Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much.
He would always greet you with a big smile
and a firm handshake.

Even after living in our neighborhood for
over 50 years, no one could really say they
knew him very well.

Before his retirement, he took the bus to
work each morning. The lone sight of him
walking down the street often worried us.

He had a slight limp from a bullet wound
received in W.W.II.

Watching him, we worried that although he
had survived W.W.II, he may not make it
through our changing uptown neighborhood
with its ever increasing random violence,
gangs, and drug activity.

When he saw the flyer at our local church
asking for volunteers for caring for the
gardens behind the minister's residence,
he responded in his characteristically
unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he
just signed up.

He was well into his 87th year when the
very thing we had always feared finally
happened.

He was just finishing his watering for the
day when three gang members approached
him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate
him, he simply asked, "Would you like a
drink from the hose?"

The tallest and toughest-looking of the
three said, "Yeah, sure," with a malevolent
little smile.

As Carl offered the hose to him, the other
two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him
down. As the hose snaked crazily over the
ground, dousing everything in its way,
Carl's assailants stole his retirement watch
and his wallet, and then fled.

Carl tried to get himself up, but he had
been thrown down on his bad leg. He lay
there trying to gather himself as the
minister came running to help him.

Although the minister had witnessed the
attack from his window, he couldn't get
there fast enough to stop it."Carl, are
you okay? Are you hurt?" the minister
kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet.

Carl just passed a hand over his brow and
sighed, shaking his head.

"Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up
someday." His wet clothes clung to his
slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose.
He adjusted the nozzle again and started to
water the plants.

Confused and a little concerned, the
minister asked, "Carl, what are you doing?"

"I've got to finish my watering. It's been
very dry lately," came the calm reply.

Satisfying himself that Carl really was all
right, the minister could only marvel. Carl
was a man from a different time and place.

A few weeks later the three returned. Just as
before their threat was unchallenged.
Carl again offered them a drink from the hose.

This time they didn't rob him. They
wrenched the hose from his hand and
drenched him head to foot in the icy water.

When they had finished their humiliation of
him, they sauntered off down the street,
throwing catcalls and curses, falling over
one another laughing at the hilarity of what
they had just done.

Carl just watched them. Then he turned
toward the warmth giving sun, picked up
his hose, and went on with his watering.

The summer was quickly fading into fall
Carl was doing some tilling when he was
startled by the sudden approach of someone
behind him. He stumbled and fell into some
evergreen branches.

As he struggled to regain his footing, he
turned to see the tall leader of his summer
tormentors reaching down for him. He
braced himself for the expected attack.

"Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt
you this time." The young man spoke softly,
still offering the tattooed and scarred hand
to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man
pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and
handed it to Carl.

"What's this?" Carl asked.

"It's your stuff," the man explained. "It's
your stuff back. Even the money in your
wallet." "I don't understand," Carl said.
"Why would you help me now?"

The man shifted his feet, seeming
embarrassed and ill at ease. "I learned
something from you," he said. "I ran with
that gang and hurt people like you. We
picked you because you were old and we
knew we could do it. But every time we
came and did something to you, instead of
yelling and fighting back, you tried to give
us a drink. You didn't hate us for hating
you. You kept showing love against our
hate." He stopped for a moment.

"I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff, so
here it is back." He paused for another
awkward moment, not knowing what more
there was to say. "That bag's my way of
saying thanks for straightening me out, I
guess." And with that, he walked off down
the street.

Carl looked down at the sack in his hands
and gingerly opened it. He took out his
retirement watch and put it back on his
wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for his
wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at
the young bride that still smiled back at him
from all those years ago.

He died one cold day after Christmas that
winter. Many people attended his funeral in
spite of the weather.

In particular the minister noticed a tall
young man that he didn't know sitting
quietly in a distant corner of the church.

The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a
lesson in life. In a voice made thick with
unshed tears, he said, "Do your best and
make your garden as beautiful as you can.
We will never forget Carl and his garden."

The following spring another flyer went up
It read: "Person needed to care for Carl's
garden."

The flyer went unnoticed by the busy
parishioners until one day when a knock
was heard at the minister's office door.

Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of
scarred and tattooed hands holding the
flyer. "I believe this is my job, if you'll have
me," the young man said.

The minister recognized him as the same
young man who had returned the stolen
watch and wallet to Carl.

He knew that Carl's kindness had turned
this man's life around.

As the minister handed him the keys to the
garden shed, he said, "Yes, go take care of
Carl's garden and honor him."

The man went to work and, over the next
several years, he tended the flowers and
vegetables just as Carl had done.

In that time, he went to college, got married,
and became a prominent member of the
community. But he never forgot his promise
to Carl's memory and kept the garden as
beautiful as he thought Carl would have
kept it.

One day he approached the new minister
and told him that he couldn't care for the
garden any longer. He explained with a shy
and happy smile, "My wife just had a baby
boy last night, and she's bringing him home
on Saturday."

"Well, congratulations!" said the minister,
as he was handed the garden shed keys.
"That's wonderful! What's the baby's
name?" "Carl," he replied.

That's the whole gospel message simply stated.

 

Created with love.

Made with love August 13, 2006.