to enjoy the opportunity to be alone for another
reason––it allowed her to feel peace inside as she pondered, prayed, read favorite books, and
read the scriptures. Her bedroom became more like a fun treehouse rather than a safe haven from
the world, a place where she could go to discover God and spiritual things. It was here where she
was able to find the emotional strength needed to deal with the outside world. Part of that new
strength came on the day she was able to forgive the boy for what he had said to her. Doing that
lessened the hurt inside and made her feel happier. It also gave her the desire to reach out and
help others who had been suffering in much the same way as she.<\/p>"}