I've recently heard a reiterated comparison between mountains and temples.
I was given a priesthood blessing of comfort and direction in December. Besides being told to pursue my education, I was told not to worry, because I am a mother in Zion and my children are sealed to me. But my children have not been sealed to me, at least not in the sense of linear time. I tried to argue the words of that blessing, but they stand, uncorrected. I am coming to understand the promises of the gospel, and the surety that at some point my children will be caught up in the web of Christ's human family lest the Earth be smitten with a curse. I feel that counsel redelivered to my heart just as often as the temple/mountain symbology is given. Perhaps that is why I have such a difficult time coming out of the mountains, or why I love having my children there with me.
This evening, life in our refugee camp became particularly vexing. I mentioned a trail I knew that I hadn't yet climbed, and my kids eagerly loaded into the van for the drive up Happy Canyon. We spent the fading hours of daylight together exploring the Lord's temple, every so often reaching out to give one another a needed hand.