If only Stevie could get that same confidence in where he was in what he was doing. But it was harder for a child, even one bright and mature for his age as Stevie. He hadn't yet had enough experience with life to be patient, to know even when things were unpleasant and hard that it all had a purpose, even fear, even pain that it would end up preparing him to be a fine man who would understand the suffering and loneliness of others.
There was plenty of time, though. That was the nice thing, that in a couple years she could say to Stevie, "Do you remember how hard it was for you when we first moved here? Why, you even had imaginary friends that you played with, you were so determined to be lonely And now look at you, with all these friends, and doing so well school!" If only she could skip over the next few years, and take him to that place right now, so that he could see that this crisis his life would pass.
In the meantime, she had her career in this place, and so did Step. Actually, Step had two careers, so while he hated working with some of those strange people at Eight Bits Inc., he had the relief of Sundays, a chance to talk to people who understood the way he saw the world, to be a servant of the Lord instead of a servant of Ray Keene.
For Step, of course, teaching the gospel doctrine class was easy. He didn't think about it during the week, didn't even prepare it until sacrament meeting, usually. He'd read a couple of chapters in the Old Testament while the speakers droned on, jot some notes, and then a few minutes after sacrament meeting ended he'd stand up in front of the class and dazzle them. In a way he'd been preparing all his life to teach a class like this-all it took was a few moments of thought and he could draw out of his memory enough insights into the scriptures to keep the class members pondering and exploring for a week.
For DeAnne, though, teaching was a much more involving task. For one thing, women in Relief Society expected far more preparation from their teachers. There had to be visual aids, and sometimes handouts, and sometimes treats, which meant that DeAnne had to plan each lesson for days, for weeks. For another thing, DeAnne soon found that Sister Bigelow apparently relied on her teachers to be part of the leadership of the Relief Society. She was often on the phone to DeAnne, asking her to help with this or that-to call a list of sisters, for instance, and ask them to take food over to so-and-so's house because her mother had been in the hospital and she shouldn't have to worry about cooking. "I'm so sorry to put all these things on you," Sister Bigelow said, "but our compassionate service leader isn't-well, isn't always able to do what's needed."
DeAnne understood perfectly-the compassionate service leader was no doubt one of those who were given callings that they weren't really capable of doing yet, to help them grow. In the meantime, others had to take up the slack and get the job done while the sister with the calling was learning how to get her act together.
DeAnne took on all these assignments gladly and fulfilled them at once. After all, this was her career. To make those phone calls while Robbie and Elizabeth were down for their naps, to cut out visual aids for her lesson while Elizabeth colored beside her and Robbie practiced his letters-that was how life was supposed to be lived, connecting always with her children, and always with the sisters of the ward.
But the most pressing part of her work was that spiritual living lesson- if she didn't do that well, then she'd be less effective in anything else she did. The sisters here had to learn to have confidence in her from the start, and it would be hard, since some would be a bit resentful of a newcomer being given such a plum of a calling.
Furthermore, her first teaching assignment was right away, on the first of May. She had no choice but to let a few things slide at home-the remaining boxes could stay packed until after the lesson was done.
On Sunday she was so nervous she woke early and couldn't go back to sleep. When Step got up at eight o'clock, he found the children already dressed in their Sunday clothes, eating breakfast.
"What, does church start at eight-thirty instead of nine?"
"I just wanted us not to be all in a rush going to church today, said DeAnne.
Step smiled and put his arm around her. She knew that wasn't much of a hugger by nature, but he knew she needed physical contact, so when he noticed that she needed it, he gave it. Today she hadn't realized how much she needed the reassurance of his arm around her, but she felt calm go through her in a wave, and she clung to him for a moment. "You're going to wonderful," he said. "You always worry so much, but you're great teacher and they're going to love you."
All through sacrament meeting she could hardly listen to to people bearing their testimonies, she was so nervous. During Step's lesson in Sunday school, she kept glancing down at her notes, making sure that she knew exactly what she was going say. For a moment, though, his words brought her out of he reverie. He was telling the story of the time when Joshua was all upset because a couple of men were prophesying in the camp Israel, and he wanted Moses to come and stop them. Step paraphrased Moses' answer: "Don't be jealous on my behalf.
I wish all the people were prophets." Then Step launched into his riff about how the Lord expects every Saint to receive guidance from the Lord, and not rely on anyone else, not even the prophet, to tell them every move to make in their lives. For one awful moment DeAnne thought, He's going to give my lesson. I should have to him what my lesson was about because he's going to cover the whole thing right here and in Relief Society it's going to sound like I'm just repeating what my husband said, which would complete undercut the whole point I want to make.
But Step went on to a discussion of ritual, and DeAnne breathed a sigh of relief, though she drew a little star in her not and wrote "Step" beside it, right at the spot in her lesson where she should refer to what Step had said in Sunday school. She'd make it work.
She wasn't counting on Sister LeSueur.
Because of Jenny Cowper's warning, DeAnne had noticed right away who Sister LeSueur was. A
nice-looking lady, probably in her early sixties, hair dyed blond, and always dressed to show both money and dignity. She always had a smile and a word for everyone, and DeAnne rather liked her. She couldn't understand why Jenny would have said such unpleasant things about her. Perhaps Sister LeSueur's sweetness was a bit excessive, a bit too ostentatious, but there were many worse things that could be wrong with a person. Jenny must simply have misunderstood something that she said. Or perhaps she just has a low tolerance for people who are too careful to show that they are really good at being Christlike. DeAnne didn't have too much use for people like that, either, but Sister LeSueur didn't seem all that obnoxious.
She began to understand what Jenny was talking about, though, when her lesson was over and it was time for the sisters to bear their testimonies. The lesson had gone very well. It was about testimonies, and after telling several stories she got to her main point, that each sister had to have her own relationship with the Spirit of God. "The only mediator between us and our Father in heaven is Jesus Christ, and no one else, not the bishop, not our husbands, can stand between us and the Lord. Your testimony of the Lord is the one that you will be judged by at the last day, not someone else's. As the Savior said, it is the words that we speak, not the words that we hear, that can damn us-or lift us up. Your husband's testimony can't possibly carry you into heaven." They nodded, many of them, when she said that.
Then she spoke about how she and Step had not discussed their lessons with each other, and yet both of them had ended up making exactly that point-that the Lord wanted all his children to be prophets, to receive the Spirit in their lives. "Perhaps the Lord really wanted you to hear that lesson today. But I didn't have to go to my husband to find out about it-if either of us was inspired, then we were both inspired, and that's how it should be with our testimonies." Again, they nodded. And when she finished with her lesson, more than a few were dabbing at their eyes.