Eggs and Testimonies

 

I don't remember many details about Easter this year. Which I guess is okay because there are always plenty of things to think about that have little to do with events and circumstances, but even so, fading memories have to be one of the saddest of things of this life.

One thing is for sure...

There were hidden eggs.

And happy children.

And testimonies shared of the Savior and his resurrection.

I have pictures of the eggs. Different kinds for different kids.

And of the happy children.

But not of the testimonies.

Which makes sense because a testimony isn't tangible like a plastic egg. You couldn't take a picture of it even if you wanted to. In fact, often it's difficult to know if it's there at all because sometimes it hides in the shadowy corners of your soul.

Sometimes it feels discouraging when you search and search and search for it in the deepest of places but still come up empty handed. 

And it's even more discouraging when everyone else seems to be finding that theirs are hidden in plain sight.

So you sit, discouraged, on a chair, knowing there is more out there for you but not knowing where else to look.

But that's when the most magical things happen. The family rallies together - each individual with his or her own basket full (for the moment), and they begin to search the corners for the colors meant only for you. And when they find your colors they do not shout out the exact location, but they lead and guide and steer you to the place so that you can find them yourself.

Because families care about each other.

Whether it's about hidden plastic Easter eggs or hidden testimonies... maybe there isn't much of a difference.