THE RENTED ROOM

[Guest guest]

THE RENTED ROOM

 

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of

Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented

the upstairs rooms to outpatients at the clinic.

 

One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the

door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. " Why, he's hardly

taller than my eight-year-old, " I thought as I stared at the stooped,

shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face, lopsided from

swelling, red and raw.

 

Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, " Good evening. I've come to

see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this

morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning'. "

 

He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no

success; no one seemed to have a room. " I guess it's my face. I know

it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments... "

 

For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: " I could

sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the

morning. "

 

I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went

inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the

old man if he would join us. " No, thank you. I have plenty. " And he

held up a brown paper bag.

 

When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with

him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to see that this old

man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he

fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children and

her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.

 

He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence

was prefaced with thanks for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain

accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer.

He thanked the Creator for giving him the strength to keep going.

 

At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I

got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded, and the

little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just

before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he

said, " Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a

treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair. "

 

He paused a moment and then added, " Your children made me feel at

home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to

mind. " I told him he was welcome to come again.

 

And on his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning.

As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I

had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he

left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4 a.m.,

and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.

 

In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time

that he did not bring us fish, or oysters, or vegetables from his

garden.

 

Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special

delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or

kale, every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three

miles to mail these and aware of how little money he had, made the

gifts doubly precious.

 

When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a

comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first

morning. " Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned

him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people! "

 

Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But, oh! If only they could

have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to

bear. I know our family always will be grateful to have known him;

from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint

and the good with gratitude.

 

Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed

me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden

chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was

growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, " If this

were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had! "

 

My friend changed my mind. " I ran short of pots, " she explained, " and

knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind

starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I

can put it out in the garden. "

 

She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was

imagining just such a scene in heaven. " Here's an especially

beautiful one, " the Creator might have said when he came to the soul

of the sweet old fisherman. " He won't mind starting in this small

body. "

 

All this happened long ago — and now, in the Celestial Garden, how

tall this lovely soul must stand.

 

In the same light, Bhagavan Baba has related the inspiring story of

sage Ashtavakra, who was born physically deformed, but outclassed

many scholars of King Janaka's court. He called the learned

men " cobblers " as they were concerned only about his skin. To read

this story from Bhagavan's discourse, please click here

[http://www.sssbpt.info/ssspeaks/volume20/sss20-11.pdf].

 

Let us always remember that the most important part of our body is

not the skin, but our heart. If our heart is broad, happiness will

surround us and peace will be our friend.

 

Illustrations: Ms. Lyn Kriegler Elliott

- Heart2Heart Team

(Sharing with Sai Love)

 

Ram Chugani

Kobe, Japan

rgcjp