Becoming a Puddle
In a few days, it’ll be a year since the passing of a close friend of a close friend, Hendrick (“Henk”) Hart: philosopher, professor, writer. As a child, he and his family survived near starvation during the Nazi occupation of The Netherlands. Years later, as a father, he lay next to his beloved daughter as cancer took her life and, a few years later, cared equally for his dying wife.
Henk emerged from life agonies without rancor. He lived, and died, believing life had purpose. Here’s one of my favorites of his brief writings penned in his 80s.
Love and grace can seem like a trickle. They can also flow like small spring rivers. And occasionally they grow into mighty waters. But none of that is possible without drops and puddles.
In my old age, I try being a puddle and I know that sometimes people step in my puddle and go on their way spreading a few drops of it.
They allow me to dream of tsunamis of grace and monsoons of love. And, in the dream, the light dawns.
Let us all aspire to becoming puddles.
