Carl's Garden

[Guest guest]

Carl's Garden

 

 

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 WWII. Watching him, we worried that although

he had

survived WWII, 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. 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 his 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.