Every now and again, the girl who so willingly served others found herself bereft. She could not understand how she could give so much and yet they always wanted more.
She sat in a quiet room at the break of day and pondered why it was that some were born to give to others. She reflected on the fact that perhaps what drove her to give without asking for very much in return was a need so deep that she could not tap into its roots. It existed within her. The need to serve always had and always would thrive and grow within her. She was a giver. This is how it had been ordained. There was nothing she could do about it even if she had wanted.
Yet, she was not without her own needs. She understood well enough that she gave with love. Her hope was that she would receive enough in return to see her through.
In her greatest hour of need, she sat very still. She closed her eyes tight and was momentarily flooded in darkness. She let her mind wander until she felt arms around her, hugging her tight. His hands were workers hands with thick, Welsh fingers. His affection calmed her and sustained her and reminded her of his unconditional love for her and her unconditional love for him.
And, then her mind fleeted across to another pair of arms; this time extra long, and she felt them envelop her. She recalled the time she had unwittingly let him into to her lustful, burning soul and he permitted her to express her vulnerability, that one time. Not the sophisticated woman right now but a little girl with a breaking heart.
He waited until her eyes had dried and with the strength of all his being he told her that she would be all right. If he said so, then she was sure he was right.
She looked up and saw the new day break.
She shook her head clear and as she did she said goodbye again to those two pairs of guiding arms; long gone.
She prepared the breakfast.
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