Easter and Spring

As a young child, Easter mostly meant a new dress and the traditional family Easter egg hunt in the backyard. I often pretended to be ambivalent about the new dress (I had a tomboy image to maintain), but the Easter egg hunt...that was something we all got excited about. The excitement would build as Mom pulled out the boxes of plastic Easter eggs, unloaded them, washed them in warm, soapy water, and dried them on the kitchen counter.

Then the best part.

The sewing closet door would open and we could hear the rustle of plastic bags. The motherload was about to appear: jelly beans, marshmallow eggs, Peeps, chicks and bunnies (Easter circus peanuts), and lots and lots of chocolate. They all were divided 100% evenly into bowls (with 11 children, even the cereal was divided 100% evenly into plastic baggies. There was nothing quite so disheartening as being the first one up on Saturday morning and discovering that Mom had actually bought Cookie Crisp, gloriously relishing in the discovery, envisioning eating two bowls full before anyone else stirred, only to open the box and find that it had already been rationed out...[sigh] but I digress). We helped Mom fill the eggs, careful not to overfill (there was no greater egg-hunt disappointment than finding one of your eggs split open in the compost pit), and put each color in its own paper bag.

With the eggs filled, it was time to hand out assignments. I always got the pink eggs because none of the boys would be caught dead searching for pink, let alone carry around a basket full of it. One of the older boys usually got green, the hardest color to find since our backyard was a veritable jungle of fruit trees and vegetable gardens. The other colors rotated around the family. With the colors settled, Mom would send us to the park up the street for an hour while she hid the eggs. It was always a long hour.

We pretended to be focused on whatever game we were playing, but really all we could think about was where Mom was hiding our eggs. Would she use tape this year? Would there be eggs in the eaves again? Of course she would put at least one in the BBQ, several on the roof of the shed, and every color back in her blooming rose garden. Where would the tricky spots be? Down by the apricot tree (since you could get lost down there, especially in the days of the compost pit), along the back fence, and of course inside the orange tree...It was amazing all the nooks and crannies Mom could find. Sometimes we would find an egg and stand there to consider for a moment how exactly Mom managed that one. Every year, there was at least one child who couldn't find all their eggs (it was usually the green and yellow ones). Mom tried to keep an index of the more difficult ones she hid, but with 11 times 13 or so eggs they were hard to keep track of. This is why the Cadbury creme eggs were never hidden inside the eggs themselves. They were passed out post-egg hunt.

Cadbury creme eggs are the second most disgusting Easter candy there is (Peeps taking the number one spot). My brothers love(d) them. I spent several years of my childhood being excited about them simply because they were such a rare treat. But by my teenage years I couldn't take the sugar shock anymore and started trading them for jelly beans. As the boys handed over their gummy candy for my Cadbury chocolate their eyes would invariably read "sucker."

Those were good times. Of course the egg hunt was always held the Saturday before Easter weekend so that it was more a celebration of spring than anything. The focus of Easter weekend was always on Christ. As I got older it became even more so, probably because I became more aware of my need for the atonement. As I started using the atonement more frequently and learned of its various applications, Easter became a true time of celebration--the commemoration of an event beyond my comprehension but upon which my daily happiness and eternal salvation hung.

Last Easter was an especially significant time for me. About four months previously, I had "finished" going through an experience that required every ounce of my emotional energy and faith. I had never before experienced such a trial, but I also had never felt such love, deliverance and healing from my Savior. Those feelings, even four months later, were still fresh and on my mind, so when I was asked to write the Easter piece for the ward newsletter I of course said yes, happy to share my newly-deepened testimony.

That Easter was one of the most peaceful days I can remember having in DC. I woke up knowing that the ward's Easter program was going to be full of the Spirit, that people would be touched, and that my own testimony would be strengthened. All of those things happened. I could not hold back the tears as the choir sang the words "No more a stranger, nor a guest, but like a child at home." I was taken back to that pivotal, pleading moment on my knees months earlier when I was swept up in the love of my Savior. In that moment I knew He was aware of me and that my experience was all part of the refining process. Words really can't describe that feeling of awareness, but I can just tell you that it's real. Every time I think about it, I feel it.

Below is what I wrote for the ward newsletter. A year has passed. I'm not in the same place I was when I wrote this, but those feelings...they haven't gone away. If anything, they have deepened with experience and maturity; they have been tested and refined as I have tried to apply my testimony to each new experience. The principle remains: the Lord loves us, and He wants us on the path home every day. That road is destined to be difficult, a trial of our faith (that is the point of this life, after all), but if we recognize this and trust Him enough to willingly walk that path, the reward is great. After passing through those times of refinement with faith and patience, Spring always comes, and it is always sweet.

****

As I walked through a literal shower of cherry blossoms, I closed my eyes and felt the sunshine envelop me, the wind caressing my skin. Spring is here. Until I moved away from my home, where seasonal changes are barely perceptible, I never quite appreciated mankind’s obsession with the relief of spring. Now, as one of the many delivered from the throes of winter, spring never ceases to delight me. As much as I dread the winter, somehow it is the months of cold and constriction that make this moment sweet.

After my brief reverie, I opened my eyes to observe the many families and individuals gathered to celebrate the arrival of spring. My mind immediately traveled to another event of warmth and hope that is upon us, one of infinite beauty and lasting quality, and worthy of our celebration: the resurrection of our Savior.

The angel declared on Easter morning, “He is not here: for he is risen” (Matt. 28:6). This is the great miracle of life, that the Savior rose from the dead on the third day after having suffered incomprehensible pain out of pure love for us, His brothers and sisters; it is what makes this life worth living. We, like Christ, will also rise from the dead through the power of the priesthood, and we can return to our Father in Heaven and Jesus Christ if we will enter through the gate Christ has opened. There is no pain He cannot heal, no death that will not be overcome, no repentant heart turned away. He makes us whole. He gives us hope that this life is truly a learning experience, one in which we simultaneously beg His forgiveness while granting ours to those who offend us during this journey back home. The spring sunshine pales in comparison to the hope we find in our Savior’s atonement and resurrection, and yet that very sunshine is a reminder of the hope that can deliver us from a long, seemingly endless winter. I bear witness of the reality of our Savior’s atonement. I have been in the spiritual throes of winter, in desperate need of my Savior’s atonement, and He has delivered me. He is waiting, anxious to put His life’s work to use in our lives. He invites us to come unto Him. May we heed His words.