“Nurcan, my girl, Baki’s boy will be here soon. Get ready some of the tomatoes and cucumbers your father brought yesterday. Add a bunch of grapes and a few holiday candies too.”
Without wiping her hands, she placed two freshly baked loaves of bread beside the things to be given.
Baki Efendi had been ill for quite some time and could no longer go to the town market. No work meant no money. His son grazed the lambs, and his mother gave him a little cheese and butter each day so he’d have something to eat. Knowing this, Fehime would always add something extra to the boy’s bundle whenever he passed by. It had become almost a ritual—if she didn’t, the day felt incomplete, as though something good would be missing.
Life in the village was simple; the water still came from the public fountain. Everyone would stop by a few times a day to fill their jugs before heading home. Fehime’s house stood just behind that fountain. The fountain and Fehime had become almost synonymous—whoever came to fetch water would greet her, and whoever passed by would call out a hello.
Fehime had five daughters and no sons. At first, it had troubled her, but over time she had made her peace with it. Her daughters were her companions, her helpers, the laughter of her home.
They owned no tractor, nor did they have a steady income for their fieldwork. Yet their home overflowed with abundance; their table was always full. For they never shied away from work or from sharing what they had. The word waste had no place in that household. Fresh food was cooked every day, and by evening every pot was empty. Never once had Fehime worried, “What will we do tomorrow?”
Meals were shared with family, the sick, orphans, the elderly—and even the animals around the neighborhood.
In that village, whenever someone fell into hardship, the first door they knocked on was Fehime’s.
Fehime never hesitated to put in the work. She personally tended to her parents’ house, summer and winter alike, never leaving anything undone. At village weddings, she worked at the head of the women’s cooking line, helping to set up those grand, generous feasts—with whatever was at hand.
When someone fell ill, she would hang the black cauldron over the tandır fire, filling it with meat on the bone and wheat, boiling it until it thickened into a healing soup. There was hardly a patient in the village that her soup hadn’t revived.
One morning, a dog appeared at their doorstep, wagging its tail timidly. No one knew its breed or where it came from—probably it had wandered down to drink from the puddle near the fountain.
Her youngest daughter called out in surprise:
“Mom, this dog is a stranger! I’ve never seen it before.”
Indeed, all the shepherd dogs of the village would visit the fountain, but Fehime had never seen this one. She guessed it might have come from the garrison up the hill. For when she said “Sit,” it sat; when she said “Go,” it went. Clearly, it had been trained.
Over time, that dog who wagged its tail at the door became part of the family. Her quiet youngest daughter, who had always kept to herself, came to life thanks to it. Wherever she went, the dog followed. It was an unusual breed, well-trained, and soon every child in the village was fascinated by it.
In fact, they stopped teasing the little girl about her limp, because now they wanted to spend time with her—and her dog. They loved giving it commands and watching it obey. The dog had somehow become the little girl’s ticket to belonging.
Whenever Fehime saw them together, she would look into the distance and whisper a thankful prayer.
If anyone had asked her, “What do you wish for?” she would probably have said, “A tractor—or maybe a car. So my husband’s back doesn’t have to bend anymore.”
But life didn’t give them what they wanted; it gave them exactly what they needed.
One day, Fehime’s husband came home from a long road, leading a wounded horse. They dressed its wounds, fed and watered it, and gave it a name—Rüstem.
Laughing, Fehime said, “You named it after the Shah of Iran?”
As it happened, the horse had indeed belonged to a caravan smuggling goods from Iran. No one knew exactly what had occurred, but Rüstem had somehow survived the chaos.
Word was sent around the nearby villages—perhaps someone was looking for the dog or the horse. But no one ever came.
Soon enough, Rüstem became the hands and feet of the household—working in the fields, on the road, even in play. His strength lightened the burdens on their backs.
And whenever Fehime looked at the dog and the horse, one thought always crossed her mind:
“Praise be to God. Life provides for those who provide for others.”
Those two creatures were quiet blessings—gifts sent their way by life itself.
Since the beginning of humanity, Our greatest friend and enemy has remained the same: The person in the mirror...
"Experiential Design Teaching" is dedicated to help humans discover their true purpose. It guides people toward open consciousness to make better decisions and choices. It offers strategies for real solutions to real problems.
The programs that begin with “Who’s Who,” followed by “Mastery in Relationships” and “The Psychology of Success,” aim to help people become happier and more successful compared to their past selves.
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