05/28/2025
A story for every silent giver ♥️
The Hen Who Fed Everyone But Herself — A Story for Every Silent Giver
Once upon a time, in a quiet corner of the countryside, a proud bull decided to host a grand banquet. With a loud voice and an air of self-importance, he proclaimed,
“I won’t be bringing any food, of course—I’m already providing my home for the celebration. That’s more than enough.”
The dog wagged his tail and added,
“I’ve got an old bone lying around—still has a scrap of meat on it. I’ll bring that.”
Then the horse, chewing lazily on hay, said,
“I have a piece of cheese leftover from last year’s fair. A bit stale, maybe, but still edible.”
All eyes turned to the hen. She paused, taken aback. Her feathers ruffled slightly as she looked at the others. After a moment of silence, she said quietly,
“Then I suppose I’ll handle everything else—the firewood, the rice, the beans, the spices, and the cooking.”
No one objected. So, with a soft sigh and a heavy heart, she got to work.
The day of the banquet arrived.
Before the sun had fully risen, the hen had tied a scarf around her head, gripped a machete in her beak, and marched into the forest to gather firewood. Her wings ached under the weight of the bags she carried—rice, beans, corn, onions, tomatoes, and more.
When she entered the bull’s kitchen, her feathers were streaked with ash, her feet swollen, and her brow drenched with sweat. Yet still, she smiled. She poured her heart into every dish. She cooked with care, with memory, with love.
But in her exhaustion, she accidentally added too much salt to the beans.
That evening, the guests arrived one by one.
The horse dropped off his hard, dry cheese and served himself a heaping portion. After a single bite, he smirked and said,
“Is this a pot of beans with salt, or salt with a hint of beans?”
The dog barked with laughter as he laid down his near-bare bone, filled his plate to the brim, and added,
“Hen, are we bulls now? Do you expect us to lick salt for dinner?”
The bull, fortunately, didn’t complain—he had always liked his food salty.
But not one of them thanked the hen.
Quietly hurt but still kind, she returned home and cooked a fresh batch of beans, perfectly seasoned this time. The smell was divine. It floated through the village, drawing the animals back like a spell.
They ate in silence, savoring every bite. Not a single word of gratitude was spoken. Not a single hand lifted to help.
All night, the hen remained in the kitchen, never invited to sit, to eat, or to join in the laughter. When the last guest left, not even a goodbye was offered.
The hen, exhausted and alone, returned to the kitchen only to find a crust of dried beans left for herself. Her stomach growled, but she said nothing. In silence, she swept the floor, scrubbed the pots, and wiped the tears from her feathers.
This wasn’t a one-time thing. It became the norm.
And then one day… the hen simply didn’t show up.
No firewood. No bubbling pots. No scent of home-cooked meals. No warmth. No joy.
The animals waited, confused.
“Where is she?” they asked, but no one had an answer.
Days later, they stumbled upon a cold, hidden cave on the edge of the forest. Inside echoed a voice—fragile and distant:
“Forgive me, Mom… I just wanted to protect the family…”
It was the hen’s voice.
But she was nowhere to be found.
Panicked, the animals turned to the wise old goat, known for her understanding and deep wisdom.
“Why was she living in a cave?” they asked.
“Why didn’t we know she had no home or anyone to care for her?”
The goat looked at them, eyes heavy with sorrow.
“Once, she had a home,” the goat said.
“She lived in a coop full of joy, laughter, and life. But one terrible night, a snake slithered in. While her sisters fled in fear, she stayed behind to protect the chicks. She was bitten. She survived—but instead of gratitude, they cast her out. Her scars made them uncomfortable.”
“Since then, she’s had no roof, no family. She gave everything she had to others while carrying the weight of her own invisible wounds. She cooked with a broken heart. She smiled so no one would see her tears. And still… none of you noticed.”
The animals stood in stunned silence.
The goat sighed and said,
“She’s not dead… but she is broken. I found her, and I’m caring for her now. But she no longer has the strength to carry everyone else when no one ever carried her.”
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Lessons from the Hen’s Story:
1. Don’t Mistake Kindness for Limitlessness
Just because someone gives without complaint doesn't mean they aren't in pain. Even the strongest hearts can shatter when pushed too far.
2. Gratitude Isn’t Optional—It’s Essential
A simple “thank you” can be life-giving. Never assume love, effort, or sacrifice is free. Silent labor should never be taken for granted.
3. Check on the Ones Who Always Show Up
The people who smile the most often cry the hardest when no one’s looking. Ask them how they’re doing. Mean it. Listen.
4. You Don’t Know Everyone’s Battle
What looks like strength might be someone’s last ounce of hope. Be gentle. Be kind. Be aware.
5. Self-Care Is Not Selfish
Taking care of others starts with taking care of yourself. Neglecting your own needs drains your strength and dims your light.
6. True Strength Is Knowing When to Say No
Boundaries protect your heart. Saying no isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom.
7. Support Needs to Be Mutual
Relationships thrive when giving and receiving flow both ways. Don’t let silent givers fade away unnoticed.
8. Actions Speak Louder Than Words
Showing appreciation isn’t just about saying thanks—it’s about meaningful actions that ease the burden of those who serve quietly.
9. Invisible Scars Need Healing Too
Not all wounds are seen. Compassion means looking deeper and offering care without judgment.
10. Community Is Built on Care for the Caregivers
A village thrives only when those who nurture others are nurtured in return.
