As I sat on the couch, working on something he had so humbly asked me to help him with, he came into the room with a pillow and a chair. He situated them both before me, laying the pillow on the chair. He then picked up my feet and placed them on the pillow.
I never question his actions anymore. I have learned that whatever he does, he has my best interest in mind.
I kept diligently working, being careful not to pay much attention to what he was doing. Watching him would result in my trying to figure out what he was doing, which would then distract me from the work he had asked me to do. The work that, though seemingly minor, was something I longed to do simply because he asked it of me.
He came back into the room with a bottle of oil, setting it on the table. He then gently lifted both my feet in his firm, strong hand. With his other hand he lifted the pillow. He then sat down, placed the pillow on his lap, and nestled my feet onto the pillow.
Through this I kept working.
Until I felt the oil hit my feet. Although I had suspected, I was still amazed that this powerful, strong, beautiful man was rubbing oil into my feet. I continued to work but my work was punctuated with the loving smiles I gave him, as well as the relaxing sighs that came from me.
After rubbing both my feet with oil and relaxing me thoroughly, he stood and gently placed my feet back on the pillow that rested upon the chair. He then returned with a large glass bowl of warm water.
He returned to the chair, with my feet nestled upon the pillow on his lap. He then cleansed my feet while telling me about his mother cleaning the children's feet in their youth. He showed me the love and devotion he felt doing so to me.
After patting my feet gently dry, he again left the room. He then returned with powder which he rubbed into my feet.
He had thoroughly cleansed my feet.
"Someone really loves you when they clean your feet", he told me while gazing in my eyes.
He held my feet in his hand while sliding back the chair and placing the pillow on the floor beneath me. He gently laid my feet upon the pillow and went to work putting up everything he had gotten out.
All I could do was watch him. I had forgotten my work. All I knew was his presence as my bathed and powdered feet rested upon a pillow. All I knew was HIM.
When he came back into the room, he sat in the chair in front of me. I leaned forward, and he bent down towards me.
Ever so gently, with emotion charging the air, I kissed his lips gently and whispered, "Thank you."
I am his girl.
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