He's also the kid who broke his toe sweeping the kitchen floor.
I have a friend who yelled at his computer.
And one who attacked his.
I have a three dollar library fine.
My hair is wet...
I feel kind of... dead. Who killed me? Oh, nobody. I died of natural causes. Like lack of sleep and EXTREME lack of something to do. Or at least, something constructive to do. That I actually WANT to do. What am I here for? I mean, of course I know the Sunday School answer to that: to learn, to grow, to be tested. But what's my mission? I don't think God sent me here to sit on my butt wondering what I'm here for. I think He sent me here to complete some sort of action. To achieve something. To make a difference.
But what does it mean to make a difference?
Whenever I think about making a difference, I imagine big famous people like Oprah Winfrey and Bill Gates. I imagine becoming famous for some big kindness I do for the world. For writing a book and giving the proceeds to a homeless shelter. You know? I imagine people hearing my name and everyone around knowing it. That's what I imagine when I think about making a difference.
The thing is I don't WANT to be famous! I would really much rather live in my own little house with my own little family and my own not little husband. Maybe I could be the Relief Society President. Or the Bishop's wife. I don't know. But I want to make a difference...
I read a poem once. It went like this:
"Father, where shall I work today?"
And my love flowed warm and free.
Then He pointed me out a tiny spot,
And said "Tend that for me."
I answered quickly, "Oh no, not that!
Why, no one would ever see.
No matter how well my work was done.
Not that little place for me!"
And the word He spoke, it was not stern,
He answered me tenderly,
"Ah, little one, search that heart of thine,
Art thou working for them or me?
Nazareth was a little place,
and so was Galilee."
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