{"chapter_no":"21","chapter_title":"How Lovely Is Thy Dwelling Place","book_id":"3","book_name":"Springville","subchapter_no":"0","page_no":"482","page_number":"1","verses_count":0,"total_pages":6,"page_content":"

<\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

Chapter 21<\/span><\/p>

How Lovely Is Thy Dwelling Place<\/span><\/h1><\/p>

 <\/p>

Diane Hunter teaches plain and simple gospel<\/i> truths<\/i> by the Spirit in Sunday School class—
Reverence alone can help lead a ward to greatness—Animals teach us many things about ourselves—
Diane passes through a serious trial in her teenage years—Her bedroom<\/i> is<\/i> like a treehouse<\/i>, a place she
goes<\/i> to read books, pray, and learn the ways of God.<\/i><\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

 <\/p>

 <\/p>

The teacher of the Hobble Creek 2nd Ward’s Sunday School class for the last two years
was Diane Hunter. A truly wonderful soul, the reader will remember her as the older of Leonard
and Carina’s two daughters. She had never been one to talk very much in church, and she didn’t
consider herself to be as knowledgeable in the gospel as many others in the ward, so the calling
came as a shock to her. Nevertheless, she was obedient to the call in the same way that she was
obedient to all the commandments of the Lord. <\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

Teaching Sunday School class required that Diane stand before a large group of people
and put herself out in front of the ward every week. A shy person, this took some getting used to.
In her presentation of the lesson, she spoke softly––so softly, in fact, that those seated in the back
rows had to really concentrate to hear what she was saying. She had a nice smile, and pleasantly
worked through the material covered in the lesson manual, but her natural speaking voice just
wasn’t loud enough. As a solution to the problem, the Sunday School president arranged for a
microphone to be set up on the half podium at the front of the classroom. With a sheepish smile,
Diane approached the new microphone for the first time with trepidation, tapping it a few times
to test it out, and then awkwardly speaking into it as the lesson started. But it was clear to
everyone she didn’t feel comfortable using it, and about halfway through the hour, she had
already moved away from the podium and stopped using it. Aware that Diane was still a little
uncomfortable speaking before a group of people, the bishop told the Sunday School president to
let it go, and the microphone was removed from the podium for future lessons.<\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

Her soft voice, while hard to hear, was beneficial in one respect––it improved the
reverence in the classroom. Talking among those in attendance, therefore, had to be kept to a
minimum so that everyone could hear and understand what she was saying. It was seen as an
annoyance at first, but soon everyone started to go along with this new idea of reverence in
Sunday School class. It was something quite nice actually and not really an annoyance at all. It
was so enjoyable, in fact, that the period for reverence was subsequently extended by the Sunday
School president to include the time that preceded and the time followed the lesson period. As a
result, the atmosphere in Diane’s Sunday School class when ward members arrived each Sunday
began to rival that of a temple, preparing them to receive a stronger manifestation of the Spirit. <\/p>

There was less talking, less exchange of ideas, fewer friendly arguments, and less theorizing or
commenting about doctrine; instead, the ward members just listened to the lesson quietly. She
taught the gospel tenderly. Her emphasis was on teaching simple truths by the Spirit. A principle
of the gospel was explained and testified to, and then the Spirit filled the hearts of everyone in
the classroom. Edification was done directly by the Spirit for the entire hour—the same
edification process used every day in temples throughout the world. The attendees in Sunday
School class, therefore, were taught from on high.<\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

Have we ever asked ourselves what can be brought to pass in the Church by just
reverence alone? <\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

Is reverence helpful only on the margins, or is it a powerful tool that can help transform a
ward and lead it to greatness? <\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

Temple-like reverence in our hearts and in our homes, and temple-like reverence in
Sunday School, sacrament meeting, youth classes, priesthood quorums, Relief Society, Primary
and the ten-minute breaks in between—is there any value in this at all? What kind of results
might we expect?<\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

Here’s a guess––the spirituality of our families and wards might double overnight. The
Spirit can do amazing things when He is not competing with all of the noisy distractions of our
normal home and church environments.<\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

Reverence is a pondering of sacred things in our hearts. Thus, it is much more than just
being quiet. It is a respect and honor for God. It is how we prepare ourselves in the morning
before going about our daily tasks. It is what we think about all day long. It is how we feel about
ourselves and those around us. It is what we intend to do for the rest of our lives.<\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

Many things in our everyday lives create noise and might seem irreverent by nature. But
it is not the noise of an automobile’s engine in the garage that chases the Spirit away—unless of
course the man of the house has just left the house upset after a fight, leaving his wife crying in
the kitchen. If the general atmosphere of our home is reverent, accommodations can be made for
the necessary everyday noises of life. Nevertheless, the more we can do to minimize or eliminate
extra noises at home, the better off we will be. A quiet environment is always better for the Spirit
than a noisy one.<\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

We can control the atmosphere at church on Sundays if we want to, but we seem to have
grown accustomed to failure in this area. Have we given up on reverence in our Sunday services?
Have we given up on reverence as a strategic, forward-looking goal of the Church?<\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

Reverence––making our homes and meetinghouses more peaceful and reverent for the
Spirit of God to dwell––is a critical early step in the building of Zion. It is also essential to the
preaching of the gospel. An investigator family that shows reverence and proper respect to the
missionaries when they first arrive at the door, and while they are taught a gospel discussion
after the missionaries have been welcomed in, will most likely be more ready to accept the
teachings of faith, repentance, baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost that follow. This is <\/p>

particularly true among the peoples and cultures of the world who know little or nothing about
Jesus Christ. Thus, reverence for God and sacred things is where the gospel needs to start.<\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

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.<\/span><\/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.<\/span><\/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><\/span><\/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><\/span><\/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><\/span><\/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><\/span><\/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><\/span><\/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><\/span><\/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><\/span><\/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><\/span><\/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><\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

Like Carolyn spoken of before, Diane, too, had the simple and humble nature of a small
beast, such as a lion cub. <\/span><\/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. <\/span><\/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. <\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

Again, from Les Miserables<\/i> <\/i>we read:<\/span><\/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><\/span><\/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><\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

To which we add this counsel from the Prophet Joseph Smith from History of the
Church<\/i>:<\/i><\/span><\/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><\/span><\/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. <\/span><\/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.<\/span><\/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. <\/span><\/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.<\/span><\/p>

<\/p>

<\/span><\/p>

The incident changed her life in one other important way as well. It gave her an
understanding of the harshness of the 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. <\/span><\/p>

 <\/p>

Initially, she withdrew herself from friends and family, 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 away from people, 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.<\/span><\/p>

<\/p>"}