It’s so quiet in here. Between the silence and the kitty paws hitting the floor, I’d think I was alone.
Turn the lights on, and there beside the sink is the dishes I did last night. I start to put everything in its place only to find out nothing is in its place. While reorganizing and rewashing, I find myself wondering if this is it what it means to live a selfless life?
Looking at the bowl on my counter from a friend, I’m realizing that giving is what I have. My gift is to give, and the challenging part of that gift is I don’t recieve well. Why do givers do that?
The overwhelming feeling that I have to do this or that and the constant exhaustion that comes with it makes me feel like I just exist.
How is one supposed to give if they aren’t refilling the cup they pour from?
The answer is simple. They cannot.