With hair disheveled . . .

My blog used to be titled "Feeling Berry." It was a little twist on my new name, and I thought it would clever. I had heard a little about the blogging world and was under the distinct impression that you had to have a cutsie name and theme. I thought you had to have some code name for your spouse like Mr. L or B-Honey. I posted two posts "feeling berry something" as my title and hated it. It wasn't me. Sometimes I didn't really know how I was feeling, but I knew I wasn't quite feeling like a "Berry".

My life was changing a lot. That road I had pictured before me for so long was drifting from my vision as I began to realize it would never be. I felt as though the 'me' that I knew was withering and I needed an escape somewhere I could revisit that old girl and those old dreams. I needed something to do to keep my mind from sinking into depression. I began writing. It was always something I enjoyed, and it let me open up. To express more fully what I was really feeling though, I needed more freedom than my limited theme allowed. To make the blog truly mine I had to rename it.

"With Hair Disheveled" was a short story I began writing shortly after graduating high school. It's title was derived from the description of the main character who was anything but extraordinary, with no great destiny to fulfill, and was, well, frumpy. My goal was to write about a real person with no happy ending. But I never finished the story. As I gained a greater understanding of the gospel of Christ and shook off the last dregs of my teenage angst I realized that if we keep the commandments, seek forgiveness through repentance, and endure to the end there will be a happy ending-- if maybe not in this life then surely the next-- because as children of Deity we do have a great destiny to fulfill.

My sister came over tonight to have dinner with me and Paul, and I didn't clean up special for her visit. I thought about it. I wanted everything to look perfect when she came and for her to be impressed by my amazing decorating and cooking and and homemaking skills. I wanted her to see how happy and put-together I was. But I'm not perfect, and it's hard pretending to be when I'm fooling no one. Sometimes it's okay if someone comes over and my cookbooks are sitting on the couch from menu making, and my heart won't stop beating if they see we didn't make our bed this morning, and the world will not stop turning if dishes are in the sink unwashed when company arrives.

My dinners are not perfectly cooked, my house is not always spotless, and I will not always have a job I love or be able to afford school when I want because my life is not those fantasy books I read. Everything will not always go according to my plan. But I'm still going to be okay. My disheveled hair and unvacuumed floor won't last forever, but they remind me to be a little better everyday and to just keep swimming because this, too, shall pass.

Neal A. Maxwell once said, "As part of his infinite atonement, Jesus . . . has Borne the sins, griefs, sorrows. . . and pains of every man, woman, and child. Having been perfected in his empathy, Jesus thus knows how to succor us . . . Nothing is beyond his redeeming reach or His encircling empathy. Therefore, we should not complain about our own life's not being a rose garden when we remember who wore the crown of thorns!"