Tuesday, April 11, my mom—this beautiful lady here—and I went to lunch and to the Provo City Center Temple. It was such a fun afternoon, and such a beautiful experience! Gosh, I love that building. It’s one of my favorites. My choices for a couple of the light fixtures in my house were totally influenced by the chandeliers in this temple. They’re slightly gothic, and sooo beautiful!
I’ve been thinking about Easter since before Easter. What I celebrate over Easter is something so close to my heart that I struggle to find words to express it. It’s something that can really, only be felt in order to be adequately understood. But it doesn’t stop me from trying.
Tuesday was such a beautiful day. As I walked to the car from Olive Garden with my mom, absorbing the bright, warm sun, I thought about how just a week before, my little family and I were driving home from St. George in a blizzard. It was terrifying!
And then I thought about Easter, and what a beautiful weekend that had been. It was full of warmth and sunlight.
So, one day, for many days, everything was covered in snow. And just before Easter, things shifted. In a matter of only a few days, the snow on my front lawn had melted. The months of winter came to an end.
I thought… isn’t it fitting, that the resurrection of the Savior, His sacrifice, His Atonement, is celebrated in Spring? After months of darkness, death, and cold, the world is reborn in warmth and light.
And that is who the Savior is—that is who He is to me. He is light. He is warmth. He is perfect—perfect—LOVE and compassion. He is HOPE. Hope that winter will end. That the warmth of spring will embrace the world with warmth and light again.
I feel like my mind has been stuck in winter. But while I was in the temple, I just felt so much hope.
Good things are ahead. You will be so glad you held on.
There is Someone who knows how to navigate the winter, who understands exactly what you are going through. He is a source of strength, of hope, and will help you hold on until the world shifts from blizzard to spring.
Where Rose Writes Very True Stories 