Every year, spring is a wondrous, breath-taking delight. Whether the miracle of it occurs in March, April, or May, it does always occur, and every time, the miracle is stunning and glorious. In an orderly, dependable cycle, small, tenacious crocuses press upward through still-frozen dirt or even persistent snow, to please the eye and gladden the heart of attentive passers-by.
Immediately on the heels of the crocuses, brilliant yellow daffodils and bright golden forsythia bushes take their turn reaching upward in bold determination. They are followed by likewise-determined tulips as well as assorted purple violets and eventually elegant hydrangeas. The whole choreographed chorus of springtime is a thrilling and dependable demonstration of newness of life and the promise of rebirth. It all speaks with convincing visibility of the pure, unfailing love of God to those who have eyes to see.
With all its visible evidence of new life and Godly love, spring is a fitting time of year to celebrate Easter, the commemoration of the life and resurrection of the Savior Jesus Christ. Reflection on that eternally essential miracle warrants at least a full season of celebration laden and rich with visible evidence of the rebirth of nature. A quarter of the year is barely enough time to focus on the metaphor around us to promote our remembering and giving thanks for the Savior of the world.
When I was a young girl, I always attended the First Presbyterian Church on South Temple Street in Salt Lake City on Easter Sunday with my Presbyterian father and grandparents. I loved the dozens of tall, bright white lilies that lined the front of the worship hall, the stained-glass windows that allowed the sun to stream down upon us in our pews with all the colors of the rainbow, and the heartfelt sermons of the devoted minister who addressed us with prepared fervor. On one Easter Sunday, in a call and response exchange, he methodically told the story of the life of the Savior. Each time he finished a sentence or two of narrative that always ended with the question, “Who won?”, the whole congregation responded with faithful vigor, “We did!” I knew it was true. Indeed, we did. Light triumphed over darkness, warmth dominated cold, and life emerged from death. We won. We still do.
Every year, spring reminds us visually of the victory. The rebirth of the earth serves as a valuable metaphor of newness of life. The fact is the whole of mortal experience is divinely designed to serve as a metaphorical classroom experience to teach us truth in a multi-sensory way and lead us back to our heavenly home if we open our eyes and hearts to the life lessons available at every turn.
Even simple games can offer us opportunities to extract broadly applicable life lessons that are valuable beyond the boundaries of the play. Recently I was playing a Rummy-type card game with a quartet of visiting grandchildren. Ever loving a good metaphor, I asked the children to keep their eyes open to life lessons that could be learned from the game as they played. I knew those eager-to-please kids would find something meaningful to share in response to their grandmother’s request, but the depth of their insights astonished me.
One girl aptly noted that sometimes she was ahead and sometimes she was behind, and that she experienced the same jagged journey of delight and disappointment in life. She said that she was reminded never to quit or give up. Neither the game nor any daily pursuit was over until it was. And even then, we could play another round.
Another girl shared that she enjoyed the game mostly for the sake of our being together. The same was true for her throughout her day. Winning or beating someone else didn’t matter to her half as much as finding pleasure in the side-by-side interaction.
One grandson took extra time to think, then carefully shared, “I learned that it was very unlikely that I would win a round if I didn’t have at least one wild card in my hand. A wild card served so many essential purposes. It could fill in when nothing else could, make otherwise unworkable cards work in a new way, and offer support and versatility to a disorganized hand of difficult cards. At least one wild card made all the difference.” He identified the metaphor as he added, “My life is like that, too. A wild card in my life is a person – at least one – who serves so many essential purposes, fills in when nothing else can, makes otherwise unworkable circumstances work in a new way, and provides support and versatility when my life feels disorganized or difficult. It would be very difficult to do life without at least one person to serve as my ‘wild card.’” We both suggested nearly simultaneously that I would love to be his perpetual wild card.
An impressively intentional mother creatively implemented the concept of employing metaphors as teaching tools when she proposed a “Year of Fear” game to her five teenaged boys. She and her husband brainstormed a two-page list of tasks, adventures, experiences, and quests that sounded hard or even frightening to some members of the family. What was hard to one family member probably wouldn’t be for another, but the list was long and assorted enough to include pursuits that could challenge each one. The boys added additional challenges to the list. Among many other things, the Year of Fear list included:
Take diving lessons, Bear your testimony next Fast Sunday, Run for a school office, Jump off a diving board, Take a non-member friend to our local temple open house, Climb to the top of a climbing wall, Write your testimony in a Book of Mormon and give it to a non-member friend, Try three foods you have never dared eat, Climb a tree, Ride on a Ferris wheel, Invite a girl to a school dance, Begin a school club, Ride a horse, Join a sports team.
The list would vary from family to family, but every list would include things that stretched and challenged individual family members beyond their current comfort zones in meaningful, growth-promoting ways. Each month, the family shared with each other their victories as they conquered fears and stretched to grow. All encouraged each other and celebrated the personal triumphs.
Perhaps the ultimate, most sacred learning metaphor available to us on earth can be found in a Temple of God. The whole experience is characterized by a metaphorical personal journey in the company of others as we engage in a timeless reenactment of mortality. The learning and life lessons in that holy place are both universal and personal. We engage in the same fundamental experiences each time we attend the temple, but the metaphorical learning and application to our own lives can be infinitely varied and customized by the Spirit to suit our specific needs and circumstances.
Metaphors can provide marvelous symbolic illumination of abstract or complicated concepts. There are metaphorical life lessons all around in nature, play, and worship services that can enable us to see and understand truth and embrace growth as we have eyes to see, hearts to feel, and minds to celebrate evidences of the divine everywhere and always.
