Subject: Carl And The Church's Garden {Insp}
From: Unicorn (unicorn@indenial.com)
Date: Mon Oct 15 2001 - 07:47:54 EDT
"Carl And The Church'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, but even after living in our
neighborhood
for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well. All
we
really knew was he had worked for the Gas Company and had won an award
when
he retired for never having taken a sick day in all his 51 years with
the
company.
Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. As his
retirement approached and he grew older, the lone sight of him walking
down
the street often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet wound
received in WW II. The bullet itself was still lodged very near his
spine.
Watching him, we worried that although he had survived World War II, he
may
not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its
ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity. How could we
have known that a Miracle limped in our midst?
Carl was in his early 70s when he began what was to be a 15 plus years
job
of caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence. He was then
retired and his wife had died a few years earlier. When he saw the flyer
at
our local church asking for volunteers, he responded in his
characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up
to
do the weeding, watering and seeding of flowers and vegetables that were
planted each spring. 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 form 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 as he tried un-successfully to fend them off.
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. Thankfully, things had been
quiet
and uneventful. Carl was doing some tilling and getting the rose beds
ready
for their winter mulch protection 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, and then put the
photo back in its place. He pocketed his billfold once again and went
back to
mulching his roses.
He didn't make it to the following spring to see those roses bloom
again.
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, as the ice thawed in the yard, 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 businessman in 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 our baby last night, and she's coming home Saturday."
"Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was handed the garden
shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?"
The young man said...Carl.
Author Unknown
This archive was generated by hypermail 2b28 : Thu Nov 01 2001 - 00:00:01 EST