There was a girl, like every other girl.
She loved dogs and fish and birds.
She loved to read.
She loved to cook and bake and eat.
She loved to tell stories.
She loved to dance. Her heart’s happy THUMP-THUMP-THUMPing was her favourite music to dance to.
She loved a lot. She loved so much that her heart grew big and fat and was bursting at the seams.
She had such a big, fat heart that there was so much of it to give away.
She gave a part of it to her neighbour, who had a lonely heart.
She gave a part to her son, who made her so proud.
She gave a part to her husband, who took good care of her.
She gave a part to her best friend because she wanted her to feel special on her birthday.
She gave a part to her mother, whose words she could still hear long after she had passed away.
She gave a part to her sister because she seemed to need it constantly.
She gave a part to her father, who, though he did not seem to want it, deserved it anyway.
But giving away parts of one’s heart can be very difficult, even for a big, fat heart. She did not mind at all, but she noticed that she was getting tired most of the time.
After feeding her dogs and fish and birds, all she wanted to do was sleep.
She didn’t have the energy to read, cook, bake, or eat.
She would begin to tell stories to her friends, but she would be short of breath before the story was over.
She was so busy giving away bits of her heart that she forgot to leave a healthy-sized portion for herself.
She was left with a pretty beat-up heart.
So she went to see a doctor. The doctor listened to her heart and heard it thumping in a very irregular rhythm.
It was not a pleasant sound.
21 Her doctor called in more doctors, and they saw that her once big and fat heart looked like it had little pieces missing.
It was not a pretty picture.
After more checking and testing, a bit of pondering and speculating, some discussing and analysing, the doctors declared that there is hope for the girl’s beat-up heart.
They set to work—patching and mending, and sewing and setting.
The girl felt much better.
The doctors patted themselves on the back, proud of the job they had done.
“The beat-up heart is as good as new!” they declared.
But it was not a big, fat heart anymore.
It was a little pale, and a lot smaller.
It had scrapes and stitches and scratches.
And it went ththump-ththump-ththump in a subdued though regular rhythm.
The girl did not feel like dancing.
Her heart was now too small and too weak, and there wasn’t much of it to share.
What the girl did not know was that the little pieces of her heart that she gave away were still connected to her now somberly-beating heart.
Delicate strands called Love, Gratitude, Friendship, Respect, and Kindness travelled through miles, minutes, and open space—like an efficient network, sending signals to the little pieces that the big, fat heart was in trouble.
So the neighbour, the son, the husband, the best friend, the sister, and the father’s hearts—all fattened up by the little heart pieces they had received—sent back the pieces of the girl’s big, fat heart, and even little bits of their own for good measure.
Their neighbours, children, husbands, wives, friends, parents, brothers, and sisters also gave parts of their hearts, when they heard the news.
Now the girl has a fully-mended heart, BIGGER and FATTER than ever, THUMP-THUMP-THUMPing in a lovely, lively rhythm so loud that everyone feels like dancing.