My granddaughter Emory, all of two, has discovered the wonder of water.
Yes, that magical, glistening, splashy liquid that has the power to make a toddler giggle like no stand-up comedian ever could. But as any grandparent (or parent) knows, water play comes with its own manual titled How to Prevent Colds and Coughs and Chills. So, like every responsible elder, I tried my best to keep her away from water—until inspiration struck.
We went to my garden.
I gave her a small tin cup—just the right size for her little fingers—and poured in a bit of water. We went from one plant to another, like two chaiwallahs, me refilling the kettle, she happily doling out her watery brew to each plant. Her face was radiant. The plants looked grateful.
And I, well, I felt like I’d just pulled off a minor miracle: the child was playing with water, and yet not a drop was wasted nor a cough in sight.
That’s when it hit me—no, not the water, thankfully, but the thought.
She was doing what she loved: playing with water. But it wasn’t just play anymore. It had purpose. It was service. She didn’t know it, of course. To her, she was just going from plant to plant saying, “Just a little bit” with each plant, laughing every time a leaf bounced back with a droplet.
But the plants knew. And I knew.
And suddenly I thought—shouldn’t that be the ideal recipe for all of us grown-ups too?
Find something you love—and then pour it into a purpose. Blend passion with compassion, and suddenly the grind of daily work becomes the joy of daily contribution.
A job becomes a calling. A task becomes a gift.
“Ah,” I can hear you saying with skeptically. “But Bob what happens when she gets bored of watering plants? When it becomes just another chore?”
Fair question. Children, like adults, tire of repetition. So what then?
“Well, then I’ll show her the difference she’s made. I’ll point out the tulsi that’s standing taller, the hibiscus with a new red bloom, the marigold that's dancing in delight. I’ll show her the smiles she’s grown.”
Because nothing sustains us more than seeing that our effort matters.
And that’s the secret even the biggest corporations miss when they ask why their employees are disengaged. Maybe it's because they’ve been pouring into empty cups without knowing if anyone’s sipping. Show people the flowers they helped bloom, and they’ll water them again—even with tin cups.
So go ahead. Pick up your cup, your brush, your pen, your calculator, or whatever makes your heart smile. And instead of asking, “What’s in it for me?” try asking, “What can I help grow today?”
Because somewhere between the giggles of a child and the greening of a garden, passion quietly becomes compassion. And that, dear reader, is the real miracle…!
The Author conducts an online, eight session Writers and Speakers Course. If you’d like to join, do send a thumbs-up to WhatsApp number 9892572883 or send a message to bobsbanter@gmail.com
